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mikkomacko · 3 years

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Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

#sweet as honey #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #one direction #harry styles au #dad harry #boxer harry #cute #smut #daddy harry styles #sweet as honey talk

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

Hot Chocolate Kisses

A/N: It’s nothing much, but it is something so tender and soft. I love Frankie and fluff! Why not have both? Tis a little thank/happy holiday gift from me to you. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: pregnant reader, references to sex, sweet sweet fluff!

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Good morning," the sound of his soft voice accompanied by the feel of his arms around your midsection was enough to make your heart flutter. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before resting his head there and humming in content, "how are you, honey bee?"

"Good morning, mi amor," you replied softly, taking one of his hands that had been resting on the gentle swell of your belly and bringing to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, "I'm perfect. What about you, Frankie? Did you rest well?"

"Like a dream," he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting go and moving towards the coffee pot. Once he poured a cup and made it to his liking, he came over, and followed your line of sight out into the yard.

There was nothing but mountains of glittering snow coating the entire neighborhood as far as the eye could see. Small children were already playing outside, all bundled up in thick snow jackets and woolen hats, while dogs ran around their yards barking and biting at soft, fat flakes that were gently drifting down from the heavens.

"Record snowfalls," you looked at him with excited eyes, "which means we are snowed in and work is canceled. Do I even try to pretend to be upset?"

"Hell no," his smile was infectious as his singular dimple appeared and his soft eyes crinkled in the corners the way you adored, "I get to spend the say being lazy at home with my girl? I'm not going to argue with that."

"You know what today calls for," your eyes were wide and bright as the two of you knew exactly what a snow day meant. You'd come up with your own little traditions a long time ago and always pulled them out on days like this.

"You just want an excuse for hot chocolate!" Frankie's tone was lovingly accusing as he crossed his arms over his chest as he took a sip from his mug.

"No!" you insisted firmly, offering him a small little pout, "your daughter is craving some. Ever since you knocked me up that's all I've been wanting! And I don't need any excuse for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate isn't a crime!"

"First of all, this -" he pointed tenderly to the small bump just visible under your sweater, "was a team effort. Secondly, you've always loved my hot chocolate, long before any of this. She had nothing to do with this!”

"Obviously," you stuck your tongue out at him, "but you make it all fancy and gourmet. How can I say no? She's not helping though! I swear it's a craving."

“Your mamá is already using you as an excuse,” he laughed as he rested his hand on your belly. You instantly felt her move and flutter under his touch; she always seemed to be more active when he was around. Even though you were trying to have a seriously teasing conversation, the moment was enough to make your heart melt, “can you believe it, mija? She just doesn’t want to admit she’s addicted to the world’s best hot chocolate.”

“I can quit it any time I want,” you snorted with laughter at his silly antics, “I just choose not to. Now, don’t deny your pregnant wife what she wants!”

“What does she want?” there was a wicked little glint in his eye as you raised a brow at him.

“Well for starters,” you pointed at the cabinet, “some hot chocolate later. But how about breakfast for now? And a warm bath after that? I swear I’m getting as bad as you old man, my back is killing me.”

“Hey now,” he warned with a small boop to your nose, “you’re getting awfully cheeky for someone who wants my hot chocolate. You’re on very thin ice, honey bee.”

“You know I’m only kidding, Francisco,” you gave him a quick kiss as you went to the refrigerator to start gathering ingredients for breakfast, “besides, you’re my favorite DILF.”

“Oh no,” his laughter was a loud, beautiful thing as it sounded throughout the kitchen. You turned to him and shot him a cheeky little wink, “not you too! Everyone’s calling me that lately, I swear.”

“They can look but they can’t touch. I mean, have you seen yourself Frankie? You’re handsome as hell, you’re amazing, wonderful, kind. Everything,” you insisted as you rejoined his side, You could already see the light flush of color in his cheeks as he relished your words, “and you’re all mine. Besides, I’m half the reason you’re a DILF. Where is my recognition in all of this?”

“I love you, honey bee,” he stared at you in awe for a moment before turning so he could kiss you properly. It took you by surprise but it took even less to respond back; kissing him was such saccharine bliss, “you are everything to me.”

“Good,” you beamed at him, “now let’s get this ultimate lazy day started!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Those might have been our best pancakes ever,” you wolfed down the last syrupy bite before pushing away your empty plate, “I feel as stuffed as a damn turkey.”

“You’re the most beautiful and radiant turkey I have ever laid eyes on,” he joked as you lovingly groaned at his silly words, “I’ll clean up and you can start the bath. Plan?”

“Plan,” you agreed as you slid off the bar stool and started padding towards the kitchen. As Frankie busied himself with gathering up the empty dishes, you turned around and watched him for a moment, nothing but a gentle warmth radiating throughout your body, “Frankie? You’re going to join me, right?”

He turned to you and offered you his megawatt smile as he slowly nodded, a rogue curl bouncing around and falling onto his forehead. Gods, he was so effortlessly handsome and sweet. You couldn’t stop yourself from rushing over to him, delicately grabbing his face as you pressed a kiss to his lips, still tasting the faint sweetness of the syrup, “what was that for?”

“Nothing,” you grinned breathlessly, “I just love you is all.”

“Oh,” a flush of pink tinged his cheeks as he brought his hands to your face, delicately tracing over your features before pressing the softest kiss to your lips, “I love you too.”

“I know,” you beamed, “now hurry up so we can take a bath!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming under your breath, sitting at the edge of the large tub as you watched it fill up with warm water. There weren’t very many requirements you had when the two of you had been house hunting before deciding to expand your family - but a large bathtub was one of them. Moments like this made you glad for it; you loved being able to slip into the tub, often dragging along Frankie with you, not that he had any complaints of course. It was perfect for the two of you, and now that you seemed to be growing by the day, it was even better.

Pulling your favorite bottle of bubble bath off the shelf, you poured some in, inhaling deeply at the relaxing scent. All the stress and worries you had were already dissolving away with each passing second. Once you were satisfied with the copious amounts of soft bubbles, you threw in some Epsom salt for good measure, hoping it would help your aching body. Deciding to make it even more festive, you grabbed the speaker from your bedroom, and turned it on, opting to play some soft Christmas music in the background. It wasn’t like you were going to be paying much attention to it anyway; your conversations with Frankie always seemed endless, no matter how long the two of you had been together.

“Close your eyes,” Frankie came into the bathroom just as you were finishing getting everything ready. You closed your eyes, making a show of putting your hands over your eyes as you heard him shuffling in, “okay, pick a hand - left or right.”

“Hmmm…” you mused for a moment, “how about left?”

“Lucky guess,” he chuckled as he pulled your hands from your eyes. A little grin spread across your features when you saw what he was holding in his hands, “surprise!”

“Frankie,” his name was but a mere soft sigh as you reached for the soft, cozy pajamas he was holding out to you. You could spy a matching pair for him on the counter, your heart fluttering in delight. It had become a sort of little tradition for the two of you to get new matching holiday pajamas every year. It was just some silly thing, but it still meant the world to you, “I love them. Thank you so much - you remembered.”

“Of course,” he held out his hands to you, slowly hoisting you to your feet, “I wouldn’t ever forget.”

He slowly reached for the hem of your sweater, gently pulling up and over your head and outstretched arms before tossing it on the floor. He followed suit with your bra, unclasping it before letting it join your sweater and doing the same to your leggings and underwear. It was such a small intimate thing, the way his eyes looked over you was nothing short of adoration and reverence.

“Your turn,” you whispered before starting to unbutton his flannel, taking your time to undo it one by one. Shrugging it off his shoulders, you pressed a few kisses to the soft, golden skin of his shoulder before moving onto his jeans, wicking them down his legs along with his boxers. He made a small sound in his throat before stepping out of his jeans and pulling you into his arms. The gentle coolness of his wedding band on your back was wonderful; a delicate reminder of just how much he loved you.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, a hand running down your side as he rested it on your waist, taking solace in the gentle swell of your belly. He still couldn’t believe your daughter - his daughter, one that came as a small surprise and blessing was in there. One he had never known he wanted so much until you told him you were pregnant and he broke down crying, as emotional as you were. You, the two of you, were everything for him.

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re not so bad yourself. I guess we both got pretty lucky, huh? I love you so much, Francisco. More than you will ever know.”

He looked back at you with those brown eyes you adored so much, and you could see that they were glossy, close to spilling over with tears. You reached up and touched his cheek before brushing away a stray curl.

“Come on,” he held your hand as you motioned towards the tub. He got in first, settling down before holding his arms out to you. Carefully, you settled in next to him surprising him for a moment as you occupied the other side. Before he could say anything, you gathered up a handful of bubbles, and blew them at him, watching as they stuck in his dark mop of hair, “playing dirty are we?”

“Maybe,” you splashed him with the warm water, “you have to play nice, I’m pregnant!”

“You started it!” he splashed you back as you squealed in delight, “don’t start what you can’t finish!”

“Oh, it’s on! It’s so on,” you laughed as you tried to move the bubbles closer to your half of the tub, “you’re going down!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Do you have enough blankets, honey?” Frankie walked back into the living room, arms filled with a few more big, fuzzy blankets. You looked up from the comfy couch, during the numerous blankets you’d already secured and gave him a big grin. You were already feeling so toasty and warm in your new pajamas after your bath, and this just made it so much better. He snorted with laughter at the sight of only your head poking out, “oh.”

“It’s freezing!” you insisted, digging your arm out and pointing at your feet, “pile them on! The only thing I’m missing is your body.”

“I have a few more things to do first,” he put the blankets down and wrapped them around your feet, “gonna start a fire and then go and make the hot chocolate. You, my little bee, are in charge of finding our first movie. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“As if that’s a question,” you joked as you reached for the remote, as he went over to the fireplace, “you just need to hurry up!”

"You are getting so demanding," he laughed as he kneeled next to the fireplace and started to pile some of the logs in. He started to hum softly under his breath as you watched him, absolutely in awe of the man you were able to call your husband. The sight of him in the same pajamas as you was endearing and caused you a moment of pause as you pictured doing this next year with him and your daughter.

You often wondered what she would like, although you both knew that the only thing that mattered was that she was healthy and sound. But a small part of you hoped she'd take after Frankie, to have those gentle chocolate eyes and dark curls. Maybe she'd take after you, or maybe -

"Everything alright?" Frankie turned and caught your distant gaze on him as she started to light the fire. You hadn't realized you'd gotten so lost in your little daydream.

"Yes," you smiled at him, "just thinking..."

"Thinking about...."

"Its silly..."

"If it matters to you then it's not silly," he insisted, making a small sound of satisfaction when the fire started to crackle away merrily.

"I was just thinking about next year," you admitted shyly, "you know how we do the matching pjs every year? I think it would be fun to do that with the bean next year."

"I love the sound of that," he agreed, "that'll make a great Christmas card!"

"Yeah," you agreed as he brought you a pillow to rest your head on, "you really do think of everything, don't you?"

"Only for my bee," he promised with a wink and a kiss, "I'll go and make the hot chocolate. Classic for you today?"

"Surprise me!"

"Be back," he promised as pointed at the television, "now pick something good out!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

It seemed like it had been a small eternity since Frankie had left to go on his little adventure of hot chocolate making, and you'd long since found a suitable movie. You started it but kept it paused as you waited. But soon you felt a flutter in your belly. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you put your hand on your tummy where you felt her moving around.

"I know baby bean," you told her gently, "I miss him too. Even when he's gone only for a few minutes. You're gonna love him so much, just like me. He's going to be the best papá. We already love you so much. We can't wait to meet you."

"Talking to yourself?" just in time your knight in cozy pajamas came striding back in with two delicious steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

"I am never alone anymore," you reminded him as he came and cozied up next to you, "I've always got the bean. And we were having a private conversation, thank you very much."

"Please don't let me interrupt," he passed your mug over before pulling blankets over his form and you curled up in his side. You grinned at the full mug, admiring how perfectly he had made it. It was a classic, a layer of mini marshmallows followed by a layer of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel syrup.

"Thank you, Frankie," you beamed as you took a long sip, savoring the creamy sweetness on your tongue. You heard a soft chuckle before Frankie reached over and wiped off the whipped cream from your nose, "oops!"

"Good?" he asked as you nodded eagerly. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and gave you a soft, saccharine little kiss. He lingered against your lips and you could taste the sweetness of the hot chocolate that was clinging onto him. He grinned before giving you a few more pecks, each sweeter than the last, "even better. Now, start this movie and let's get this marathon on the road!"

You clutched your mug to your chest as Frankie brought an arm over your shoulders and you pressed play on your first cheesy holiday movie.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't long before you felt your eyes start to get heavy as you finished your mug of hot chocolate. You were about to move it to the coffee table, but Frankie beat you to the punch, grabbing it from your hands and setting down before pulling you into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you as you laid against his chest and let the soft rise and fall of his chest relax and lull you.

Soon enough your eyes closed and everything seemed distant. You didn't even try to fight it as Frankie pressed a kiss to your cheek. One hand was holding yours, your fingers laced together and the other was resting on your belly. It wasn't long before you were completely under the siren spell of sleep and snoring quietly in his arms.

"I love you, honey bee," he whispered ever so gently as he relaxed too, growing more tired by the second, "and you too, baby bee. You two are everything."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #cattfish morales x reader

421 notes · View notes

binniedeactivated · 3 years

Text

txt reactions. || 👾👾

as dads... 👨🏻‍🍼

a/n; i’m sorryyy i’ve been in a fluffy mood lately I haven’t posted smut in a while but I promise I will! enjoy this though <3

soobin -

bro, he’s the clueless dad

doesn’t know anything about being a parent. is lazy about preparing to be a dad but he has a few tricks up his sleeve

everything would fluster the hell out of him. when the baby poops, when the baby pees, when they baby pukes, or when the baby cries he’d get surprised about it every single time as if it doesn’t happen

you know those type of dads where everything is literally a learning moment for them? yes, that’s soobin

is a dorky dad

his children will most likely own him, he won’t own his children

type of dad that gets beat up by his toddler kids for absolutely nothing

they walk in and kick him in the shin while he’s cooking

or pull his hair while he’s trying to read to them before bed

feel like his daughter would be the exact replica of him like seriously, would have his his whole entire face and matching dimples

with that being said, is an absolute sucker for his daughter

gives her anything she wants even if she’s a spoiled brat he’s scared to say no

needs his wife to teach him how to put his foot down

i feel like soobin’s son would be wild asf lmao

repeats every inappropriate thing that soobin says

“daddy? what does bullshit mean?”.

will scold his kids if they’re acting too wild but they never listen to him so it doesn’t really matter

again, he needs his wife to help discipline the kids

i know it can be quite common for parents of color (minorities) to hit their children but in my opinion I don’t really think soobin would hit his kids all that much

he would pay a lot of attention to them though and know them like the back of his hand but he can’t really control the shit that goes on in his wild household

his wife will mainly come home every night to a messy kitchen and messy living room with soobin passed out on the couch and the kids curled on top of him snoring

all in all he loves them though, they’re his babies <3

yeonjun --

honestly, yeonjun is a pretty attentive father

i think he would be veryyyyy playful and affectionate

would want to do EVERYTHING with the baby

want to cook, want to clean, want to watch tv, want to talk to him/her and hold them all the time

has separation anxiety when his children are away from him for too long

even if he’s at work he’ll face time his wife often just so he can see the baby

if he takes his kids to the park he’s literally watching their every move

will still hug and kiss them on their cheeks and forehead no matter how old they get

extremely overprotective

no really, don’t touch yeonjun’s babies unless you want to die

protects his daughter from anyone that tries to date her

i think yeonjun’s son would most likely pick up one of his talents and his daughter will pick up the other

his son can sing and his daughter could dance, vice versa

encourages them to follow their dreams

supports anything and EVERYTHING they

definitely documents everything lmao, even if it’s small he’ll record or take a picture

will make a photo album of all of his children’s achievements

is the type of dad that’s always talking about his kids

literally fr--he mentions them in every conversation

he’s just a proud dad alright? don’t judge him

i think yeonjun’s children would be extremely well behaved and well kept

mostly because yeonjun doesn’t play around LMAO

nah fr, he’s a dad that knows how to scold and punish. his kids know better than to cross him

gives his kids anything they want

takes them on vacations allllll the time

universal studios, disney world, legoland, you name it and he already booked the trip

honestly the type of dad that’s always somewhere having fun with his kids and posting photos on social media

is IN LOVE with being a dad

beomgyu --

lmao beomie is the cool dad

literally will talk to his baby like he/she is grown

“i’m tired of this show. you want to watch netflix? big mouth has a new episode”.

“can you stop crying? that’s weird. all you did was pee. you’re acting you’re a baby or something”.

“why don’t you just use words? tell me when you’re hungry. stop acting like you can’t talk”. (his baby is literally 2 months old)

loves sleeping with his babies the most. loves when they cuddle with him in bed and just fall asleep in his arms and on his chest

plays with them all the time, chasing them around the house playing laser tag or ‘the floor is lava’ lmao

loves playing video games with them, doesn’t let them win just because they’re young

will literally beat them in every game with no remorse, he just tells them they have to learn how to beat him

when they’re older he’ll literally let them do whatever they want

“dad can I go to a party?”. “sure whatever”.

“dad I’m going to a club with my friends”. “alright. be safe”.

“dad I think I’m pregnant”. “damn how that happen? I hope your baby’s father isn’t ugly tbh”.

is the type of dad that will lie to his wife about their children’s bad grades to save their asses

always sugar coats the parent teacher conferences to his wife, telling her that they’re the star students (even if they’re bad as hell)

laughs when one of his kids curse

teaches them the cheat codes to getting what they want in life

his kids ADORE him lmfao

is the most understanding and caring dad there is

taehyun --

strict dad who is a good listener lmao

i think taehyun would be more prepared when he knows he’s about to be a parent. of course he knows he doesn’t know everything but this man would be so prepared lmao

literally would do research on different things just to try and get a better understanding of how children’s minds work

his kids would be baby geniuses please

his daughter would be playing mozart on the piano at the age of two

his son would be a mathematician at four

LMAO i feel like his kids would be smart and mean ASF

literally the bougie kids at school with the latest clothes and shoes and don’t want to associate with the dumber kids

spoiled ROTTEN by taehyun will literally call him for the smallest inconvenience

“dad can you put more money on my credit card? I’m feeling sad today”

“dad I need a spa day”.

and yes taehyun will do these things for them at the drop of a dime

i feel like he’s the type of dad that knows everything, literally can’t outsmart him

if one of his children lies he already knows that they’re lying and already has evidence to prove it

I don’t think any of his children would ever lie to him though lmao taehyun don’t play that shit

type of dad that will allow his spoiled ass kids to live in his house for as long as they want without requiring them to move out

absolutely weak for them

will set up bank accounts and college funds for them

literally does EVERYTHING for them i cannot stress this ENOUGH

will buy their first apartment if they want it

will buy them their first cars

taehyun’s kids : part time job? what’s that?

type of dad that his kids can talk about anything and everything with and they love him for it

can be a crackhead dad too, will do the craziest shit to make his kids laugh

his kids are his world <3

kai --

lmfao i feel like kai is the fine line between being prepared and not knowing what the fuck to do every second

literally needs his wife because he’ll get anxiety trying to make big decisions for them

i think he would be at his prime parenting during the toddler stage since he has a lot of energy. he would bring his kids to trampoline parks and bounce house places allllll the time

his kids’ fondest childhood memories would be somewhere in a bounce house jumping and having fun with their dad

would also love turning on a soft playlist and have coloring sessions with them

is the type to make his kids dress like him, oversized sweaters, baggy jeans and cute sneakers

would buy his kids matching outfits and toys

also would be big on accessories i think. would love buying them cute backpacks, lunchboxes, and pens and pencils lmao

i think kai’s children would be chaotic as helllllllllllll

extremely hyperactive and don’t know the concept of bedtime

has frequent food fights in the kitchen

whenever they take a bath they get suds all over the floor

they eat and nap in the kitchen cabinets even though kai specifically told them not to do that

kids would be EXTREMELY cute so it would always be hard for kai to scold them

his version of scolding is literally, “hey don’t do that”. will never yell or hit

can never find a babysitter for when him and his wife have date nights because his children are always on a rampage

and when they do have do have date nights his children always find a way to facetime him fifteen hundred times about nothing

i think out of all kids, kai’s kids would be the baddest ones in school just because of the contrast lmfaoo

his son draws curse words on his desk

his daughter gets into fights all the time

parent teacher conferences are the funniest because kai is smiling no matter how bad the teacher says his kids are

literally cannot control them LMAO

but they’re so funny and sweet to him he can’t help but become weak for them

when they’re older though I feel like they’ll mellow out only a little but still kinda rebellious

kai is a positive dad who tries his absolute best lmao but he loves them with all his heart <3

#txt #tomorrow by together #yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #soobin #soobin fluff #beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #taehyun #taehyun fluff #heuning kai #heuning kai fluff

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stylistiquements · 3 years

Text

The Sorcerer pt. 3

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟯 : 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

An eagerness for a special sense of belonging brings you to a lot of unexplored roads.

☾ Words : 6159.

☾ Warnings : swearing

Masterlist | Previous | Next

George has barely spoken a word since he started diving into the golden pages of the book Dream brought home. He doesn’t even notice his presence by his side, too absorbed by the perfect calligraphy inked on the paper, curled up on the rocking chair which swings back and forth at a tireless pace.

Dream leans toward his familiar, slowly unfolding his arm so his fingers could get closer to George’s one. His long fingers are curled around the book and it feels as though the contact would be enough to make sure George is okay.

When George exhales deeply and rapidly leafs through the golden paper one last time before closing the book, Dream flinches and sits up while clearing his throat.

“You said it was supposed to help y/n but I’m afraid to ask how,” he says as he lifts his head while shaking it in confusion. “I feel like a voyeur after reading all of … this.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Dream mumbles, hoping that it would be enough for George to brush the matter away.

“I have another question that needs an honest answer.”

Dream hums. He hates the way George is looking at him, as if the wrong question was about to come out of his mouth.

“Did you get that book or did you steal it?”

Yeah, wrong fucking question.

“The book contains too much crucial information it to be given to anyone. Even I can feel that," George pushes and he’s so right Dream can’t bring himself to lie, only cover sugarcoat the truth as much as he can.

“It’s ours. I didn’t steal it, I took it back,” he mutters and George sighs exasperatedly.

“So you got us into trouble,” he concludes.

Dream’s lips part but the words get lost in George’s incriminating eyes. He reaches for his hand and grabs it, one last attempt to reassure him as much as he can.

“It’s okay,” Dream finally breathes. “I’ll make sure everything is okay, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You better because if this goes wrong a human will get involved.”

Sitting in your car in an empty parking lot, you find yourself staring at the object you just bought with a puzzled expression while taking another bite of your bagel. The clueless item, which sits so perfectly still on the passenger seat, seems to be setting a silence you’re not sure how to handle. It’s an awkwardly clear stone in a conical shape attached to a chain reflecting the rays of the sun into iridescent light that spreads above your head and turns the grayish ceiling of the car into something vivid. You take another bite of your food, the only excuse you found to break eye contact for a second, hoping that it would ease the tension that has been growing since you started feeling like the object observed you as much as you observed him. In a long exhale, you end up covering it with your jacket.

You’re not even sure why you bought the pendulum in the first place. Probably a mind busy with a sense of curiosity and the remains of eerie stories you’ve been narrating all morning that still creeped upon you, leaving you feeling a lot more mystic than usual. You just stopped to describe that cryptic looking shop and your steps were leading you inside before you could realize it, the door tinkling as you pushed it open.

The shelves were brimming with crystals and herbs and things you couldn’t identify. From potion ingredients to candles and incense, it looked like the perfect witch den and you hated that it felt so close to home even though it could never be. It was a strange feeling; a sense of belonging as illegitimate as helpless.

Maybe that’s why you wandered around as you did, sight getting filled with questions and a hint of confusion as you analyzed every display meticulously. As if learning more about their world could give you the illusion of being an active part of it. What an irony to hate something you’re so irremediably drawn to.

When you met the object, your attention stopped and you described it with a careful eye. The owner found her way to you; a young lady with faded purple hair and winged liner that made her eyes look like cat’s eyes. She spoke in a funny accent that left you wondering where it could come from. There was something about it -or her- that felt so peculiarly familiar,

“This is a fascinating pendulum, isn’t it?” The woman said, more of a statement than it was a real question. You brushed the impression away and gently smiled at her, not sure what to answer nor even what a pendulum was.

The lady opened the glass cabinet. The chain intertwined with her long fingers and the thing looked more like a jewel when held so delicately and dangling as it was. It swung from back and forth, movements perfectly calibrated. It was inquisitive, a little mesmerizing and, before you knew it, you both were standing on each side of the counter and the lady carefully covered the pendulum with tissue paper.

The way her hair fell behind her ears, the constant smile that was tattooed on her lips, the way the paper crinkled under her fingers, it all grew together to create this one and so lucid déjà vu. The presence felt so intimate, leaving an odd and indelible aftertastes in your throat.

“I’m sorry but haven’t we met before?” You dared to ask as your mind pressured you to.

“Maybe we have,” she simply answered with a soft smile, eyes still locked on the wrapped pendulum. What a weird way to answer a simple question, neither a validation nor a denial.

“I feel like I know you,” you insisted, narrowing your eyes as if you knew there was something more, something that would make everything make sense.

She didn’t say a word, only handed you the small bag she just packed while leading you toward the exit with a hand on your lower back. It wasn’t pressuring but it was firm, an obvious invitation to leave. Maybe you were just being too annoying with the matter and she wouldn’t have been the first one to think so.

“Take care of the pendulum. It’s very special,” she demanded and, just like that, she closed the door of the shop behind you and flipped the card from “open” to “closed”.

You stood puzzled on the pavement for a minute, not too sure how to feel about all of this. Everyday keeps getting weirder and weirder.

The whole experience was odd, really, and maybe that’s why the purchase feels a little wrong, a little off. Like something that was never meant to happen in the first place.

Now, you place an index and a middle finger around the chain. The pendulum dangles, untamed movements that send vibrations against your skin. Your eyes are trying to focus on the stone, to forget about the people walking down the street you still see in your peripheral vision but, as much as you wish for something magical to happen, it’s nothing but a stone that sways aimlessly in the air. You scoff, it just makes the whole thing even more ridiculous. So, you intuitively take a picture of the thing and send it to Corpse before placing it back on the passenger seat.

[Look what I bought,] you type before clicking on the send button.

[Nice pendulum, didn’t know you were interested in that kind of stuff,] Corpse responds

[Me neither but it’s pretty cool, right? I don’t know how to use it though.]

[Why would you buy a pendulum if you don’t know how to use one?]

Thank you Mr Sorcerer, good talk, you mouth with a fake smile that, realistically, looks more like a wince. He always has a way to make you feel so stupid. You don’t feel like responding, too annoyed to give him the credit of asking an interesting question. Yet, your fingers are telling another story.

[Do you wanna teach me, maybe?]

You twist the key inside the ignition. Is this conversation even of any use? It feels like rhetoric at this point; you already know he won’t answer such a question. Yet the phone lights up in your palms before you’re able to put it out of sight. A two letter response that makes you regret hoping he would answer in the first place.

[No.]

There’s this deep exhale as you rub the exasperation out of your face. Why does he always have to be so ungracious? As if bitterness was the only thing he had left. In the end, this is nothing but a reminder that it’s just your friendship with Corpse in a nutshell; shallow and endless exchanges of fuck yous and you toos and that’s just as deep as it can get. You’re stuck inside this infernal game of cat and mouse, looking for a way to approach the real Corpse without him flinching away. This really isn’t of any use. Why would you even try to crawl inside his mind in the first place?

You push the gas pedal, trying not to stare too long at the shop that gets further and further away through the rear-view because, soon enough, you’ll forget about that odd encounter, about that even odder attempt to feel like belonging in a world you could almost think you despise.

You find yourself thinking about Corpse’s harshness, about the expression he probably wears on a face you know nothing about. Can the coldness be seen on his expression every time he chooses the crudest answer? The city scrolls before your eyes and you don’t pay much attention to it. Does he always consider the options or does his mind automatically go to that place where you’re not allowed?

It feels like every response serves a purpose to draw a line you’re so tempted to cross. You sigh heavily. Leaning closer in the purpose of a touch that can never lead anywhere is one weary way to live a friendship. You’re stuck between the wish to get closer and the wish to let go, neither one of the two being a possible thing.

By the time you reach your apartment, it feels like you’re more confused than you usually are. It’s usually so easy to brush it off, to shrug and think that it’s just Corpse being Corpse. Not today, today you're trying to understand an existence that can’t be put into words.

Why can’t I let it go? It’s with that question that you spent the rest of the day answering emails and reading more gruesome stories and now lay restless on your bed. You press the cold pillow against your face as if it would’ve been enough to stifle the question that spreads in your mind like mold. Maybe, at the end of the day, it’s not that you don’t want to let Corpse go, but simply don’t know how to.

The light of the full moon is growing electric, shining so bright that you doubt even being able to sleep.

You fall asleep, eventually, and when you do, you get woken up by the irrepressible necessity to snatch what tickles your nose with an irritating vigor.

Huh?

Your vision gets clearer as you become aware of your surroundings; vastness of meadow and cottony clouds passing fast in a blue sky. Your body rolls on what feels like a picnic blanket under your touch. You sit up abruptly, meeting the eyes of the one who sits cross legged in front of you.

Dream?

Your lips part to talk but you find yourself unable to let a word escape your grip. The energy that emanates from Dream is familiar but this face is new. He never showed it. A secret he wasn’t ready to share before.

Quite the irony if you think too much about it; the man granted you a secret that probably could have ruined his life but has never been comfortable enough to show his face.

You describe his face; green eyes that show confidence, a good amount of pride and wrinkle under a rooted smile as dirty blond hair frame the whole living painting.

If it wasn’t for the feeling that agitated your heart, you would’ve believed to be in front of a complete stranger. Warmth agitated your heart. The leap of faith he took months ago reflects on the softness he never fails to perform. Warmth and relief to have the confirmation that, after all, Dream is still here.

You try to talk again but no breath dares to fall out of your mouth as relief gets caught in your knotted throat. You wish you could wrap your arms around him, you wish you could cry from worrying so much.

It’s with the same gentleness he radiates that he raises a kettle to pour steaming water in a tea cup that sits in front of you.

“Why aren’t you wearing your mask, Dream?” You say, head leaning on the side with a confusion that is starting to grow more and more intense.

“Do I really need to hide my face any longer?” He answers as he hands you a slice of fruit pie on a golden detailed plate. The wind gently ruffles his hair and you find yourself deep diving inside your own mind in search of an answer to a question that really is more rhetorical than anything.

The meadow is as endless as essentially peaceful but there’s something so bittersweet about it. Maybe it’s the silence that makes the wind’s whistle so clear and the lack of human contact even more obvious, maybe it’s Dream’s unexpected presence. In any case, there’s something about those stirring eyes that makes your mind wander near the ghost of a presentiment you’ve been willing to forget this whole time; am I dreaming?

“This place isn’t real, is it?” You ask and Dream’s eyes lower to his tea cup, only proof that he heard the question since he doesn’t acknowledge it verbally. The light gets softer as a cloud obscures the sun and you wonder; if you were to touch him right now, would you even be able to? It’s a tempting wish for a confirmation that Dream isn’t only a chimera, something that would’ve been meant to ease a bit of disorientation.

“It is real but-”

“-but we’re not really here,” you complete the answer as you nod. It’s just a dream. “How do I know that you’re real and not only the fruit of my imagination?”

“Because I know this place and you don’t,” Dream answers and it’s as obvious as deprived of any sense.

You bring a spoon of pie to your mouth, doubting that this would be enough to prove anything. The sourness of the fruits awaken your tongue and he mimics your movements. There’s something so fundamentally confusing about doing something so domestic when it feels like you’re missing the whole point of it. The quietness being more of a hindrance than an actual help. You’re willing to brush the doubts away and believe that Dream is really here.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” You ask. The chances of an answer are thin but you simply can’t help it. Dream shakes his head and pinches his lips together. You hold eye contact, hoping to be able to get an intelligible message in those emerald irises.

“Well, have you been safe at least?”

And now he scrunches his nose as he can never be fully honest yet never dares to lie. Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe you wish he could lie from time to time and you could persuade yourself that it’s the truth as you did with his presence inside your dream.

You’re about to continue the interrogation when he interrupts you, “I’ll answer one more question.”

You huff, as if his facial expressions were actual answers.

“You said you knew this place and I believe you didn’t choose it randomly which means you wanted to show it to me … so where are we?”

And now there’s a full wince on his face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands in the air. You just love Dream’s way of answering questions, don’t you? The annoyance is throbbing, the simplest question becomes the most complex puzzle. You look away, plucking some grass mechanically to release the tension that is growing in your fingers.

“My turn. So you tried to use a spell and bought a pendulum,” Dream says before brushing the cup against his lips. “Bold move for someone who hates magic,” and your attention gets back on him; eyes sparkling and proud grin as if he finally proved a point he tried to make a long time ago. He probably did in a way but you won’t let him hear the whole story as it’s more embarrassing than anything.

“So that’s what you wizards do, huh,” you scoff as you raise an eyebrow. “You text each other to make fun of me?”

Dream doesn’t answer, lashes fluttering slowly as to let you steep in your own question but it only pushes you to talk more, “I have to handle this on my own since you're apparently not willing to help me with my issues.”

“Y/n,” he sighs to bring you back to a reality he thinks you’re too far from. “You don’t wanna get rid of the issues.”

You raise an eyebrow to the audacity, “Why not?”

“The spell didn’t work because neither one of you is ready to let go of the other, so what do you want me to do? There’s nothing I can do if you’re not willing to let go,” Dream explains, “and it’s pretty obvious that you’re not.”

Is it? Your mind hisses. Dream’s voice rings with a confidence that is as irritating as unwelcomed but, maybe, it’s just the way you react when he gets too close to an unwarranted truth. He isn’t as wrong as you wish he was. Why can’t you just let it go?

“Oh come on now, was I ever wrong before?” He continues while the words tangle in your brain for too long. You can clearly picture the wide and oh so proud grin that adorns his lips and you mumble something under your breath that is either related to a cuss or a request for the bragging to stop.

“I don’t want to get rid of him. I just hate that our paths always end up intertwining,” you admit in a deep exhale.

“Of course they do,” Dream murmurs. The words linger before fading away. It’s so gentle that, by the time you realize the breath was a whisper, it’s already too late to ask him to repeat himself. You remain silent, eyes fixed on the steam that escapes from your tea cup as you reconsider saying out loud the words that are hitching your throat so badly.

“It’s not as if a relationship with a sorcerer would be something fruitful or anything anyway.”

Shit.

Dream chokes on his tea he almost spit. You wish you could apologize and say that you didn’t mean the harsh words that left your mouth but it’s nothing but a truth that has to be owned.

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t see a relationship by its loss and benefits.”

“You know it’s not what I meant,” you retort. “I would never be able to be with someone who is so secretive about their life. I mean, to the point where they can’t even answer a simple question like ‘where have you been’.”

“I know,” Dream mumbles, quiet and whispery voice that almost melts into the wind that brushes against the tall grass, “but some things are just better left unsaid.”

It shatters the last glimpse of patience you have left. You can already feel your eyes going wide, ready to roll to the back of your head. You’ve heard this sentence too many times for it to be acceptable.

“See? This fruitless conversation is literally my point,” you complain while throwing a hand in the air.

The silence returns. It’s more irritating than any word could be. It feels like the conversation is about to get too heavy to be endured and you know it can never go that way with Dream. The arguments are always sterile, filled with forbidden words that never work at anyone’s advantage. That’s why you exhale deeply and force yourself to move to a lighter subject, “beside, if I were to decide which sorcerer I’d want to be with, I’m pretty sure I’d choose you.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite human,” Dream sings cheerfully and you can’t repress a smile from creeping on your lips.

“No I’m not. I’m just the only human you talk to on a daily basis,” you snort, “and I would only choose you because you’re the less secretive out of the two I know- which speaks volumes about the level of ignorance I’m on.”

“But you can’t choose, can you?” He trails in a low voice and the thought echoes inside your brain for a long time. His lashes flutter slowly, matching a soft smile that seems too compassionate for the situation, almost a little filled with pity.

“No, I can’t,” you finally conclude after thinking about it for a second and there’s something about that conclusion that almost rings as a confession you’re not sure you should be making in the first place. Spoon rattles against the plates and the sun seems to be back, shining to its fullest capacity. The rest of the tasting in silence, trying to brush every matter out of your sleeves to enjoy a time you’ve been waiting for so long.

“I have to go,” Dream informs you and you raise an eyebrow.

“What, now?” You ask, confused. “We haven’t even finished our picnic.”

“I know, peaches, but I don’t have much time left in here. Call me when you wake up and I promise we’ll catch up.”

Dream gets up and walks through the grass away from you. His silhouette gets smaller and smaller and just as he’s about to make one with the horizon, he turns around, “You were the one who brought up the whole ‘being in a relationship’ thingy. I never implied that.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

[Join the Discord VC,] Dream orders.

Corpse drops the phone on the side table as he lies down, eyes wandering around the crowded room where shelves are filled with books that haven't been read in decades and items he collected from his travels. The white light of the moon mirrors onto every shiny objects. Fatigue burns his eyes and even though it feels like a poker shot, he feels ready to try and get some sleep.

[Stop playing hard to get and join the VC, there’s y/n too,] Dream pushes.

He huffs. Even though he tries his best to keep you at a reasonable distance, you still appear everywhere his eyes lay, do you? He won’t answer, he knows he won’t. His body aches for some earned rest he hasn’t been able to wrap around in a shameful amount of weeks. Corpse exhales heavily, turning left and right on his bed to find the ultimate position he doesn’t seem to find. There’s always a bother he can’t get out of his shoulders. You keep creeping upon his mind as if you had the right to.

He won’t get involved, he knows he won't, but the night rings differently and maybe Corpse is longing to share it with someone a little more than expected. His attention falls upon the plant on a shelf, a distraction from a silence that is almost tempting. It looks miserable and the issue hitches his brain. He gets up, one touch and the plant looks alive again.

In another heavy sigh that drains all the air out of his lungs, Corpse stretches his sore limbs and tense back. He drags his feet to the desk and the computer illuminates the room as much as it hurts his tired eyes. He sits, soulless, for a couple of seconds while still debating whether he should join the call or not before ultimately giving in.

“-stupid. You don’t deserve any apology, Dream,” you roar and Corpse is blown away by a high energy that violently contrasts his.

He has no idea why he joined. It feels like he shouldn’t be here -and he probably really shouldn’t-. You blind him with an enthusiasm he doesn’t know how to handle and surely would never be able to match. He remains silent as voices and wheezes chime too loudly for a disoriented mind like his.

The mouse gets dragged across the screen, he’s so ready to end it before it even had the chance to really start. There’s no point in him being here and he feels like a fool for thinking there was one at some point. Yet, Dream greets him before he is able to.

Fuck.

“What are you doing up so late, you freaks?” Corpse grunts before swallowing a breath. His voice is thundering in a place where the echo is too clear for him to ignore how intense he sounds, too intense for the light mood he felt seconds ago. He doesn’t belong here, he shouldn’t have joined that damn call.

“Why, hello emo Howl, Dream here agreed to teach me how to use a pendulum because he actually cares,” you taunt maliciously as if you didn’t care, as if he never killed a mood he shouldn’t even have bothered to kill.

And now, he realizes there’s no use pushing you away as it only makes him look like the bad guy and doesn’t actually do the requested job. Now that it’s so clear, he almost feels a little guilty, mostly stupid.

“That’s not what I said,” Dream retorts but your voice is already flooding everyone’s headphones with quotes he never stated in the first place and he eventually has to give up.

Your laugh is so candid as you and Dream bicker, so organic and contagious Corpse can’t help but pinch his lips not to smile too. But he gets it now; you just don’t know how to take no for an answer. It’s what makes you so overly annoying but maybe that’s also why he always ends up obliging to whatever request you have to make.

The conversation drifts on and off. Corpse discovers a bond he would have never expected. It’s deep and oh so pretty and it feels like whatever it is, you and Dream are made of the same thing. There comes a point where Corpse wishes he could stop feeling like the outcast and join a conversation he’s somehow scared to interrupt. How nice could it be to be so close to someone? How nice could it be having someone who is there no matter what? He forbids himself to explore the idea. He used to know and now he only has to look through the mirror to really see how nice it is. It’s an illegitimate sense of envy that pinches his heart and tastes helplessly bittersweet.

“Anyway,” you say as the chuckles fall breathless. “Corpse, did you know it was the full moon tonight?”

“Oh really?” He breathes before wincing. He’s well aware that it’s the full moon; he’s a goddamn sorcerer. One glance around him and he can see its reflection into thousands of pieces across the room.

“See?” Dream triumphs

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh heavily, throwing a side eye to your screen in which Dream and Corpse’s drawn icons are displayed. “I thought you guys would like … dance naked in circles in a forest or something.”

Dream’s confusion is loud in his tone and Corpse surprises himself to laugh at the theatrical tone you chose to deliver the words How cute. Humans are so naive, believing everything they hear and see on TV.

“So, you guys don’t do anything particular on the full moon,” you conclude, seemingly a little upset.

“I do, but that doesn’t imply … t-that,” Dream answers with a tone that blends discomfort and amusement.

Maybe it is as nice as he thought it would be; being able to share a peaceful night and a glimpse of joy with people who seem to care.

That’s why you’re so dangerous; you’re so spontaneous you make him wish he were too. It’s one thing to play with fire. It’s another to play with your own life; too risky to be worth it. Yet, everybody who has experienced l’appel du vide would recognize that thrilling sensation inside their chest. As much as Corpse wants to keep you as far away as possible, you keep reminding him that you’re the tingling sensation on the back of his shoulder.

“What about you, Corpse?” You ask.

“I-I don’t really actively practice magic anymore,” he stutters as if he wasn’t expecting to be given a voice.

“Oh, why not?”

The question echoes inside his mind. Why not? He knows there’s a good explanation but right now it feels like his mind can’t wrap itself around it. He knows there is one yet it feels as though he has forgotten. It confuses him as he parts his lips with a frown, expecting an answer to come out but the words tangle with each other and won’t leave his tongue.

“Well I gotta go,” Dream interrupts the train of his thoughts and it’s almost comforting for Corpse to know that he doesn’t have to further torture his own mind. “You two be nice to each other," he orders and you’re already whining and complaining about his sudden escape.

“What do you wanna do, Corpse, do you wanna go to bed?” You ask.

Behind the loudness and vulgarity you’re always performing, Corpse understands now that there’s a certain elegance in the way you interact with him. A delicacy that resides in the tone of your voice. As if you cared, really cared about what he has to say. How could you still think of him as a friend when he keeps treating you so poorly? He doesn’t deserve it, deprived of a sense of empathy they took away from him too long ago.

“I’m not really tired,” he lies as if you didn’t already know that fatigue was his trademark. He’s surprised you don’t point out the fact that he keeps lying for obscure reasons.

It’s not like he would complain about it. The silence the night brings along is contemplative. He wishes there would be more night like this, when time would almost stop to let him catch his breath. Somehow, he feels like it could be filled with something good, something worth it.

“What are you thinking about?” Corpse asks in an attempt to explore that peaceful quietness.

“I wonder what magic could look like,” you answer with what you deem to be an useless honesty.

The question is stupid but he doesn’t seem to find it funny, considering it with a gentle seriousness before saying,“Do you want me to show you?”

A grin grows on your lips, heart beating with anticipation, “Would you really do that?”

Corpse hums and you lift your head as requested. You stare at the ceiling where shadows move when headlights are projected on the windows. There’s a long pause -too long for your impatient mind- before multiple sparkles of light spread on your ceiling. They twinkle and crakle like fairylights and multiply in front of your amazed eyes. Soon they gather and turn the dark ceiling into a starry night.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you admire the stars that seem to be floating above your head as if they have always been here, as if they belonged to you.

“Is it working ?” Corpse asks nervously when you’re too silent for his liking.

“What do you mean ‘is it working’? This is fucking amazing, Corpse,” you choke out as you giggle as frenetically until your belly hurts. There’s no human words fitted to describe this state of perplexity and admiration. There's no such beautiful and clear sky in the city, that's why it's so special.

Corpse laughs with you. It’s nothing new but, somehow, in the quietness of the night, it vibrates differently. It doesn’t sound like the kind of forced chuckle he makes when he feels like people are expecting him to laugh but rather genuine and oh so endearing.

You thought you could never enjoy anything related to magic but now you realize that maybe it’s more likely that you never learned how to grow fond of it. When a shootingstar crosses the crafted sky, you both exclaim a "oh" before faintly chuckling. You let your back rest on the chair, imagining that Corpse is probably doing the same and looking at the same sky you’re looking at.

“It feels like you’re sitting next to me right now,” you murmur and it feels so special to be able to share a moment that seems so intimate that it makes your heart warm from a proximity you never knew could be possible.

“You’re cute,” Corpse breathes before he can realize it and once he does, it’s too late to take it back.

“No I’m not,” you grumble between your teeth.

“Sure, if you say so,” he finally shrugs in a battle he knows he can’t win.

Somehow, it feels like a turning point you can sense in a feeling nested inside your chest; a sense of novelty that makes you a little nervous as you don’t know if it’s for the best or the worst. Yet, this new beginning feels like it’s about honesty.

“Are you happy, y/n?” Corpse whispers and it’s so faint you wonder if it’s meant for you to hear.

“I am,” you still answer with a soft smile. “Are you happy?”

“I try to be,” he says after considering the question for a while. A confirmation that you wish you never had to deal with. It sends you back to every conversation that ended up in half bitten words and a concerning amount of melancholia that almost choked you even though it wasn’t yours.

It clicks. Bitterness is not the only thing Corpse has left in him. It’s a protection.

“Why are you so sad, Corpse?”

When the words linger for too long and he can no longer stare at the stars above his head, his throat gets sore, lips trembling as he bites them firmly. He feels seen in a way he thought he was safe from. It’s discomforting, unnerving and a spike that threats to burst into his heart. He takes a moment to remember that he has to breathe. He always seems to forget.

“Because when you live for so long, you live through everything,” Corpse mutters and that’s as honest as he can be.

“And everyone,” you conclude and he hums dryly.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” You ask, knowing damn well that the amount of deep conversation has passed a long time ago and that the loan you’re deciding to take will have some sort of consequence. “If you keep hoping for the people who haunt you to come back, you’ll never be able to cherish the ones who are actually in front of you.”

The words tinkle in Corpse’s head in an odd way like a call for an awakening. He remembers that Sykkuno used to tell him the same thing; it’s time to let it go. It rises inside his lung like a sea of anguish he’s not ready for and it’s so overwhelming it’s animating him with emotions that are too violent for him to think.

“So what?” he scoffs, “are you saying that you’re the one in front of me?”

“I’m not the one who should answer that question,” you simply answer. It’s not enough, it’s not enough for him to make up his mind. Is that a yes or a no? He can’t think and the words are crumbling, too eager to get out.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says with an unexpectedly strong voice that spreads shivers on your arm. “There’s no place for a human in my life.”

“Good because I don’t like sorcerers,” you thunder before ending the call abruptly.

You sit on your chair puzzled for a second. What the fuck was that?

☾ A/N : WOOOOOW I can't believe I finally finished this chapter it's surreal. I can't even begin to tell you how much I wrote and rewrote this I just COULDNT DO IT!!! Thank you for your patience it has been the wildest ride (I feel like I say that every time but hehe) Anyway thanks for reading I feel like shit is finally about to get started in here and I'm so damn excited!! As always let me know what you think and Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* dm me or ask me to get tagged :

@open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ; @imsuchtrashhelp ; @clubfairy ; @boiled-onionrings ; @thatlonelyalto ; @thatsouthernblondewiththeass ; @tiaamberxx ; @thesecretwriterblog ; @takoyakiuchiha ; @majasophieanna

#the sorcerer #corpse husband #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x reader #corpse x you #corpse x y/n #corpse imagine #corpse fanfic #reincarnation au

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fandom-eclectics · 3 years

Note

Hello! I heard about your event and your prompts are soooo good, it was so difficult to choose! I may send you another request after this one, but if only one request is accepted per person, then just choose the one that inspires you the most!

Prompt 3 with night, zombie and dagger for Izuku Midoriya! ~☕

Ooooooo, now see, THIS, THIS RIGHT HERE, was the perfect opportunity for some fantasy!! Also thank you so much, the event was honestly so fun to make! You can send in another request if you like, but my limit is three per person. Should probably put that on the thing but I didn’t think the prompts would be that hard to choose from lol 😅. Have a wonderful day/night, also sorry this took so long!!

60 Followers Event

|| 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕊𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔸 𝔻𝕒𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝 𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕖𝕞𝕚 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 ||

Character: Deku x reader

Status: Proofread

Reader: fem // okay with a dagger // has a sister //nothing else mentioned

Type: Oneshot // Fluff /: Angst

Warnings: death, mentions of blood, this does not end happily y’all, but I suck at angst and un-happy endings so be ready to cringe. No fr y’all, this cringe to the max.

A/n: first time writing an unhappy ending and idk how to feel. I hate these types of Oneshots, just cause I always feel like I need closure. So, if it’s any concern to you guys…..they live happily ever after, idk how, but they find a way. Okay, now on to the real world and the actual story. Hope you enjoy! :)

You lay awake in your bed, the moonlight shining through the large window that overlooked your bedroom. Sighing, you got up to get some water. Instantly shivering because of going from heavy comforters to nothing. The castle was always cold during the winter, no matter how many fires they kept burning. The nightgown wasn’t any help either with how thin and short the Royal stylist insisted on it being. At least it was a smooth silver silk, so it was comfortable.

Going to grab a cup out of the small cabinet you kept in the corner of your room beside the bathroom entrance. You opened the cabinet that was painted white and noticed something before you were able to snatch your cup and go. You noticed it every day, every time you had to get something out of the cabinet. No matter how many times you saw it, the sting didn’t let off.

The piece of parchment had words written on every inch of it, the top ones starting to fade from age. On the upper half, was sloppy and very obviously a young boy’s proclamation of love. The bottom half was neat, and a more formal and poetic confession of falling in love.

You knew who it was from, and before you could say no to your mind, your thoughts drifted towards him. The green haired, freckled faced, waide eyed, knight. He was always so determined to be the best, very strong willed and tough. When it came to flirting and socializing though, he was a hot mess. Blushing, stuttering, the whole thing.

You two had been, well, “friends” for ages. You had known each other since you where children.

Your first real memory of all the drama happening with you two was when you were right. You had asked your sister what love felt like. You always saw her, and her fiancé kissing and looking all lovingly at each other. You wanted to know how you had to feel towards a person to do that.

She had told you that it felt like you had butterflies in your stomach every time you looked at the person. She had told you that it felt like you could be yourself around the person. However, she had emphasized that most importantly you knew you were in love, when you would do anything for the person.

In your eight year old brain, Izuku Midoriya checked all the boxes. You always knew your stomach felt weird when you two would hold hands whilst walking, or got up close when looking at a particular creature in the palace garden. You knew you could tell Izuku about anything and everything. Even your imaginary friends, and your stuffed unicorns secret name. Even at eight, you knew you’d sacrifice anything for Izuku.

Our aspiring knight Izuku Midoriya or Deku felt the same way. He wanted to become a knight so he could protect you, and be with you for all his life. Well, not that you needed much protecting. He knew even at a young age you could take care of yourself. He just wanted to be there to live along side you, go on adventures with you, and just, we’ll just be with you.

So, one day when you two were walking in the garden he asked you if you knew what a kiss was. Of course you said yes, you saw your sister do it all the time with her fiance, but you had never don it. Deku’s follow up question was if you had wondered what it felt like. To that, you answered yes as well. You had always wanted a kiss on the lips from him, as much as you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. Innocent eight-year old thoughts of giving Izuku a peck on the lips sometimes clouded your mind.

So, it happened. You two ended having a quick kiss. To which, you both declared that it felt weird and you would never do it again. Even though it gave you a weird kind of exhilarating feeling. Same as for him.

Nothing else happened until you two were twelve and he asked you on a “date”. All you two did was sit and drink tea, but to you, it was just like what you had read about in your romance stories. You both ended up wrapping up the date with a kiss, and this time, you both admitted to yourselves that it wasn’t weird. In fact, that you should do it more often.

So, for the next year, you two were in somewhat of a relationship. Whilst Deku was focused on knight training, and you were emersed in your studies. You two still found time to steal a kiss here and there. You both also wrote letters to each other, and he would randomly give you flowers from the palace gardens.

Sadly, this thrill of a new blooming relationship only lasted a year before your father caught on and shut it down immediately. He told you he already had a man picked out for you to marry, and you wouldn’t be meddling around with any commoners. You tried to protest that Izuku wasn’t a commoner, we was a knight. Well, a knight in training, but still. Your father didn’t want to hear it. So, you and Izuku went back to being friends.

Correction, you tried going back to just friends. It was hard here and there to not kiss him on the cheek. Or for him to not bring you flowers from the gardens. When they reminded him of you ever so much. You two kept this weird limbo of friendship and relationship up until your sixteenth birthday. That’s when it all fell apart.

Your father engaged you to a prince in another kingdom, and forbid you to have any other men in your life until you two were wed. That was that, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to Izuku.

You had tried reaching out to him, only getting one response back saying that you needed to stop contacting him or else you would ruin his dreams of becoming a knight. So, you halted on sending letters, and just accepted your heartbreak.

You accepted that all the things you and Izuku had dreamed up about the future would never happen. The small cottage in the woods, the bunny named carrots and the cat named Millie. The 3 kids adopted from the orphanage, and the flower garden. All of it was now down the drain.

You tried not to let tears well up in your eyes as you stepped into the bathroom to fill your glass of water. It had been 7 months, you needed to get over him. The problem was, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t.

Taking you from your thoughts was a loud crashing sound that came from your room. You quickly set the glass down on the counter, and grabbed one of the daggers you had hidden in a jar near the sink.

You cautiously stepped into your room to see what all the noise was about when your eyes widened. Something had smashed through your door, and was holding up a wooden chair.

From what you could see it looked like a monster, like a zombie. It was slimy green skin, and glowing red eyes. It’s teeth were rotted and it groaned and growled. It was staggering towards you, and that’s when you went to throw your dagger.

The zombie, however, was quicker. It took the chair it held and chucked it right at you.

Thankfully, your stomach took the blow and not your head. You still headed for the floor at an alarming rate, but your head was okay, and nothing dot broken. Everything seemed to be okay until you saw a piece of wood jabbed into your arm, the wound starting to gush blood out of the sides the wood wasn’t covering. You went to pull it out, but then remembered you had read somewhere that it was best to leave it in, because it kept you from bleeding too much.

The zombie slowly staggered towards you. It’s skin slime rubbing all over the beautiful light wood floors of the palace. His eyes glowing in the almost complete darkness of the moon. You looked behind you, and to your dismay, the large window that made up the biggest wall in your room was getting closer. The clouds had covered the moon, taking away your only source of light.

If only you had a torch. You remembered reading that zombies hated fire, fire and sunlight. You didn’t have any sunlight, but if only you could get fire. That was something, at this time, that wouldn’t have been impossible to reach if you had been more prepared. If your thoughts hadn’t been so clouded, if you had thought things through.

Your mind swirled with ifs and ands. You were panicking, and losing distance between the hostile creature quickly. This is where I die, this is how it ends you thought. Yet there had been so many things you had yet to do, yet to achieve, yet to accomplish.

You saw all those things flash before your eyes as the monster in front of you, got in your face, it greasy patches of hair swinging forward as it hissed at you, jerking it’s face inches from yours. It showed it’s rotted and sharp fangs.

It’s cold and dirty hand reached for your arm. The zombie’s grip was like iron. It’s hand was bony, so it was cutting into your skin ever so slightly. It brought it’s hand to it’s mouth, ready to bite you, and infect you with it’s poison.

You clenched your eyes shut, you had accepted defeat. Though, you wanted to have last words, just in case someone, anyone, had any chance of hearing you.

“I love you Izu, I always have.” You spoke, tears starting to stream down your face.

All of a sudden, you felt the grip loosen intensely. You saw the glow leave from the zombies eyes. Then, you noticed the blood that started dripping onto the ground. A sword had been jabbed right through the zombies heart. You jumped back as the sword was pulled out, and made another jab through the head.

The creature fell to the ground, unmoving, lifeless. Whoever saved you deserved a big thank you, or at the very least a hug. You looked up at the holder of the sword, low and behold, it was none other than Izuku Midoriya.

“I didn’t hear what you said, so apologies if it was supposed to be a meaningful statement.” He confessed, then offered his hand to you to help you up.

“I thought they would be my last words.” You said, taking his hand.

“Thankfully they weren’t.” He gave you a soft smile as he pulled you off the ground.

“What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in months? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me!” You insisted, word spilling out after the other unintentionally.

“I- well, Y/n I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave our relationship like that. Your father made me send the letter. After that, he threatened to pull me out of training if I didn’t stay away from you. I wanted to come and see you, I really did, but I had so many people counting on me and I just…” he trailed off, and you saw a single tear trail down his cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I-I understand.” You said, relieved, pulling him into a hug.

“No, no it’s not okay.” He started, on what you imagined to be a long statement, as he held you in his arms. “I/n, I’ve known since I was eight, since I was a child. You were the only person I didn’t have to think about what to do, think about what to say, think about how to think around. I never worked up the courage to actually tell you, or do something about it. Besides that stupid letter I wrote, but obviously it meant nothing because I was driven away so easily.” He took a deep breath.

“From now on, I refuse to be driven away from you, by anything. Not your father’s threats, or your new fiancé’s persuasions. Y/‘, I-“ Izuku was about to utter the most meaningful thing he would ever say.

Sadly, those beautiful words were replaced by a painful cry. Quickly registering what was happening you grabbed Izuku’s weird and stabbed the zombie that had just bit him in the head, and in the heart for good measure.

Izuku had fallen to the ground, tightly gripping his shoulder, cringing at the intensity of the pain.

You kneeled down beside him, and cupped his face in your hands. You felt your heart beating so fast you could hear it in your ears, you could sense it in your soul. It was as if someone had finally given you a piece of solid happiness, and it was melting to water quickly, falling through your fingers.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise, we can find a cure, we can do something, we can.” Your voice cracked after that, the tears in your eyes started to fall.

Now you would really never be able to achieve all those dreams you and Izuku had. You two being apart from each other because of different pathways in life was so much better. You would know he was alive, and you could always hold out hope that there would be a chance for him to appear at your doorstep one day.

If he died, then you’d have nothing, no hope, no opportunity, no dream. You’d have a loveless marriage and a lonely life. The colors and the gardens would slowly fade away, until they would cease to exist. All because Izuku Midoriya, your literal knight in shining armor would be dead.

“Y/n, please don’t cry, you’ll make me cry, and I don’t want to cry. “ He begged you, tears starting to well up in his eyes, his voice becoming shaky.

“Izu, what were you going to say earlier, before you got bit?” You asked him, you had to know.

“I love you, that’s what Iwas going to say, was that I love you, and I was never going to let you go again. Clearly that’s not the case now.” He ended the statement with a bitter tone.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything?” You pleaded, you wanted to do something, anything.

“Can I have one more kiss?Just one?” He asked, making those same puppy dog eyes he was always the master at.

You fulfilled the ask and pulled him into a kiss. It was a long and passionate one. So many unspoken words were in it. Chances that were never taken, dreams that would never be achieved. It was all channeled into this one physical connection between both of your lips.

You pulled away, and you muttered a quiet “You’ll always live in my heart.” Before you saw his eyes start to turn red, his skin start to wilt, and drip slime.

Taking the sword from earlier, you stabbed him right through the heart. The heart, that had always belonged to you.

You are so loved! <3

Have an amazing day/night! :)

Taglist: @luluwiie

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wizardofrozz · 3 years

Text

Put to the Test

Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Now it’s time for Roz to spill all the secrets from her past.

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, angst, mention of past trauma

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Chapter 5: Secrets

A blinding light broke through my eyelids when I finally started to wake up. I opened my eyes, blinking a few times, trying to figure out where I was. My vision finally started to clear, and I realized I was lying on a table in the compound in Bruce’s lab. I sat up, looking around, when my eyes landed on Bucky lying on another table across from me. His eyes were closed, sweat covered his face, but I couldn’t tell where he got hit. I swung my legs around and jumped down from the table, quickly made my way to the mirror over the sink in Bruce’s lab, pulled my shirt off, and checked my left shoulder. The bandages covered where I got shot; it ached slightly, but it wasn’t anything too severe, and it would heal in a day or so; thank you, Super-Soldier serum. I gently poked around my left shoulder, trying to figure out where the bullet hole was. I glanced over at Bucky when I accidentally pushed too hard on my wound. I poked my left shoulder and had to bite my tongue to stop from yelling out in pain; then I noticed when I poked my shoulder, Bucky’s body tensed too. My head started spinning from a combination of pain and confusion; what the fuck was happening. I slowly walked over to Bucky’s side again, hoping he was just waking up and it had nothing to do with me, but he didn’t move again. I reluctantly reached toward my shoulder again, keeping my eyes on Bucky, and pressed into the spot again, grinding my teeth against the pain. As soon as my finger pressed into my shoulder, Bucky’s arched off the table, and he yelled so loud I almost reached to cover my ears. Once the pain subsided, his shoulders slammed down again, but his breathing was heavy, ragged. The door behind me slammed open, making me jump.

“What the- “Bruce cut off as he ran into the room. “You’re awake. Why was he yelling?” he asked as he walked towards the table. I couldn’t take it anymore, my legs collapsed out from under me, and I fell to my knees, breathing hard. “Roz, hey, what’s going on?” Bruce knelt next to me.

“Where was he shot?” I whispered.

“That’s the question of the hour. I can’t find a bullet hole. Did Bucky hit his head or something?” Bruce asked, looking up from his phone over his glasses.

“No? Not that I remember, at least. But…. if he’s not shot, why does it hurt him then!” my voice rose as I continued to talk.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, stroking my arm.

“If he wasn’t shot, then why when I, accidentally, hit the wound, did it hurt him?” I yelled through tears.

“I’m hoping I have an answer to that question. Nat and Steve told me what was going on with you guys, so I've been running tests while you two have been unconscious. I got some interesting results,” Bruce spoke to me softly.

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping he’ll come around soon,” Bruce gave me a sad smile. “Now, let me see your shoulder again,” Bruce said as he helped me to my feet. He slowly reached towards me and unwrapped the bandages; he gently poked around the entry wound. “Okay, lift your arm as much as you can so I can wrap it up again,” Bruce rolled over to his medical supply cabinet. Bruce came back with more bandages; lifting my arm sent a jolt of pain through my arm, then suddenly Bucky yelled out again, but this time he shot up into a sitting position. Bucky was panting and holding his arm, still yelling, but it was getting weaker. Bruce pulled his hand back; I rushed to Bucky’s side and laid my hand on his leg.

“Bucky, Bucky,” I said, squeezing his calf. He finally looked at me, and relief flooded across his face, and his breathing starts to even out again.

“What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” he sounded out of breath, but he was responsive.

“I got shot,” I said softly, still rubbing his leg.

“What! Wait, was I?” he asked, looking at his shoulder.

“No, you’re fine. Why?” I asked, confused.

“Why the hell does my arm hurt so bad,” his voice rose in pitch as he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” I kept my eyes on his face.

“Well, it’s metal. I don’t have nerve endings anymore. If you pull or twist my arm, it hurts up by my collar bone, but even if I did get shot, it shouldn’t hurt. But it does,” his voice got softer. “Where were you shot?” he looked up at me.

“Left shoulder,” I said, vaguely gesturing to my arm.

“What the fuck, what is going on?” he looked over my head at Bruce, directing his question at him.

“I think I know what’s happening,” Bruce said over his shoulder while he messed around on his computer. Nat and Steve burst through the room with Wanda in tow before Bruce said anything else; they made a beeline towards us.

“What the hell happened?” Nat said, grabbing my face a little too tight.

“We have no idea. Apparently, Bruce has an answer though,” I noticed Bucky was looking at me while I spoke. “Hi Wanda, when did you get here?” I asked.

“Hi Roz, Hi Bucky, I got here a few hours ago,” she smiled a little. Bruce handed Wanda a folder with a smile before she turned to leave again. Wanda saw me looking at her; she nodded towards Bucky, a smirk pulling at her lips when she winked before hurrying out of the room.

“Okay, you guys probably want to sit down for this,” Bruce said as he pulled a chair over. I looked for a chair, but Bucky moved over and offered me a seat on the table with him. I climbed up next to him, noticing the pain in my shoulder was already subsiding; thank you again, Super-Soldier serum. Bucky put his hand on my knee briefly before turning his attention to Bruce; I wish he wouldn’t have let go. “So try to keep up because this is going to sound weird. I did full-body scans on both of you, a blood test, and ran your DNA; I was hoping something would jump out at me, but nothing did. Well, nothing abnormal for Super Soldiers at least,” Bruce stopped for a second.

“Wait, you’re a Super Soldier too?” Bucky whispered to me.

“No amount of training could let me kick your ass if I wasn’t,” I gave him a small smile.

“How?” he said softly.

“We have a lot to talk about,” I said, patting his leg and looking at Bruce again.

“So after nothing seemed abnormal, I did more tests, comparing DNA and things like that. Don’t worry; you’re not related or anything,” Bruce chuckled when Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “This is where it gets weird. I compared your DNA and blood contents. I don’t know what it is, or how it happened or how it works, but it’s almost like your DNA depends on each other,” Bruce said before sitting down again.

“I don’t understand,” I said blankly.

“Well, whatever or whoever did this intertwined yours and Bucky’s DNA, in a way I’ve never seen before, connecting the two of you,” Bruce said quickly.

“So, the electric, firework feeling that happens when we touch is?” I asked, growing more confused. It hit me, somehow, someway, Hydra had something to do with this. I felt a pang of guilt; I should’ve talked to Bucky about his time as the Winter Soldier; I never thought we could’ve been with Hydra at the same time, let alone the same place.

“Basically, it’s your bodies reacting to your DNA finding the rest of itself,” Bruce smiled. “When I looked at your DNA strand, somehow, someone altered the DNA strand with, I guess the best thing to call it is, a biological, electronic receiver. These empty pieces contain electronic receptors that code strictly to Bucky’s companion piece. It’s unbelievable, I have no idea how someone managed to do this, but it took a lot of work. The way they made your DNA strand accept this insert and continue to replicate it without rejecting it is unbelievable, and it’s fascinating. I plan on studying it more if you don’t mind,” Bruce said, turning back to his computer.

“Uh no, go ahead,” I said, barely paying attention anymore. My head started to pound, my vision was blurry, and I kept seeing flashes of something that I couldn’t make out; it felt like someone reached into my chest, squeezing my lungs.

“So, what we are feeling, isn’t a bad thing?” Bucky asked quietly.

“From what I can see, no. If I were you guys, I’d try to be happy; you were artificially made for each other,” Bruce gave us a tight smile. Before I heard anymore, I stood up a little too quickly and stumbled into the hall. I faintly heard my name behind me, but I need to get outside; I needed fresh air. I don’t remember how I made it to the compound's front door, but once I opened it and felt fresh on my face, I fell to my knees. I started to take deep breaths, hoping to chase away the memories that were flashing through my head. Memories of that retched dark basement, the barely manageable pain, dead bodies, a cramped tiny cell, and the last memory was the back of someone’s head. I saw the person turn their head, and I recognized them right away.

“Bucky,” I whispered. The last of that memory was him being dragged down the hall in front of me, screaming, yelling, fighting. Tears ran down my face; my chest hurt like I couldn’t get enough air, then I heard my name from behind me. Bucky knelt in front of me and softly lifted my face to look at him, wiping tears away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, it should’ve been me,” I cried harder. The image of Bucky and that symbol on the wall at the end of that fucking hall were burned into my head. Hydra.

“Roz, please, what’s happening,” Bucky’s voice sounded strained. I looked up at him, seeing tears in his eyes, and didn’t hesitate to throw myself into his arms, knocking him on his back. He didn’t say anything, try to move, or pull away; he held me like he’d be waiting to do. After a few minutes, I pulled away, rolling onto the ground next to Bucky, needing a break from the fire all over my skin. “Why did you apologize?” Bucky asked, looking at the ground.

“Do you remember your time with Hydra?” I asked finally.

“I wanted you to hear it from me, not just my file and news,” he sounded slightly angry.

“Please answer the question,” I pleaded with him.

“Not much. If I really think about it, I can pull up some memories, but I usually avoid them. Why?” he was getting more concerned.

“For whatever reason, I thought there would be a better time to talk about this, but there isn’t. I was captured by Hydra during WWII when I worked as an undercover agent for the army in the Soviet Union. My cover got blown, and the Soviet Union handed me over to Hydra instead of killing me. That’s how I became a Super Soldier; you and I were the first successful attempts after Steve. I never had any memories of you until right now; they just told me all those years ago that they had one more successful attempt after me. I have a few other memories, but they are all just pain, surgery, cold, except for one. One memory came back to me when Bruce was talking, and I realized how we are the way we are; Hydra is behind it. I vaguely remember the last time I saw you before I saw you here. We were standing in a cell at the end of a hallway; you heard voices coming down the hall, you turned your back to me and waited for the door to open, but you said something to me. The door opened, the doctor said something, and two guards grabbed you, and all I see is them dragging you down the hall. You kept yelling something and fought as hard as you could.” I had to stop, I was hyperventilating, and it was all too much. I managed to look up at Bucky and saw tears flowing down his face.

“I remember,” he whispered.

***

(Bucky POV)

Roz finished talking, and the weight of what she said hit me hard. I tried to remember; I thought of every memory I had of my time at Hydra. One memory hit me; it was right before they froze me for the first time, I saw being pulled down a hall, but I couldn’t remember why until I focused more on the beginning of the memory. A flash of a face at the end of the hall opened the flood gates in my head; hundreds of memories flooded me. Her smile, games we used to play in the cell to pass the time, nights curled in bed together, and so many other things. I couldn’t hold back tears any longer; I finally remembered how much I love her, how much I need her.

“I remember,” I whispered. Roz’s head snapped towards me, and I saw she was crying too.

“You do?” she asked softly.

“I think more than you do,” I laughed weakly.

***

(Roz POV)

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I remember all the time we spent together. I have memories of card games we played, small mission they sent us on, and I remember what I was screaming at you when they drug me away. I don’t remember what the doctor said though,” he said quickly.

“What were you screaming?” I asked, needing to know.

“I was screaming I love you,” he whispered. Now that he said it, I could hear Bucky’s screams in my head, him screaming down the hall that he loved me, no matter what. Hundreds of memories flooded my brain as I remembered the time I spent with Bucky, all those years. Along with the memories, all the feelings I had for Bucky came rushing over me in waves. I remembered feeling his skin against mine, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body asleep next to me; my heartrate took off at the rush of emotion. I’d still go to the ends of the Earth for this man. “I love you,” he said again.

“I love you too, Bucky,” I said back, looking directly at him. Finally, I felt like I was home; I felt like I found my missing piece. I wiped my face off with my shirt, looked at Bucky again, and smiled; the man I loved for decades was mine again.

“So now that I know we aren’t going to slowly waste away any time we touch; I have to do something,” Bucky said with a smirk. He got to his feet and reached down for my hand to help me up, pulling me to his chest once I was standing again. Standing in front of him made me realize how short I am compared to him because he had to look down at me. Before I could say anything else, Bucky grabbed the back of my neck and leaned down all in one motion to pull my lips to his. I tried to stand on my toes, but I was still too short. Finally, Bucky got sick of bending over and reached down to grab my legs to lift me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, which made him groan into my mouth, and he stumbled a little before breaking the kiss. “I think we have an audience,” he whispered into my neck.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said as I tensed. I kicked my legs, trying to get Bucky to let me down, but he just laughed, then heaved me up onto his shoulder. Bucky headed for the door of the compound with me over his shoulder; I pounded on his back, but all he did was laugh. “Bucky! Put me down,” I yelled as I continued beating on his lower back.

“Nope, sorry, doll. I’d love to continue, but I’d prefer no audience, and we can’t run off just yet,” I could hear the smile in his voice. I fought a little too hard and yelped at the sharp pain in my arm, thankfully, it didn’t last long. I finally quit fighting and just let him carry me and accepted that he was taking me wherever he wanted.

“Wait, your shoulder doesn’t hurt?” I asked, realizing he was carrying me on his left shoulder.

“No, it didn’t hurt to begin with. I think we fell into a loop. I felt the pain you were feeling, but not necessarily in one spot; I just felt pain on that side of my body. Your body is starting to heal quickly, so I don’t feel any pain,” he said, turning the corner.

“Bucky, will you put her down. You two ran off before we got any more answers,” Steve must have been standing in the hall. Bucky huffed but stopped walking and set me on my feet, grabbing my arm when I stumbled; my body felt cold suddenly when Bucky’s hand left my arm.

“Steve, you better not have been spying on us outside,” I groaned.

“He was,” Nat said as she poked her head out of Bruce’s lab.

“I got worried about where you guys went; I happened to look out the window,” he looked at the floor as he spoke.

“And he caught a glimpse of the beginning of a porno starring his best friend,” Nat giggled from the doorway.

“Will you shut up!” Steve yelled at her, but it just made her laugh harder. “You were watching too!” he yelled again.

“Hell yeah, I’ll admit it. I mean, come on, have you looked at these two? I’d pay to see it,” Nat wiggled her eyebrows and laughed at the look on Bucky and Steve’s face. Bucky recovered first, and I saw the idea pop into his head; he started to walk closer to Steve.

“You could always join, bud,” he whispered to Steve as he reached to touch his arm.

“Bucky, if you don’t get away from me, I will kill you,” Steve jumped away from Bucky.

“Aw, come on, we used to share everything. Unless you’re a natural, I have nothing to worry about,” Bucky said around giggles. Nat was now laughing so hard she was crying, and I couldn’t contain it anymore; I started laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

“What is wrong with you people? Why would you want to have sex in the same room as your best friend?!” Steve was getting more uncomfortable as time passed. Bucky kept moving towards him, trying to touch him, and Steve was ready to punch him. Bucky got close enough to lunge for Steve and grabbed him in a hug; Bucky was vibrating with laughter, and Steve looked shaken.

“Don’t worry, bud, I don’t want to fuck you, or for you fuck her,” Bucky said after letting Steve go.

“Can this conversation be over?” Steve’s face was bright red. Steve was too focused on Bucky to notice that I had moved closer too.

“Unless you want you some training Rogers,” I whispered in Steve’s ear. He jumped and back away from me, fueling everyone else’s laughter; Bruce was even giggling at his desk.

“Okay, can we get the subject away from my depressing virginity and talk about what happened with you two,” Steve said, trying to hide his bright red face. Eventually, the laughter died down; we calmed down and made our way back into Bruce’s lab. Steve was sitting on the table Bucky was lying on earlier; as Bucky passed, he ran his hand down Steve’s leg, which earned him a swift kick in the back.

“Alright, spit it out. Why did you run off?” Nat asked as she sat next to me.

“Well, I’ve never said this out loud until today. I was turned over to Hydra around the same time Bucky fell off the train in 1944,” I said, looking at my hands. Bucky rubbed my shoulders, giving me a confidence boost. “He wasn’t the only success after you, Steve; I was another success. I have no idea what they did, I never looked for the files, but Bucky and I worked together and spent a lot of time together. I couldn’t remember him, I can’t remember a lot of what happened there, but I have many memories of Bucky. One stands out,” I finished but didn’t look up.

“I remember more than she does. We lived in a cell together; we went on numerous missions together. I don’t remember a lot of details or how long it was, but I know we were there together,” Bucky rubbed my arm.

“So you two were together, in a relationship, while in Hydra?” Nat asked.

“I guess so, but that’s what confuses me. Why, why did they allow it?” I said, just as confused.

“Well, let’s look for the files and see what we can find out,” Bruce said from his computer. For the next few hours, we searched through the public Hydra files Nat released, looking for anything that mentioned my name or Bucky’s going back to 1944.

“Wait, if you were with Hydra, how did we meet in the Red Room…?” Nat slowly turned in her chair to look at me.

“That is a whole different story; I should just get it out in the open now,” I kept my eyes glued to the keyboard.

“Spit it out, now,” Nat said lowly. I sighed, I hoped I didn’t have to do this yet, but I rolled my chair over to her.

“Well, they wanted to have control over one of the deadliest assassins in the world. Madame B wouldn’t allow Hydra to take any of the girls she already had, but that didn’t mean she refused to work with me. They struck a deal; she would train me to graduation before turning me back over to them,” I kept my eyes on the floor, trying to detach myself from the memory as much as I could.

“When did you get there because we… graduated around the same time?” Nat whispered.

“I arrived the same week you did, but Madame B refused to let me into training until I gained some personality back. When I got there, I was wiped and dead inside, but she wasn’t going to train a robot, as she put it,” I was wringing my hands as I spoke. “I was already a trained marksman, so it didn’t matter that I missed the first couple of months; I-I did my ballet alone for a while,” I glanced at Nat, and she was just watching me.

“Why did it matter if you didn’t have a personality?” Steve’s eyebrows pulled together. I realized Steve, Bucky and Bruce stopped working, listening to my life story.

“I wasn’t capable of fear; the program doesn’t work if I’m already brainwashed. They had to bring back some of who I was before in order be able to instill fear,” I said, praying my eyes stopped watering. “I started to remember why I was there, what Hydra wanted from me, and that’s when I was introduced to the rest of you, then I joined in with training and ballet.”

“That’s why they never let us spar; they couldn’t risk the Super Soldier hurting one of their girls,” Nat said softly before looking up at me.

“Yep, they were cautious about what I did. They wanted the honor of saying they trained a Super Soldier without me causing any damage to the rest of their future girls. So I made it to the end, a Super Soldier that’s trained to be one of the deadliest assassins ever,” I finally let out the breath; apparently, I was holding in.

“It seems like overkill for them to perform the graduation ceremony on you, though. That had to just be for fun,” Nat said as she picked at her nails.

“They didn’t,” I cringed after it came out of my mouth.

“What? Why?” Nat looked shocked.

“I only know because I overheard Madame B arguing with someone from Hydra. For whatever reason, Hydra insisted everything stayed intact, but I have no idea why it mattered,” I leaned back in my chair, hoping this conversation was almost over.

“Wait, how do you remember who I am?” Nat’s voice got louder, and she stood, sending her chair flying. “You shouldn’t remember who I am if you went back,” she looked confused and upset.

“Yeah, well, Hydra didn’t realize the mistake they made sending me to the Red Room. I came back, aware of who I was and what they were doing, and what I had done for them since the last time I had been wiped. They had no one to stop me if I decided to fight back, which I did. I wasn’t going back to forgetting everything, so I fought my way out, or so I thought. I made the fatal mistake of stumbling into the cryo room. They fought me into a chamber, and I spent 20 years frozen again,” my voice trailed off. “I have no idea how I got out, but I woke up in an abandoned warehouse in Russia and knew I needed to find you again,” I looked at Nat with tears in my eyes.

“Thank god you did,” she grabbed my hand and squeezed, crying too. “I wish you would’ve told me when you found me; maybe I wouldn’t have been such an asshole,” she laughed through tears. A laugh flew out of my mouth, and I looked up at her and smiled. I stood, pulling her into a hug and squeezing, ignoring her rigid stance until she softened and hugged me back, harder. After a minute, her body went rigid again, and she pulled back, looking into my eyes. “Bitch, how old are you?” she asked. I couldn’t help but laugh; I laughed so hard it hurt, and she joined in.

“I’m 100 years old,” I said through giggles.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nat shook her head, still laughing a little.

“Okay, as much as I enjoyed watching you too have a heart-to-heart, we should get back to research,” Bruce said as he turned back to his computer. Nat and I nodded and went back to our chairs; Bucky grabbed my hand, fireworks shot up my arm as he lightly squeezed it.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told a lot of people stuff a lot sooner,” I said, smiling sadly at him.

“Don’t worry, doll, we have time to talk about it,” he smiled at me before going back to his computer.

Series Masterlist | Chapter 6

Taglist:

@criminalyetminimal @kendallthesimp @marvelfansworld

#bucky #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter solider #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes x ofc #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sergeant barnes #sergeant james barnes #hydra #red room project #hydra experiment #black widow project #hail hydra

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lightanddarklove · 4 years

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Steven Universe Future - Prickling Doubt and Burnout - Chapter 2

This was written before the finale was posted and has been up on my A03 since March. I don't know if I have more to add at this point, but I definitely have more ideas to write for SUF & SU.

Another Chapter with a bit more comfort. I think In Dreams and Bismuth Casual refreshed me so I hope that you all like this chapter as much since its less angsty. Those last four before the finale though, woof. I think we could use a bit more lightness right now, with thing still being stressful in the meetspace.

Some cat sign language and terms for you in case any of it’s confusing since Lion does make an appearance: head-butting is a sign of trust and bonding for felines, chuffing is the forceful exhale of air through a cat’s nose that sounds like a grunt or sigh but is actually a greeting, and the slow blink cats do is sometimes called a cat kiss and is another sign of trust and attachment.

3513 Words | Rating: Teen [description of an injury and swearing, self-esteem/ self-doubt and mental health issues]

Chapter 1 | My Writing Masterpost

Steven awoke from his nap only a short while after he had laid down. He didn’t have any intention to get right back up immediately, as Cactus Steven’s interruption to his sleep had broken before dawn and it was still early in the day. He had probably got about 5 hours of sleep before his nap, and based on the light coming in the room he had dozed for less than an hour. He didn’t have the urge to check his phone, it hadn’t woken him up and he was still quite tired. He found himself staring at a blank square of wall between his desk and his closet, trying to rest, but sleep would not come. He mentally debated getting up for several minutes before he heard a soft but weighty thump on his glass door. He turned over slowly. Peering at him from the balcony was Lion, looking expectantly at Steven. “Hey buddy,” Steven called, sitting up. He stretched and stood as the big cat pawed gently at the entryway. “I’m coming.” Steven crossed the room and opened the door, stepping aside for Lion to enter the room. The pink feline strode in, brushing the boy along the chest with his huge skull in an affectionate head-butt. Steven moved his hand along Lion’s mane as the big cat walked behind Steven and sat on the floor. Lion let out a friendly chuff and Steven scratched gently along Lion’s cheek and behind his ears. “You done exploring for now?” Steven asked. Lion stared down at his charge before giving a slow blink and descending slowly to the floor near the stairwell. The big cat stretched out his rear legs before tucking his front paws under himself to lie comfortably and closed his eyes.

“Aww, love you too, Lion.” Steven said, giving him a pat between the ears before moving to the other side of the room to retrieve his phone. He unlocked it and shut off his alarm, which was due to go off in 10 minutes before checking his messages. The one new text he had was not from Connie, as he had hoped, but instead from Pearl. “Garnet’s gone out but Amethyst and I are here if you need anything,” it read. When he went into his message to Connie, it noted delivered, but not read. He closed the app, disappointed. He set the phone back down to his end table and grabbed a new pair of jeans from the dresser, quickly getting dressed. After pocketing his phone, he looked around his room. Pink sandals sat near the foot of his bed from where they had been haphazardly kicked off after he had laid down for his nap. The bloody apron he had stained earlier lay in a heap on the floor. The few unused fabric strips from his attempt to deal with his injury sprawled from the edge of the bed to the floor. The corner next to his desk shone pink from the glow of his bubble where he had sent the terra cotta shard, dried blood staining its surface. The cactus flower he had sat on the floor before he began vacuuming still was left in its place next to the tv stand.

Steven ran a hand through his hair. He walked to his shoes to slip them on, picking up the fabric strips as he went and moving toward his desk. He opened his drawer that held scissors, glue and construction paper and folded the strips on the desk before putting them inside, closing the drawer softly. He picked up the bubble in the corner, holding it gently in his hands. I wonder if my blood would actually do anything to a plant. He thought. Maybe it would become like a super guardian. Steven’s voice of reason chimed in, sounding almost exactly like Garnet and Connie speaking simultaneously, don’t do it, that’s how the plague starts. He took out his phone again and searched “How to get blood out of Terra Cotta” before setting the bubble on the bed and moving toward the closet.

He retrieved his jacket, setting his phone on the tv stand before putting the letterman on, and regarded himself in the mirror. The bruise above his eye healed when he had applied the healing spit to his face, but that did not help the bags under his eyes. I need to wash my face and put on my eye cream, Steven thought. Besides the tiredness showing under his eyes, and needing to bush his hair again, he looked modestly put-together. No cuts from fighting Cactus Steven were visible and his outfit was in order. Nodding at himself, he picked up his phone, and slipped it into his pocket. He stepped around Lion who lounged comfortably near the glass door, and walked down the stairs. As he went, he noticed several bags on the landing which had a note sticking out of it. It looked like food, so he was glad Lion didn’t immediately stick his face in it and kept a mental note to listen in case Lion decided to help himself while Steven was downstairs.

On the main floor of the house, Amethyst was seated on the kitchen floor and Pearl stood by the kitchen island. Pearl was deconstructing the microwave on the empty stretch of countertop closest to the temple door, and Amethyst had a modest pile of faucets she was comparing with the sink’s pipe connection, trying to find one that would fit. Pearl turned and smiled at him as he came down the stairs. Amethyst glanced up with a nod and greeted him with a quiet “hey,” before returning to her task.

“Oh Steven,” Pearl called, “glad to see you’re up. Are you feeling ok? I went to check on you earlier and I saw you had fallen back asleep.”

“I was still kind of tired but I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I wanted to grab a drink and finish my morning routine,” Steven answered.

“Well, even though the sink is not fixed yet, there’s the water pitcher in the fridge.” Pearl replied. “That hasn’t sustained any damage, according to Garnet. She went to get glass and lumber for the repairs.” She paused and her smile shifted to something more strained as she glanced quickly to his hand and then back to his face. “How does your hand feel?” Pearl asked gently, with worry clear at the edge of her expression.

“It’s healed,” he replied, unbending his fingers and quickly showing it to Pearl. He left his palm exposed for only a few seconds and then curled his fingers closed, his hand pulled back to his side in a lose fist.

“Hmm,” she replied. “Alright. At least it’s not bleeding anymore. It still doesn’t look fully recovered.”

“Well it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Steven said, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. “It’s not worth worrying about. I heal fast.”

“Ok, Steven.” Pearl answered. Steven approached the cabinets and retrieved a glass before walking toward the fridge. Pearl moved back to the microwave, sparing the occasional glance to Steven’s movements as she continued her task. Amethyst looked up at him from her pile of faucets as he grabbed the water pitcher from the fridge.

“How’d you get that cut on your hand anyway?” Amethyst asked, and Steven nearly spilled the water he was pouring out of surprise. He took a sharp inhale, trying not to look at her as the pink spread over his cheeks.

“I fell,” he replied. “I was cleaning in the dome and there was a piece of broken pottery on the floor. When I went to brace my fall my hand landed on it.” Amethyst winced in sympathy. He returned the pitcher to the fridge and sipped from his glass, impatient to finish the conversation.

“Ouch,” she answered, looking him over and Steven couldn’t help but feel nervous. “If you want some help with the dome-“

“It’s fine,” he interrupted with a wave of his unmarred hand. “I’ll be more careful. Just got unlucky that I happened to land on a broken pot. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Okay,” she answered, sounding unconvinced. He gave an uneasy smile.

“If you could do one thing though,” he requested.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asked.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom to wash my face,” he replied.

“Walk, don’t run Steven,” Pearl quipped from over her shoulder as she worked as screwdriver on the microwave.

“Peeaaarl-“ He drawled at her with an eye-roll. Amethyst chuckled quietly. Steven continued, “Anyway, Garnet left some food on the stairs and Lion just came back a few minutes ago. Do you mind making sure he doesn’t get into the bags? Also, please save me some if you have any.”

“Yeah sure,” she answered with a shrug. “I’ll wait until you have some to have a snack since it’ll probably be late until all this is fixed up.”

“And please don’t eat my soup in the fridge,” Steven said as he set his glass on the counter. “I’m saving it for later.” Amethyst gave a thumbs up as Steven walked toward the bathroom and she returned to her pile of faucets. He closed the door behind him before seeking out his face wash and eye cream from beneath the sink. He ran the tap to a warm temperature, wetted his face and applied his facial cleanser before rinsing again. With practiced and gentle taps, he put on his eye cream and grabbed his brush as he let the skincare product do its work. He ran the brush through his curls, undoing the tangles from tossing and turning in his sleep. After he was satisfied with his hair, he rubbed the eye gel into his under-eyes and rinsed the excess from his fingers. He gave himself another once-over in the mirror.

“Not too shabby, Steven,” he said quietly aloud. His stomach grumbled in response. “I should probably eat something before I brush my teeth.” He opened the bathroom door and strode out into the living area. Amethyst was affixing one of the faucets to the sink-head with a wrench and Pearl continued her work on the microwave as he moved back to the kitchen to grab his drink. As he turned to head back to his room, a familiar voice came from the steps outside.

“The front of this place looks like a couple of Topaz just barreled through it.” Bismuth said as she came through the hole in the wall. “What happened to it to make it look so Janked?”

“Bismuth, language!” Pearl shouted, and Amethyst snickered.

“Hey Bis,” Amethyst called.

“Ya’ll said it needed some fixin’ but dang,” she responded, not acknowledging Pearl’s admonishment. Bismuth’s eyes wandered around the room for another moment before focusing on Steven, who had stopped mid-way through the living area. “So what’s shaking, gems? Is whatever did this-“ She paused as her gaze fixed on a point on Steven’s person that caught him off guard. Her voice dropped in volume and rose an octave in pitch. “Is that blood?”

Immediately, he glanced down at his outfit, not noticing anything at first. He used his free hand to stretch out the fabric of his shirt and his gaze finally caught the dried speckle of dark red that dotted the black tee where his right shoulder met pectoral. The spots were barely noticeable in the distinction of color, but several of them were quarter-sized. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed it stained my shirt,” Steven replied. “I’m fine now.”

“Is the threat neutralized?” She asked darkly, shifting her fist into a mallet. Pearl approached from the kitchen.

“Yes, Bismuth,” she replied, striding past Steven and laying a hand on Bismuth’s forearm. The burly gem shifted her hand back to normal.

“How’d you even see that stain, anyway?” Steven asked quietly, straightening his shirt back.

“During the war, gems weren’t the only ones fighting for earth’s freedom.” Bismuth answered. “Rose somewhat reluctantly inspired a lot of humans to fight by her side.”

“There were many who loved her, and believed in her cause,” Pearl added. “She hated seeing them hurt but there were many that wouldn’t stay away from the fight.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Bismuth said. “Guess my eyes just trained on it since sometimes that was the only way to tell if a human could be saved. Stood out on the aftermath of the battlefield, that’s for sure.” Bismuth got a far off look in her eye and Pearl gripped her hand, snapping her back to the present. “You sure you ok, Steven?” He managed a tense smile.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly. “I cut my hand working in the greenhouse and it made more of a mess than I thought. Don’t worry about me.”

“Alright,” she said. “Well, this house ain’t gonna fix itself. So what’s first?” Amethyst stood from kneeling at the sink and walked toward he taller gems. “Amethyst, you said you got parts in your room?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “I probably have some sink basins in the junk piles. Could be some other good stuff too. Follow me.” Amethyst and Bismuth walled toward the temple door. Pearl moved towards the kitchen and gently rested a hand on Steven’s shoulder.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, Steven” she said as the other two gems disappeared into the temple. Steven nodded as Pearl moved away.

“Oh, ok.” He replied. He walked up the stairs and grabbed the food bags as he went with his free hand. Lion appeared to be sleeping but once Steven set the food on the bed the crinkle of plastic caused the cat’s eyes to open. Steven set his water cup on the nightstand and sat down on the bed. After changing his shirt he turned his attention back to the bag. He pulled out Garnet’s note first.

“This is all the food that doesn’t need preparation or refrigeration we have right now. If you want hot food, call Fish-stew or ask Greg to use the microwave at the car wash. Ours isn’t safe to use right now.

Love, Garnet” he sighed as he read aloud. He dug around in the bag and immediately lion was at his side. He pulled a granola bar out, sat the snack in his lap and bubbled the rest of the food.

“Not for you,” he said to the feline. “I’ll get you Lion Licker later, ok?” Steven unwrapped the packaging on his snack and forced the bubble up, drifting toward the rafters and out of Lion’s reach. Lion head-butted Steven’s side again and the boy ran his free hand through the big cat’s mane as he ate. They sat in contemplative quiet Steven finished the granola bar. With a light toss, Steven threw the wrapper in the trash and took a sip of drink. Lion regarded him as he set down his glass, before Lion turned and moved towards the door.

“Going back out?” Steven asked as he stood. The pink feline waited by the door and Steven slid it open. Lion took a few steps out, his front half on the porch and rear half still in the bedroom before stopping. He turned his head and looked back at Steven. “What is it?” Steven asked. Lion set his hind leg closer to Steven, nudging him gently and giving another slow blink. “I guess I don’t have anything I need to be doing right now, if you’re trying to tell me you want me to go with you.” Lion chuffed in response and stepped out of the doorway.

Steven stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. He sent a quick text to Pearl, “Going for a ride with Lion, be back later.” After returning his phone to his pocket he mounted the great cat. With a roar, Lion charged forward into a portal and the swirling blur sent the boy and his feline familiar to a dark field.

Steven’s eyes took barely any time to adjust and he recognized that he was on a floating island above the Strawberry Battlefield. Stars still shone in the sky as the moon hung overhead and below the lip of the floating isle’s edge he saw some dusting of snow on some of the unflowered strawberry plants below. Lion laid down quickly and rolled the young man off of him unceremoniously.

“Lion,” Steven scolded. The big cat adjusted himself so he had Steven’s shoulders along his flank and rested his great head on his front paws. Steven moved to sit up but Lion stretched his hind leg across Steven’s lap, preventing him from going anywhere. “If you just wanted me to lie down with you for a while we could have done that at home.”

The big cat huffed in response and closed his eyes. Steven let out a quiet groan as he realized without really pressing the issue, he likely was not going anywhere soon. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, quietly thanking his foresight to ask his father for International data as he checked his messages. Pearl had replied, “Ok, be safe.” He opened his conversation with Connie which had a timestamp as Read 8:23am, but no reply yet.

I hope she’s not mad at me, Steven thought. If she’s mad or worried because of me I don’t want it to mess up her presentation. His gaze trailed up from his phone and he looked to the stars shining overhead. He noticed many constellations he recognized, a few that he didn’t, and perhaps it was because he wasn’t usually stargazing at the right time of evening to catch these star patterns. Predawn light came in gently from the east as he watch the stars shift across the sky. The sound of Lion’s heavy breathing and the mild breeze were the only sounds as he watched stars fade and the sunrise shine onto the eastern horizon. He brought his phone back up from lap after the colors began to dance across the sky and snapped another picture for Connie. He added the caption “We should watch the sunrise sometime together when you get some free time. I didn’t even have to be up early to see this one.” After the sun crested the skyline, bathing the field in light, he began to nudge Lion’s foot with his knuckles.

“Ok, that’s enough forcing me to sit still for hours.” Steven pestered the big cat. Lion let out a huge yawn and slowly sat up, stretching his front paws beneath his chest. With one more nudge from the young man, Lion removed his foot from Steven’s lap. “Ugh, my legs fell asleep,” Steven said with a groan as he stood. Lion approached the edge of the floating island and turned back to his charge. “Let’s go, Lion.” Steven instructed, mounting the cat. Another huge roar ripped through the quiet and the pair charged through the portal returning to the beach-house.

----------------------------

Steven spent the bulk of afternoon doing more cleaning, including getting the bloodstain off the terra-cotta shard, repairing the damaged sheet with Greg’s sewing kit, and washing dirty laundry. Having a sandwich for a late lunch between his other tasks, he headed out to go grab dinner at Fish Stew Pizza. He kept up appearances, making small-talk with Kiki as he got dinner. He drove out to the edge of town to get groceries, and found himself not wanting to go home as the sun set.

Connie had messaged him earlier, letting him know her presentation was fine, and they went back and forth trying to set up a time on a future weekend to watch the sunrise over strawberry battlefield. They settled on two weeks from now, which felt far away, but he understood. Her studies were important, after all. He couldn’t whisk her away on a whim, as much as that’s what his heart desired.

On his ride back from the grocery store, he felt the pull of Brooding Hill and took the ride there to finish his meal and watch the sunset. After about an hour, Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl found him there, staring out into the ocean.

“I thought we’d find you here,” Garnet said with a warm tone.

“You hadn’t come back in a while, and you didn’t answer when I called,” Pearl murmured.

“Yeah, my phone died,” Steven replied, not looking toward the gems.

“Everything ok?” Amethyst asked. Steven hummed in response. Pearl stepped forward with a strained smile, hands fidgeting.

“Room for three more?” She asked. Steven didn’t answer immediately.

“Actually,” he said, tone quiet and hesitant, “I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Oh,” Garnet said, seeming caught off guard. Pearl’s smile dropped and she stepped back.

“Ok,” Amethyst said, breaking the silence, curling her hand into her hair. “We’ll be back at the temple if you need us.”

“Yeah,” Steven replied. “See you back there.” The gems retreated, expressions dejected as they left the teen by himself. He watched the sunset until the sky was dark and wandered back home.

#Steven Universe: Future #Prickly Pear #Steven Universe #su fanfic #Fanfiction #my writing #my precious gem child #Steven's Lion #steven universe spoilers

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heystuckstuck · 5 years

Text

doll parts part one

eridan ampora x reader

part one ==> HERE

part two ==> coming soon!!! <3

YOU ==> WAKE UP

You do. You are sprawled out on your own bed, which is soft, softer than anything you’ve slept on in awhile. You are lying on your stomach, your arms crooked under your pillow to support your head. This is the way you almost always sleep. Your phone dings to the left side of your head, and you blearily shift to your side to check it. It would appear that someone is trying to get ahold of you.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trollling chumHandle [CH]

CC: )(-Ey t)(-Er-E, Y/N!

CC: )(ow ar-E you f-E-Eling today?

CH: im feeling fairly pleasant atm

CH: just woke up

CH: you?

CC: I’m FINTASTIC!!!

CC: )(-E-E )(-E-E

CH: cute

CH: glad to see youre still doing the fish pun thing

CH: why exactly do you do it?

CC: I lik-E fish

CC: SO!!!

CH: :?

CC: ar-E you coming to my party tonight?

CC: I r-E-Elly hope so!

CH: shore

CH: ;)

CC: Aww )(-E-E )( -E-E!

CC: You us-Ed a fish pun

CC: )(ow glubbing cut-E!

CH: thank you, fef

CC: And don’t fr-Et!

CC: W-E’ll have som-Ebody watch out for you!

CC: So what )(app-En-Ed last tim-E won’t )(app-En again!

CH: …

CC: I’m sorry!

CC: I shouldn’t )(av-E brought it up

CC: 38(

CH: no, that’s ok

CH: it happened

CH: it’s okay to talk about it

CC: )(ow was it?

CH: how was what?

CC: T)(-E )(ospital?

CH: it was ok

CH: im totally better

CC: I’m sure as s)(-Ell glad to )(-Ear it!

CC: Sollux and the cr-Ew will b-E t)(-Er-E to pick you up

CH: the crew?

CC: I’m not shor-E who it’ll b-E but Sollux is driving a bunch of our fri-Ends ov-Er

CC: I asked )(im to pick you up too!

CC: 38)

CH: thanks feferi

CH: youre the best

CC: I c-Ertainly try

CC: T)(-Er-E’s no way to wink at you wit)( my -Emoticon

CC: So just picture t)(at in your )(-Ead

CH: ;)

chumHandle [CH] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling chumHandle [CH]

TA: y/n

CH: sollux

TA: thii2 ii2 gonna be a really weiird que2tiion

TA: plea2e don’t get mad

TA: but

TA: would you fuck ed

CH: what why

TA: becau2e seniior year is almo2t here and iif he doe2nt lo2e hii2 viirgiiniity before hii2 biirthday ii can’t be hii2 friiend anymore

CH: what makes you so sure he’s a virgin

TA: y/n

CH: fair point

TA: ii ju2t know that you have 2ome pretty lax 2tandard2

CH: are you calling me a “2lut”

CH: is that what’s happening right now

TA: god no

TA: ii ju2t wanna get the ba2tard laiid

CH: fine, i’ll do it

TA: y/n you are a 2aiint

TA: 2eriiou2ly

TA: nobody el2e would touch that ugly fucker with a ten foot pole

CH: you and i both know that eridan isn’t ugly

CH: he’s actually quite handsome

TA: god gro22

TA: ju2t thank you

TA: you’re doiing u2 all a favor really

TA: ed fuck2 you and then he’ll 2hut hiis fuckiing iidiiot mouth about not fuckiing anythiing

CH: how many times are you gonna say fuck

TA: fuck

CH: that’s fair

CH: yeah i’ll do it

TA: cool

TA: fiinger gun2

TA: ii’ll piick you up at 6

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling chumHandle [CH]

Sollux is there for you promptly at six o’clock. You’re standing on the curb, waiting for him, when his familiarly tiny rusty red car pulls up alongside you. The music is so loud you can hear it through the closed doors and when you glance in the passenger’s side window, Aradia gestures her thumb back behind her. She must’ve called shotgun, or maybe Sollux got her first. You open the door to the backseat and clamber inside.

Karkat is on the far end, smushed into the door. He looks as disagreeable as always but he offers you a softer-than-usual smile as he adjusts his traditional black t-shirt. Eridan, in between the two of you, looks far more uncomfortable. You notice the way he is desperately trying not to look at you and in retaliation, you put a soft hand on his thigh. He looks as though he might faint, cheeks flushed and forehead beaded with sweat. He doesn’t say anything to you, but Karkat does.

“Alright, Y/N?”

Yes. Why wouldn’t you be?

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

Karkat shrugs although from the hunch of his shoulders, you can tell he wants to argue. Everyone knows that he’s lying. You know he’s lying. You know why everybody wants to know if you’re alright. And frankly, it’s nobody’s fucking business.

Not even if they stroked your hair and whispered soft little nothings to you all the way to the emergency room. Not even then.

As you walk into the party, you notice a tall, slim figure posed at the front of the grand entrance hall. He’s smoking a cigarette and he has sunglasses on indoors. Dave Strider. He greets your friends casually but when he gets to you he falters and peers at you over the top of his shades.

“All better, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m totally better. I eat almonds and yogurt and soup.” He nods curtly, but you can see the tension in his face. It would be difficult to miss, as difficult to miss as those reddish brown eyes of his. You remember the last time you saw them.

You were lying on your back with the left side of your face caked in vomit. Your limbs were seizing up and you wanted to scream but it was like your voice was invisible. Dave knelt over you, eyes as wide as saucers as he begged you to stay awake, please stay awake, oh god, what did you do, why did you do this, god no, please no, no no no no no nonononononononononono.

And you put your hand on his face and said, “Hello David.” Or tried to. You’re sure that what came out was a flubbed version.

“What did you take?” He’s begging you please tell him, tell him so he can get you to the hospital and they can pump your stomach, god please.

“13 valiums and a bottle of gin.” You try to tell him that you were just trying to float and stop your misery and stop the not eating and stop stop stop stop stop. But he can’t hear you. He screams out a feeble and watery Karkat and then you’re in a car with Karkat petting you and his mouth was moving but all you could hear were sirens. You wanted to sleep more than anything but Karkat kept shoving you awake and talking to you and telling you stories and begging you don’t go to sleep, no.

So you suppose if anyone has the right to ask you if you’re okay, it’s Dave, and you’d better tell him too. So you do, but you can tell that he doesn’t fully believe you, but to your relief, he leaves it.

The music is loud. It makes your ears numb. You see Feferi but you don’t go and say hi because she’s kissing Sollux on his mouth and tracing her fingers up his arm and you know you shouldn’t interrupt, so you don’t and push your way further through Feferi’s house. The lights are all pink and blue and hazy and you can’t see through the smoke in the air and you can taste the acrid tang of cigarettes in the back of your mouth, which makes it feel like cotton. You stumble and trip over something-someone lying on a beanbag on the floor, who doesn’t try to catch you when you fall into his bony chest.

“Well hey there, little sis, how’s it motherfuckin’ hangin’?” It’s Gamzee, with his dark, splotchy face and lazy looking eyes and dopey grin. He doesn’t help you up, the idea doesn’t even seem to occur to him. His eyes are bloodshot and his left hand’s slender fingers grip a short, lit blunt, which he offers to you.

“You want a hit?” Nobody except him in your friend group smokes pot. They drink and snort crushed up pills but they don’t smoke weed. You’ve tried it before, but only a few times. You didn’t like how it stung your throat and made you cough.

“Nah, that stuff makes you hungry.” That was your least favorite thing about it. The last time you smoked pot, you’d woken up naked on John’s couch with your hands and chest smeared in food goop and no memory of how it got there. You didn’t need that again. Gamzee doesn’t seem to mind, and just takes another drag.

“It’s no problem sis, more for me.” You watch him as he puffs on it again, noting the way the slight orange glow offsets the neon lights in the room.

“Anyway, chica, long time no see. How’s it been?” You shrug and Gamzee laughs.

“That’s so motherfuckin’ righteous, sister. Seriously, be all up and motherfuckin’ careful. Don’t want anything bad happening to you or anything.” You’re dumbstruck by the fact that Gamzee of all people, slow-witted, slow-reacting, oblivious, with a brain half-ruined y marijuana knows. God, how does Gamzee know?

“I saw you, all up and covered in that puke. Shit, y’know, it fuckin’ scared me. I love you and I don’t want you to die or anything. You were shaking and crying and everyone was all just sitting there, not knowing what to up and do. It was the opposite of a miracle. But maybe the fact that you’re not dead is a miracle and whatever god exists kept you alive for us. I’m motherfuckin’ happy about that. I’d miss you if you were dead. I think everybody would, even if they pretend they wouldn’t.”

Gamzee then punctuates his profound statement with a soft belch and he gives you a watery, peaceful smile, close-lipped, with his eyes shut. You return the smile, though yours is more strained than his because god just stop fucking talking about it.You get it. You don’t really want to be dead anymore but you wish everyone would stop reminding you of it. You want to forget as much as anybody else. You never wanted everyone to see you, shaking on the floor, eyes rolled up into the back of your head with foam oozing from between your lips all over your white tanktop, staining it pink. You want to forget. You want to forget Feferi screaming and and Sollux saying, hush, hush, FF, it’s okay, and Dave’s tears dribbling onto your face and getting into your mouth. They were salty on your numb tongue.

Gamzee’s hand begins to snake down the front of his sweatpants and you decide to leave before this gets awkward. You abandon Gamzee and trip on your way to the stairs, which you clamber up, on your way to Feferi’s second story bathroom. You don’t have to go, you just want to inspect Feferi’s mom’s medicine cabinet, see if she’s gotten anything new since the last time you were here, before. Before. Before you took John’s grandmother’s pills out of the kitchen and fell on the floor and Feferi screamed and Dave cried and Karkat crooned in your ear and you felt more loved than you ever had before, which was bullshit because of course everyone loves you when you try to die.

She doesn’t have anything new, you note with mild disappointment, pocketing some old pills that haven’t been touched since the last time you were here. You read the label before hiding them. Oxytocin. Pain pills. You shove it, along with your hands into your oversized maroon jacket, and just in time too, because the door you were certain you locked opens to your right. You turn and meet an abashed-looking Tavros, his face alcohol and embarrassment-flushed.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that anybody would be in here. I just needed to, um, well, yeah, you know.” He stumbles over his words and looks flustered, so you smile at him.

“Oh, that’s alright, I was just leaving.” You grab a tiny white paper cup, designed for mouthwash and fill it with water before exiting the bathroom, brushing past Tavros’s shoulder. He closes the door and you pull out the pills and take two with the shot of water you have. You aren’t addicted to popping pills, but it is an outstanding interest of yours. You wait a few minutes and then you feel fuzzy and it’s a bit like you’re walking on the ceiling as you trample down the hallway. You walk back down the stairs on watery legs, trying admirably not to fall on your face, which you don’t.

You walk to the kitchen, where Vriska is leaning with her back and elbows resting against the counter. Terezi and John are with her and you notice them eye you suspiciously as you open up all of the cabinets and count the cans inside.

“Hungry?” John asks, voice shaking a little bit. You remember seeing him, driving the car, speeding down the freeway, pedal to the metal. He kept frantically glancing back at you, blue eyes enormous, even more so than usual. Hs too-large front teeth were worrying his bottom lip and his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. You know why his voice is shaking. You’re starting to get tired of this.

“No.”

“What’re you doing then?”

“Counting.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding uneasy. God, why can’t people just stop being fucking worried about you? Why does John have to quirk his perfectly arched and adorable eyebrows at you like that? Why does he have to bite his lip and why does goddamn Vriska of all people look worried about you? You know perfectly well the reason why, but you don’t care. You don’t care that they all saw you. That everyone knows. You couldn’t care less.

You exist through the backdoor in the kitchen because you need some air, jesus. You can’t stand the way they all look at you, with such pity and fear. It was a mistake and you’ll never live it down because you scared everybody shitless. You take a deep breath of untainted air and somebody sighs right after you exhale. What the hell?

“What the hell?” You glance around and huddled at your feet is Eridan, his floral short-sleeve button down too tight in the arms. He’s wearing slacks too, which is such an Eridan thing to do and you are filled with an overwhelming surge of affection toward your friend. This is all he is, your friend. Your friend that might fuck you later, according to Sollux.

You flop down next to him. He doesn’t react, just takes a long sip from his red plastic cup. It’s probably beer, which you’re sure upsets his sensitive palette but he’s actively not complaining in dramatic, emotional theatrics for once so you don’t question it.

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing out here, ‘Dan?”

“Everywhere else was full.” It’s true. All of your friends are rambunctiously partying in every corner of Feferi’s party. Except the bedrooms, you suppose. But maybe Feferi and Sollux have already made their way there, you know they will eventually and Feferi will call you tomorrow and tell you all about it. You know every detail of her sex life. She knows every detail of yours and while you are always supportive, sometimes she frowns at you and shakes her head.

“Ah.”

You’re both silent for awhile, the only sounds being of your breath and Eridan sipping his beer solemnly and yet, delicately. Feferi has a trampoline in her backyard and you haven’t jumped around and just had fun in god knows how long so you get up and offer your hand to Eridan. He accepts, although with a cocked eyebrow, and his hand still firmly in yours, you guide him to the trampoline.

“Really, Y/N? You wanna play on the goddamn trampoline? That’s fairly, just, it’s juvenile, don’t you think?”

“Yes, absolutely.” And you take off your shoes and fling your body onto the black netting and bounce a few times. Eridan hesitantly follows you.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Let them. We’re young and you’re drunk and I want to fly,” you say, leaping into the air and coming down with a spring. Eridan doesn’t jump at first, not until you grab his sleeve and tug on it and oh, Danny, I’m having so much fun, I’m flying, this is like the fucking Notebook, I’m a fucking bird, tell me I’m a bird like the Notebook. You’re laughing hysterically at yourself and Eridan is fucking giggling at you and then he starts jumping too and you dance in circles with only the soundtrack of summer cicadas to keep a melody. You grab his hands and his fingers twine with yours and suddenly he’s falling and you’re bouncing your back against the trampoline, narrowly avoiding hitting your head as Eridan lands on top of you and bounces off but only after squishing the life out of you.

You’re laughing so hard no sound is coming out and you’re gasping and so is he and you grab his hand from where he’s laying beside you.

You look up at the stars. You haven’t seen the stars in over six weeks. You missed them.

“So, how are you, Y/N? I’m sure sorry that I couldn’t come an’ visit you.” You do the best shrug you can while lying down.

“Nobody was allowed to visit me, except in the ER.”

“Still, I should’ve come. Fef went. John went.”

“They’re the only ones that did.”

“Really?” His voice is incredulous.

“Everyone texted. Until I had to go to the psych ward. Then I wasn’t allowed texts anymore.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You don’t want to be sad anymore so you change the subject.

“Eridan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to fuck me later?” He chokes, a loud spluttering cough, and jerks up to lay on his arm, staring down at you.

“What?!”

“Sollux told me that you were going to.”

“God, oh fuck, he told me-he-he said-he told me you didn’t know!”

“I know.”

“Well, I know that now!”

“It’s okay. If you want to, I’m okay with it.”

“Okay with what?”

“You fucking me.”

His face flared red, which was a feat in and of itself because his skin was soft brown. He looked beautiful in the starlight: his eyes, a gorgeous golden-hazel with long, dark lashes, his nose sturdy and strong, his lips fairly thick and soft and most especially the freckle he had, on the left corner of his bottom lip. His hair fell in his face, dark brown and highlighted by a thick bleached streak in the front. He wasn’t just pretty, not just beautiful, he was gorgeous. You wouldn’t mind snagging his virginity. Not one bit.

“I don’t think-I mean-well-I-I-I want to but I just think that maybe we should wait on that.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his eyes, fighting down a pang of disappointment, “But if Sollux asks, you can say you did.”

His eyes narrow a bit and then he’s nervously looking at anything but you.

“But I wanted to know. Could you, maybe-I don’t-just-kiss me?” You smile, a full grin with teeth showing an everything.

“Yes, Eridan.”

And then you get up to your knees and pull him up to meet you and your lips are together and his lips are soft, a bit firmer than you imagined, and they’re clumsy and he accidentally clips your teeth together. You wrap an arm over his shoulder and he puts his hands at your small waist, pressing on your hips with his fingertips. You reach your other hand down and take his. You guide it over your breast and his whole body stiffens. His fingers begin to itch around and grope at the soft flesh under his hand and you slip your lips down to his neck. He makes a noise that is a cross between a purr and a croon and you push him down beneath you. The two of you break apart and he stares up at you, fingers touching his swollen bottom lip like he can’t believe what just happened. You realize suddenly that you just bagged his first kiss. You gently kiss his cheek and roll off of his abdomen.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re inside on the couch with Eridan spooned up behind you. A shirtless Equius lays across the floor with Nepeta’s head on his belly. Terezi’s legs are sprawled across her chest. Everyone else is still asleep but you can feel Eridan start to stir behind you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and mumbles a quiet good morning into the skin.

“Morning.”

“Mm.”

“Eridan?”

“Hm?”

“Your stiffy’s digging into my back.”

“M’sorry.”

“S’okay.”

#eridan x reader #eridan ampora #homestuck #humanstuck #reader insert #fanfiction #depressed!reader #doll parts

130 notes · View notes

despairdiseases · 4 years

Text

When you walk away (Nothing more to say)

chapter 7 - hey guys did you know mcr is back together?

trigger warnings: sympathetic Remus and Deceit, mentions of shoplifting, mentions of getting arrested, hangover, Remus makes a joke about rape (but not rape victims), mentions of a party, swearing (let me know if I missed something)

summary: Damon doesn't ask you to dinner he asks you to rob seven eleven with him uwu

Banging on the door woke Damon up, making him groan. He rubbed his eyes, barely following what Avery said as they opened it.

"Alright, bud, I have a day shift today, so I won't be home. You can order pizza when you get home, there's money on the fridge. Now get up, you're gonna be late for school," they didn't wait for Damon to process what they just said before walking out of the room and putting on their shoes.

Damon, although reluctantly, rolled out of bed and went to put some clothing on...oh, guess he fell asleep in his clothes already. When did he even fall asleep? When did he get home? God, his head hurts, don't tell him he's hungover again. He swears he didn't drink anything this time...right? Whatever, it's not like it matters. What matters now is finding some painkillers.

He stumbled into the kitchen, physically wincing at the bright light going in through the windows. He opened the cabinet where Avery put all the meds. Painkillers, painkillers...painkillers! It doesn't even sound like a real word anymore, but hey, he found them! That's an accomplishment.

Damon didn't even think about getting water, swallowing it dry. He looked at the clock, he still has time, it's fine. He shuffled back to his room, changing from his usual clothes to something that didn't reek of alcohol. He didn't want to give up his vest but he also didn't want to get suspended and add onto Avery's list of problems. He finally settled on his first patched jacket. Huh, it was still too big on him. It brought so many memories to wear it again. He didn't know to sew back then so he just pinned patches in place with safety pins, didn't even bother to sew them on when he actually learned to sew.

Forget all that, where is his phone? It's not in his pockets, so maybe somewhere in his room? Damon looked around the room...no sign of his phone, maybe the kitchen? he walked back to look. Nothing on the counters, nor the table. Damon looked around the house, searching even the bathroom, but found nothing. Don't tell him he left it at that house party, Avery will kill him.

Well, forget all that now, maybe Remus picked it up when he left. Was Remus even there with him? Who was he kidding, of course he was, Remus was always there when Damon needed him. Nevermind that, to get to Remus Damn needed to get to school first.

The bus ride was louder than normal, but that was most likely because of the hungover. Damon already knew this was gonna be a long day the moment he stepped out of the door, and it was not getting better. He paid no attention to the few people who did stare at him as he walked into the school, instead looking around for Remus...if he's not somewhere in the hallway he's probably in one of the bathrooms. Luckily Damon found him in the first bathroom he stepped in, writing profanities on the stall door, "Thought you were over that in Sophmore year."

Remus smirked, slowly turning his head to look at Damon, "Well, it's always fun to go back and ignore reali-holy shit man you look like shit."

Damon raised an eyebrow, "You think I haven't noticed?"

"Nah, it's just that right now I look better than you and that never happened in my life," Remus put the black marker in his pocket, "Did someone rape you or something?"

The hungover man furrowed his eyebrows, "You weren't at the party?"

"There was a party?"

Damon sighed, "Nevermind," he leaned against one of the sinks, "Guess you don't have my phone then?" he reached into a pocket of his jacket but found no cigarettes, he must've forgotten them in his vest. Damon mentally cursed himself out for it.

"Nope, you lost it?" Damon nodded, at which Remus laughed, "Ha, loser."

Damon put his head in his hands and groaned, "Everything is so bright and painful," he dug his nails into his forehead.

"Thought I was the one with a drinking problem," Remus went to sit beside him. Before he could say anything else the bell rang, at which Damon flinched and covered his ears. Remus pushed himself off, "Welp, I'll be off, you comin'?"

Damon waved his hand dismissively, "Just...give me a few minutes."

Remus nodded, "Fair enough, you foxy snake," he pushed the door open before he could get a reaction. He wouldn't admit it but he was kind of disappointed that Damon didn't notice his hair, but he did have it in a bun, so he could forgive him for it. To be honest, Remus wasn't even sure that he walked into the right class but Virgil waving at him made him sure enough. He went to sit next to him, "Why hello there, darling, didn't see you there."

Virgil rolled his eyes, 'Where's D?'

"Probably jerking off in a bathroom for all I know, why?"

'I found his phone near a trash can on a street.'

Remus raised his eyebrows, "This is like the fourth phone you found on a street since we met, I have no idea how you find phones so easily but I want you to teach me."

Virgil smiled and shrugged. Truth be told, the two didn't pay much attention even after the lesson started, instead passing notes to each other instead of signing to avoid any suspicion. Geography wasn't their strongest or favourite subject. All of the class and the teacher turned their heads when the door opened.

"Sorry I'm late, I was attacked by a bear."

The teacher which Remus still didn't know the name of crossed her arms, "Honest as always, Mr. Barnes. Take a seat."

Damon went to sit behind Remus and Virgil. Remus turned around to face him, "Virgil has your phone."

"Let me guess, found it on a street?" Virgil nodded as Damon took the phone back, examining it. The yellow case with snakes on it was still intact, but the screen..."Fuck, Avery's gonna kill me."

After a while, Virgil passes him a note, 'Who's Avery?'

"Oh, they're my parent. They didn't really want to be called mom or dad, and parent seemed too formal."

An exaggerated cough interrupted their conversation, "Gentlemen, do you mind?"

Before Damon and Virgil could stop him, Remus responded to her, "Yeah, mind ya' own business."

The teacher gave Remus a blank look, "Why am I even surprised? That's detention for you, Mr. Addington," she went back to teaching.

Damon lowered his voice, "Great job, idiot," Remus just shrugged. You would think Virgil would stay out of this, but no, of course not. He passed Remus a note:

'press F to pay respects'

Remus wrote back to him:

'like u have any respect fr me'

Needless to say, not much has changed since the teacher gave him detention, it wasn't like Remus cared anyway. The lesson went the same, with the three passing notes around too much to not be obvious, but no one really cared enough to tell the teacher. Finally, after when seemed like an eternity, the bell rang and Remus practically sprinted out of the door.

"Woah, what's the rush?"

Remus continued to speed walk with the two, "I realized halfway through the lesson that I left my spray cans in the bathroom and if someone finds them I will have a mental breakdown because those are my last."

The two soon given up on trying to keep up with Remus, settling on a walking pace in a direction where they thought Remus had gone.

'What's with the jacket?'

"Didn't want to smell like an alcoholic," Virgil physically scrunched up his face and took a step back. Damon rolled his eyes, "It's not like I smell now, right?" Virgil shook his head, then looked around, "What?"

Virgil looked back at Damon, 'Where's Remus?'

"Who knows where that chaotic bastard is, probably pestering Roman or something," Damon shrugged, "He'll find us eventually, why bother."

Virgil nodded in agreement, raising his eyebrows.

"By the way, what's with his hair?"

Virgil rolled his eyes dramatically, 'So you noticed. He's been sad about it all day.'

"Oh?" Damon raised he eyebrow an smirked, "Does he have a crush on me or something?"

'It's Remus, you never know,' Virgil shuffled on his feet.

Damon slowly nodded, "Yeah, I guess so..." he looked away for a second, staring at the line of lockers, before averting his gaze back at Virgil. Why was he nervous? He out of all people shouldn't be nervous, "Avery's not home today, wanna come over?"

Virgil tilted his head slightly, 'Why?'

The other man scoffed playfully, "I dunno, isn't that what friends do and stuff? I mean, I do have another idea, but..." he looked at Virgil again, meeting the agitating stare, "There's this convenience store a few blocks from here and I have some beef with the owner, want to steal something?" the stare quickly turned into a panicked one.

'Shoplifting?'

Damon nodded.

'...Isn't that more of a Remus thing?'

He looked away, "Yeah, but Remus isn't allowed in that store anymore after The Freezer Accident of 2016."

Virgil raised his eyebrows, unsure if he wants to know what that is. After a while of thinking, and considering what Emile would do if his "precious stormcloud" ended up in jail. Can you go to jail for shoplifting if you're underage? Most likely. Has Remus or Damon ever been in jail? Now he's just being irrational. Remus has probably been arrested though, no doubt. I mean, what's the worst that can happen, really, except Virgil being caught and getting arrested and maybe going to jail and spending his life behind bars because he was thirsty for some Pepsi. Virgil nodded, 'Won't Remus be jealous?'

"Most likely."

#when you walk away (nothing more to say)#sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders mention #analodemus #slow burn #long post

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

In My Mind 02 (Katlaska) - Miss Sugar Pink

A/N: Thank you very much for your kind words! They really motivated me to write more! I hope you don’t mind a bit of a slow burn. And shoutout to my sister who made this lovely picture for my fic! Thank you!

“The extreme always seems to make an impression.” - Heathers

This will definitely be an interesting story to tell his mother as soon as she calls him tomorrow morning. Oh hey, ma. I’m still in the middle of unpacking my stuff but so far so good. I have a neighbor who watches The Golden Girls all day in full volume like an asshole and my best friend is apparently friends with drag queens who are batshit crazy. But oh, that’s not the best part. I finally met my soulmate. Yeah, he said the exact trashy words that my soulmark has. And he’s absolutely lovely. He was completely hammered and I had to hold his hair while he threw up in the public toilet. It is by far the most romantic first encounter a guy could ever dream of. And did you know people pay him just to watch him get a blowjob onstage?

Okay, now that isn’t fair. Brian knows he isn’t exactly a flawless person himself but really though, is this the kind of first encounter Lady Fate has in store for them?

Fr: Trixie Message: just got home. sent sharon a message about you taking alaska with you but he hasnt replied yet. hows the drama queen?

Brian redirects his stare away from his phone and to the slumbering figure on his bed. He purses his lips at the unwanted turn of events, but what kind of person would he be to leave Alaska by herself in the club when she was being a hysterical sobbing mess? Right after he had assisted her in the comfort room, they went ahead to look for Sharon Needles but she was nowhere to be seen. Even Bri didn’t run into her which didn’t help Alaska’s current state at all; pun intended.

The two Brian’s had no choice but to take her out of the club before she could make a scene.

Alaska had insisted that she didn’t want to go home— that she just wasn’t ready to face Sharon yet. And since Bri kept quiet, obviously having no intention of offering his home, Brian had offered his apartment instead. Alaska was so downright inebriated that she had slept through the entire ride to his building.

The blond man lets out a tired sigh as he leans his shoulder onto the door frame and keys in his reply on his phone.

“Sleeping. Didn’t even take his makeup off. Had to pull his boots off for him.”

“geez, sorry about this. this wasnt supposed to happen.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody asked for it. Any clues on where Sharon might be?”

“not really. i did send him ur address just in case.”

“Do they always fight like this?”

“not usually in public but itll blow over. couples fight all the time.”

Brian’s thumbs hover over the keypad of his screen, the word “couples” stealing his attention longer than he prefers. How much of a dumbfuck is he? How did he not assume that Alaska is dating Sharon even after their lewd performance and that blubbering fit she pulled? There’s a high chance that his very own soulmate possibly doesn’t believe in soulmates and he can’t tell whether he should be worried or relieved.

Alaska looks quite a handful. Very high maintenance. If she doesn’t believe in soulmates, then maybe Brian could easily dodge a bullet here and move on with his life. Maybe even date someone who never had a soulmark at all.

But then again, he’s only met her. And at the wrong time as well. It’s too early for him to make any judgment. He glances up at Alaska again, their ridiculous first encounter resounding over and over in his head. Did she feel anything when she met him? They say people are supposed to feel something once they finally meet their soulmate but upon retracing the incident that took place in the club earlier, it’s really hard to tell whether or not Alaska felt anything at all. She was so engrossed in her argument with Sharon that she didn’t even notice how she nearly crashed into him.

This could be his only chance of finding someone who’s very much compatible with him. But what is he supposed to do? He can’t just break someone else’s relationship just for the sake of his own happiness.

Brian shakes his head and reaches to close the door and give the blonde queen some privacy. He ambles away towards one of the boxes he still has yet to unload and fishes out a toothbrush, still sealed in its pack. He should might as well make Alaska feel at home when she wakes up tomorrow morning. He has no doubt that she will still be a handful during her impending hangover. After neatly placing the toothbrush on the shelf in his bathroom, Brian walks straight for his couch and flings himself onto it with a defeated sigh.

LA has him fucked.

–

Waking up in full makeup is never fun.

Justin groans and moves to his side, refusing to open his eyes despite being fully conscious now. He could feel the thick foundation still clinging to his skin and refusing to let his face breathe. His mouth feels dry and sticky from probably sleeping with his mouth open. The familiar sensation of a hangover hits him right away and he lets out another groan, feeling as though his entire brain is bloating and aching under his skull.

He stretches his arm to wake Aaron up. He could really use some soup right now and nobody does it better than Aaron.

But when his hand reaches nothing but an empty space, he raises his eyelids that feel far too fucking heavy only to be welcomed by the sight of a very unfamiliar room. Alarmed, Justin sits straight up and a wave of nausea doubles the pain in his head. He bites back a groan and holds his head, his eyes taking a sluggish gander of his surroundings.

The blue curtains have been thankfully slid closed to keep any of the bright sunlight away from streaming into the room. Boxes are scattered everywhere, some have been opened while some are still sealed shut.

What happened last night?

Shit, did he cheat on Aaron?

Justin immediately looks down at himself and is relieved to see that he’s still fully dressed. His outfit leaves little to the imagination though so maybe he did have someone fuck him last night without having to de-drag. Panic rises within him. Frantically, he looks around and finds his bag settled neatly on the bedside table. He wastes no more time in grabbing it and taking his phone out.

No new messages.

Not a single one from Aaron.

That can’t be a good sign.

Whoever he’s slept with must have gone out for now. That’s good. He needs some time to think.

“Ah, shit…!” He hisses from the cracking headache splitting his brain, the lingering taste of vomit and vodka in his mouth making him feel even more nauseous than he was mere seconds ago. He needs the bathroom. Carefully, Justin lifts himself up from the mattress (which lacks any bedcovers much to his discomfort) and heads for one of the boxes that has the word “Clothes #3” labeled on it, grabbing the biggest shirt he could find along with a pair of sweatpants before making his way out of the room. He takes a fleeting inspection of the place and finds the only door that obviously doesn’t lead to the outside. With as much haste as his dispirited body could give him, he hurries to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

The light that furnishes the room once he turned it on comes off too radiant and blinding for the drag queen and he squeezes his eyes shut. Slowly, he blinks them back open and rubs his face, not really giving a damn anymore if he’s smeared his makeup or not.

The shower lacks a curtain but the place looks clean. Thank god.

Justin strides to the sink and grimaces at the sight of his own reflection in the mirror. Every single cosmetic he had oh-so-carefully painted on his face last night has been smeared and smudged sloppily. His now flimsy blonde wig is hanging for its dear life far back over his head, the bobby pins keeping it attached. His skin looks stiff and greasy and his body feels jaded with burden and exhaustion despite just waking up from his slumber. His bloodshot eyes glaze over monotonously and for a moment, he forgets where he is or what he’s supposed to be doing.

But then he shakes himself back to reality.

“Wake the fuck up.” He pats his cheeks several times. He stares at himself in the mirror once again before reaching up to yank his wig off and toss it carelessly to the empty bathtub. He pulls open the medicine cabinet and conveniently finds an untouched toothbrush still secured in its package and a small container of petroleum jelly.

Not exactly the most advisable thing to use for removing makeup but it will have to do.

–

Brian wakes up by the abrupt sound of the bathroom door being shut closed a bit louder than it should. He blinks the drowsiness away and sits up, trying to remember where he is. His could feel his back aching from the couch’s lumpy material but that’s the least of his worries. Remembering why he’s even sleeping in the living room in the first place, his attention shoots straight to the bathroom where he could assume Alaska has gone to.

Right, the impending hangover.

He drags his hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up more. Regardless of offering his apartment to the tall drag queen, he didn’t really exchange much words with her last night so just picturing the uncomfortable tension that will be hovering above them later brings an alarming feeling of dread within him.

While he’s not someone who constantly dreams of meeting his soulmate, he would still very much prefer the clichéd ‘we bumped into each other in this really exciting cereal convention because we both share an everlasting respect and devotion for Cinnamon Toast Crunch only to realize that it’s a convention for serial killers and now we have to work together to survive and live happily ever after, forever traumatized’.

But Lady Fate has a twisted sense of humor so he will just have to put up with this direction.

The sound of the faucet being used in the bathroom brings him back to the matter at hand and he stands up, stretching his arms and sighing upon feeling and hearing the right cracks of his muscles. He walks to the kitchen sink to wash his face, hoping that would be enough to fully wake himself up. After washing and drying up, he looks around and scratches his head.

What does one usually do to ease their hangover?

Brian never liked alcohol and he’s only had a hangover once. But even then, he just slept through the entire day so he couldn’t even recall how it felt.

At helpless times like this, there’s only one person he could rely on who would never let him down.

‘Hangover remedies yahoo answers’ Brian taps into the Google search bar of his phone. But just as he’s about to check the very first result, he hears the bathroom door swinging open and he instinctively stands straighter in anticipation.

But the person stepping out of the bathroom isn’t Alaska.

And for a second, Brian is taken aback and just stares at the tall dark-haired boy walking out of his bathroom with a sluggish flow. All traces of the dramatic intoxicated blonde queen from last night has been erased and replaced by a pale skinny stranger with endearing droopy lids and his short dark brown hair disheveled in an attractive mess. Brian realizes he isn’t as tall as he thought he was but still undoubtedly maintains a few good inches over him. He’s wearing Brian’s clothes but has his own stuff in his grip.

Brian didn’t think he’d be this cute out of drag.

Fuck.

“O-Oh…” Is all he could say, his mind frantically searching for something better to say but coming out blank.

As though only noticing his presence, the guy looks at him and nearly jumps in surprise. “Oh my god, you scared me…!”

Brian offers an awkward smile, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just, uh, forgot that there’s an actual man underneath the whole Alaska glamor. Some of the most beautiful women in the world have gigantic penises after all, am I right?” He drives for a joke but the brunet just stares at him, further plunging them deeper into this suffocating whirlwind of tension— or maybe it’s the joke. It looks like his humor just doesn’t tickle the fancy anymore.

“That’s… a good one.” Surprisingly enough, the tone of his guest’s voice isn’t laced with sarcasm. If anything, he looks contemplative of what he said. “I’m Justin, by the way.”

“Brian.” Brian introduces himself a little bit too quickly than he would have preferred but it’s too late now. “Erm… how are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been fucked gently with a chainsaw.” Justin plods down over to the counter to settle his things there as though he’s at his own home.

Brian stands stiffly from the other side of the counter but a small smile of realization stretches his lips. “Heathers reference?”

It looks like it’s taking a lot of effort for Justin to smile back. “You have good taste.”

It makes no sense how a simple statement could make Brian this fucking giddy like he’s back in high school. He’s a grown man for Barbara’s sake. He feels ridiculous. “I was just kinda looking up the remedies for a hangover.” He waves his phone for emphasis. “I don’t really drink so I’m not entirely sure what to do to help you with—”

“Do you have any cans of PBR?” Justin asks as he tinkers with the strands of his wig, seemingly distracted. He doesn’t seem to be listening at all.

Brian blinks. “PBR?”

“Pabst Blue Ribbon. Beer. Or any alcohol really. It helps numb the hangover away.”

Brian couldn’t help but frown at the supposed quick fix Justin has in mind. That doesn’t sound right. Isn’t alcohol the main cause of a hangover? So why drink more?

“I have coffee.” He suggests a bit hopefully. “Water. Pain-killers.”

“So… no beer?”

Brian shakes his head. “Nope.”

Justin grows quiet and Brian bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he should start keeping beer in his fridge just in case his guests are into that. Coming off as a killjoy or a stick in the mud is the last thing he wants. He’s in Los Angeles now. It’s time for him to try and blend in if he wants to survive. Anxiously, he taps his fingers on the counter as he tries to think of something else to say. Justin still looks very distracted and doesn’t seem to have any intentions of breaking the silence.

Brian decides to take the step. “So do you want—”

“Did we–”

They both quickly pause their words.

Great, as if it couldn’t get any more awkward than this.

“You go first.” Brian nods to him but Justin shakes his head.

“No, you go first.”

“Don’t worry, my question wasn’t important.”

“I already forgot what I was about to say anyway.”

“Really?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe.”

Brian is pretty much screaming in his head at this point. When he thought Justin was going to be a handful in the morning, he was clearly underestimating him. To a degree, he could now see where Sharon’s frustration is coming from. He flinches at the vibration of his phone and he looks down to find a new text message from Bri.

Saved by the devil.

“Let me just get this.” He excuses himself as he turns his back to the brunet.

‘aaron just replied. said he’ll come pick marie antoinette up in an hour.’

His phone vibrates again.

‘and by aaron, i meant sharon in case you havent figured that out yet, sherlock. ;p’

“What happened last night?” Justin’s voice yanks his attention away from his phone and Brian whips around to face him, his brows raised in genuine surprise. Justin stares back at him, looking like he’s trying his very best to stay awake. “Sorry, my head just hurts so much so trying to remember everything last night is a struggle right now.”

“Umm…” Brian looks around for now before opening one of the cabinets and grabbing a glass. He fills it up with water and hands it to Justin. “Here, drink this first. It’ll make you feel better.”

Justin doesn’t look convinced but does so anyway.

“As for your question…” Brian taps his fingers on the counter again. “…you kinda got into a fight with Sharon Needles.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Justin says patiently after setting his glass down. “And after that?”

Brian shrugs. “Sharon stormed off and you… err, started crying.”

Justin shows no reaction. “And?”

“You dragged me into the comfort room because you felt sick. You threw up and I helped you. After that, we couldn’t find Sharon anywhere and you didn’t want to go home. So… here we are.”

Justin goes quiet again and honestly, it isn’t helping the anxiety that’s rising up Brian’s throat at all. It’s hard to distinguish the gears shifting behind those dark droopy eyes. “Brian…” The taller male begins with a pensive pursing of his lips. “You’re not… Trixie’s friend, are you?”

Trixie’s mentioned him? “Yeah, that’s me.” Brian quickly nods.

“No way. Oh my god…” Justin lets out a long groan as he rests his elbows on the counter and buries his face in his hands. “I am so fucking humiliated now. You shouldn’t have seen that. I’m so sorry. We were such a goddamn mess last night. I should have known better than to rile Sharon up but I did it anyway and–”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Brian tries to give him a reassuring smile. He’s all too familiar with the way Justin is blabbering right now. It’s the exact same thing he does whenever he’s thoroughly ashamed or freaked out over something he wishes he has never done in the first place. He would apologize profusely that it would tend to annoy most people but he couldn’t help it. It’s how he is. “We’ve all had bad nights. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Brian must hate me now.” Justin’s voice is muffled against his hands. “And I mean, the other Brian.”

Well, Brian can’t speak on behalf of Bri. His friend has been calling Justin a ‘drama queen’ since last night. Marie Antoinette isn’t any better either. But then again, he had spoken highly of Alaska before all this shit happened so maybe he’s just pissed at how things have stacked up.

“He’s not the type to hold grudges so you’ll be fine.” Brian reassures his guest. “Besides, he just sent me a message and said that Aaron will be here to pick you up in an hour.”

“Oh… okay.”

Brian is surprised by the lack of relief in Justin’s tone, but he could only safely assume that perhaps Justin still isn’t ready to face his boyfriend yet.

“Do you…” He begins uncertainly. “…want me to like… tell him to pick you up later?”

Justin looks at him, seemingly confused. “Why would you do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” Brian shifts his eyes away and runs his fingers through his short blond hair. “I just– I don’t– ugh, fuck. I just really don’t know what to do or say right now. This is the first time I’ve had a stranger in my place. Honestly speaking, I’m not really keen on talking to strangers at all unless I’m getting paid for it. I guess you could say I’m not much of a people-person.”

Now a look of incredulity graces Justin’s features which— Brian has only come to realize— are softer than his. “Unless you’re getting paid for it?” The taller man repeats, his brows knitted in a frown.

Brian just stares back at him.

Until he realizes he just laid out a fucking private detail about his life to a total stranger. And not just any stranger, his goddamn soulmate.

“You’re an escort?” Justin pries.

Brian could feel a trickle of sweat running down his back. It’s too early for him to be perspiring but being put on the spot is never a convenient position for him to be in. And he sweats easily so that’s a wretched bonus. First impressions last after all and based on where this conversation is going, all he could estimate is that he’s coming off as a stuttering killjoy who sells his body because he couldn’t get a decent job. The latter isn’t exactly close to the accuracy of his lifestyle though. Being an escort is more of a choice, not an essential to his financial status.

“Y-Yes…?” He tries with a slight cringe. “But you know, drag is like my actual job. Being an escort is just… you know, whatever.” He ends it with a shrug that should have gone off as a casual one but it ends up being a bit stiff and twitchy.

Justin nods thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything else about the matter much to Brian’s appreciation. He’s awfully quiet and reserved compared to the whimsical and lewd Alaska he had portrayed last night. It pretty much broke the illusion to Brian but he couldn’t find it in himself to like him any less.

“Well anyway,” Justin sighs after taking another desperate-sounding sip from his glass. “thank you for taking care of me. And I really am sorry about all this. To make it up to you, why don’t you and other Brian come over to our place this Saturday night? Aaron and I will make you something nice for dinner. Or maybe we’ll just order takeout. It depends.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Bitch you can’t be any more of a bother than I have been to you.” This time, a light good-natured smile tugs the corners of Justin’s lips. “We’ve never invited Brian to our place before so it’ll be fun. Like a cozy double date.”

A double date?

Brian flushes at the implication. “Bri and I aren’t dating if that’s what you think.”

Justin laughs and the sound does embarrassing tingles and flickers in Brian’s chest. “You think I didn’t know about you asking him for nudes?”

Oh! That’s fantastic! Brian makes a mental note to add Bri to his list of future murder victims.

“Well excuse me for living free. I thought I was in America.” He jokes in his infamous British accent and Justin laughs some more. Okay, maybe his humiliation is somewhat worth it at the moment. At least Justin isn’t keeping to himself anymore. “But fine, I’ll admit that I did have a crush on Bri once. I never really kept that as a secret from him. He doesn’t see me that way though and that was centuries ago soooo, I’ve moved on.”

“That’s what they all say.” Justin says with a lethargic grin. “I’m willing to play Cupid, you know. I love setting people up.”

The irony of this situation must be so entertaining to Lady Fate.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do that would make Bri see me as anything more than a friend.” Brian chuckles in disbelief at the thought of Bri being actually attracted to him. First of all, Bri doesn’t want to date anyone who smokes and Brian doesn’t plan on stopping his smoking habits anytime soon. And another thing, Bri wouldn’t shut up about their 8-year age gap and constantly brags about how nice it is to be young as if Brian never went through his age.

“So yeah, you don’t have to.” He tries but Justin shakes his head.

“There’s no need to be so humble about it. I’ll see what I can do.” He then takes his things back to his arms. “It’ll be a stress-free night so relax.” He stops for a second before asking. “Do you do coke?”

Brian blinks. “I’m more of a Red Bull kind of guy.”

Justin offers him a look of what it seems to be a combination of bewilderment and disbelief for a second or two before it melts into another laugh. Brian doesn’t really know what it is that he finds funny but he smiles back anyway. He could just watch him laugh and smile all day for all he cares. Justin shakes his head and lets out a pleased sigh.

“You’re cute, Brian.”

Whatever his words were after that just went flying over Brian’s head because the first ones are what froze him on his spot.

Justin thinks he’s cute.

He finds him cute.

‘Cute’ isn’t the exactly the first impression he’s going for but fuck, he’ll take it.

Now he really is a schoolboy bitch.

A knock on the door yanks him back to reality and Brian realizes that Justin has gone back to his bedroom; probably to get his things. Another knock ensues and he doesn’t waste any more time standing around. He hurries over to the door and pulls it open without checking who it is.

Standing just from the other side is some bespectacled blond dude Brian has never seen before. There are faded traces of smudged eyeliner over both of his lower lash lines and his brows have been shaved off. He looks restless and strangely surprised by Brian which doesn’t make sense since he’s been knocking on the door. What else did he think is going to happen?

“Can I help you?” Brian asks politely anyway.

The stranger eyes him up and down, the look of discomfort now edging away as a smile graces his lips. “Are you Brian?”

“Yeah…?”

“It’s me, Sharon Needles. Or Aaron if you want to be casual.”

Oh. Damn. Could have fooled him.

He sort of pictured Sharon Needles to be the gothy kind of person outside of his drag. The person standing before him now is far from what he had imagined. Aside from the smudged eyeliner which he had evidently failed to completely wipe off, Aaron looks so clean and… bookish with those thick frames, a white sleeveless The Simpsons shirt, a pair of old jeans, and sneakers. There’s a welcoming softness in his eyes and he’s not ghostly white either. His skin has a pinkish glow, making him more human than the queen he portrays.

“Is Justin there?” Aaron asks, trying to peek over Brian’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, yeah, totally.” Brian steps aside and pulls the door further open. “He’s just getting his things. I thought you were gonna be here in like half an hour.”

“Yeah, funny thing about that.” Aaron smiles at him, scratching his cheek as he takes a step into the apartment. “We actually only live next door.” He juts his thumb over to the wall beside him and Brian’s eyes follow the direction.

His jaw goes slack for a second.

“Seriously?”

“I’m serious!” Aaron lets out a light laugh. “What are the odds of that, am I right?”

Brian just stares at the wall, dumbfounded.

Are you there, Lady Fate? It’s me, Brian.

Fuck you.

–

Brian seems like a pretty fidgety guy, Justin thinks. He clearly isn’t comfortable with any kind of silence at all. Justin wouldn’t have minded just lounging in his living room without the unnecessary small talk until he finds the courage to call Aaron but Brian looks so perpetually anxious that he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the guy. At least he now knows he didn’t sleep with him. None of this would have happened if he had listened to Aaron last night and accepted the fact that he was just being paranoid.

Remembering Aaron, Justin draws in a sharp breath and lets it out before bending down to pick up his boots that have been neatly placed beside the bed. It’s already a given that he’s the one who’s supposed to apologize first no matter how much he would prefer not to. The only way anybody could make Aaron apologize first is by holding their cat, Cerrone, hostage.

Justin hugs his things close to his chest and slides his eyes closed, his head still aching.

He hates fighting with Aaron.

He hates how determined they both are just to prove their point.

He hates how he’s always the first one to raise his voice.

He hates how Aaron would walk out in the middle of an argument.

He just hates what’s happening to them and so far, he hasn’t been doing anything to make things better. He just… lets it happen. He’s watching their relationship crumble right before his eyes. Everything was just so simple back then. He misses waking up in the morning to Aaron planting kisses all over his face. He misses tugging him to bed in the dead of the night whenever the blond would find himself too fixated on his designs. He misses the way Aaron kisses his cheek at the most unexpected times, especially when he’s in a very cheerful mood.

But now, all they do is yell at each other and when they’re not doing that, they would be walking on eggshells just to avoid a fight that will most likely burst out of nowhere.

Justin knows he’s at fault here. He’s too emotional. He lets things affect him too easily. While his boyfriend is attractively sure of himself, Justin is still in his little corner of self-doubt and paranoia. And he’s just dragging Aaron down with him.

So why is Aaron still putting up with him?

Because he loves me, Justin mentally assures himself. And I love him.

And just like that, the familiar light feeling of home swells in his chest and he opens his eyes.

He needs to makes things right again. He loves Aaron. God, he loves him so much that the thought of losing him is completely unimaginable. There’s no one else out there for him but that gorgeous and insane genius.

Suddenly hearing voices from the outside of the bedroom, Justin briskly grabs his bag and shoves his clothes and his wig inside before peeking out just in time to find Brian closing the front door. Aaron is standing nearby, his eyes wandering around the apartment until they settle on him. The moment their gazes lock, Justin is immediately engaged in a trance. Just seeing him again after their fight last night makes him want to run to his arms, give his own ego a big ‘fuck you’ and apologize for everything— promise him that he won’t be a hysterical brat anymore.

Then Aaron smiles at him.

And Justin is more certain than before that he’s fallen so fucking hard.

“I’m so sorry about last night.” He finally says in that usual embarrassed tone he adopts whenever he apologizes.

Aaron laughs and walks up to him, his hand coming up to tug him out of the bedroom. Much to Justin’s surprise, the blond gives him a soft kiss on the lips. “I should be sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone there. That was really shitty of me.”

“But I ruined the night.”

“You weren’t feeling well, baby. Many people might refuse to believe it, but you’re only human.”

Justin fights back the impulse to cry at how understanding Aaron is being right now. Their fights don’t normally end like this. It had always been fight, fight, fight, apologize, fuck, then fight some more. Maybe Aaron realized how often they’ve been yelling at each other recently and is determined to makes things right as well. If that’s the case, then perhaps they can do this together and everything will be back to normal.

“I love you so much.” Justin couldn’t stop himself from saying as he drops his things on the floor and pulls his boyfriend closer for another kiss. He feels Aaron’s lips curving to a smile against his and his hands resting over both sides of his waist. He really misses this— the kisses that actually mean something and not brought out just because they’re getting frisky in the bedroom. His heart flickers and his skin tingles, utterly intoxicated by their kiss.

Until the spell was broken by a single voice.

“Get a room, you two.” Brian’s voice tears them both away from their much needed contact and Justin looks up to find Brian still standing near the front door. “No seriously, your room is like literally next door.” He adds with a light-humored smile creeping up his lips as he juts his thumb to the right.

Aaron grins. “Whoops, sorry. Almost gave you a free show there. That wouldn’t be fair to those who actually pay to watch us.” He then bends down to pick Justin’s things up.

Justin, on the other hand, is somewhat flustered at how Brian just witnessed a moment of theirs. “Sorry, Brian.” But after digesting his new friend’s words more, he furrows his brows in confusion and looks at Aaron. “What did he mean by our room being literally next door?”

“We live next door.” Aaron points out.

Justin’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Really?” He exclaims in a pitch higher than his usual voice, accidentally letting out some of his Alaska persona in his reaction. He directs his gaze at Brian who nods at him in confirmation. Now Justin feels like an idiot. He shifts his eyes to the wall with a troubled pout. “The walls are so thin though… “

Brian is quick to pick up on his insinuation and chuckles awkwardly. “Oh my god…”

Aaron laughs as he takes Justin’s wrist and tugs him to the front door before pausing near Brian. “Don’t worry, darling. Our noises are actually very sexy so feel free to jack off to our sounds whenever you want.”

Humiliated heat rushes up Justin’s cheeks as he quickly slaps Aaron’s arm. “You’re so damn lewd.”

“Oh I’ll definitely rub my nipples until I get these bad boys to lactate.” Brian snickers and Aaron hoots at that.

“You two are a mess.” Justin shakes his head, but he could feel an amused smile stretching his lips. He reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door open before hurriedly nudging his boyfriend out, not wanting to be any more of a bother to Brian.

“Ow, so handsy.” He hears Aaron mutter but Justin pays him no mind as he turns to face Brian.

“I’m so sorry again for the inconvenience. Let me know if you’re still up for Saturday night.”

Brian stands by the door and smiles at him. He really has a nice smile, Justin finds.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it. Take care.”

“You too.”

#alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #sharon needles #katlaska #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #miss sugar pink #tw toxic relationship #tw alcohol abuse #tw drug mention #rpdr fanfiction #submission #in my mind #soulmate au #canon compliant

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healthandfitnessrecipes-blog · 6 years

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America’s Unending Tragedy

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=1017

LITTLETON, Colo.—Evan Todd, then a sophomore at Columbine High School, was in the library on the day 19 years ago when Eric Harris appeared in the doorway, wielding a shotgun. Harris fired in his direction. Debris, shrapnel, and buckshot hit Todd’s lower back; he fell to the ground and ducked behind a copy machine. Harris fired several more shots toward Todd’s head, splintering a desk and driving wood chips into Todd’s left eye.

Todd listened for several more minutes as Harris and Dylan Klebold murdered their classmates, taunting them as they screamed. Todd prayed silently: “God, let me live.”

Then Klebold pulled back a chair and found Todd hiding underneath a table.

He put a gun to Todd’s head. "Why shouldn't I kill you?" he asked.

“I've been good to you,” Todd said.

Klebold looked at Harris. “You can kill him if you want,” Klebold told his teenage co-conspirator.

No one knows why—indeed, no one knows the “why” behind such violence—but that’s when Harris and Klebold left the library. Todd got to live.

Thirteen people did not, though. Today, that’s why Todd supports allowing teachers to have guns in schools. Teachers shouldn’t be required to be armed, he says, but if they already have a concealed-weapons permit, and they’re already comfortable using a gun, why not let them have it with them in school, the place they are most of the day, and the place where these attacks happen over and over again?

Today, Todd is a stocky, bearded manager of construction projects, and describes himself as a history buff. He grew up around guns, but after Columbine, he thought hard about whether easy access to them might have been what caused the shooting. No, he decided. “We've always had guns since the beginning of the founding of our country, but what we haven't always had are children murdering children,” he told me over coffee this week. “Something has changed.” Todd believes school shootings are motivated by a fundamental lack of respect for human life.

The way Todd sees it, “liberals like to control others and conservatives like to control themselves.” He glanced around the Starbucks where we were sitting. Statistically, he said, four people there were likely to have guns on them. Being near four guns might scare many liberals. Many conservatives, though, would want to be one of the four with a gun.

The gun debate is an odd one because, at some level, everyone agrees on what they want: No more Columbines. No more Parklands. Most people affected by the Columbine massacre can even agree on what definitely didn’t cause it. After the shooting, Columbine developed a reputation as a toxic school where jocks tormented “geeks” like Harris and Klebold. But it’s a stretch to say the shooters were pitiable outcasts, bullied until they snapped. In reality, they were budding little fascists who wore swastikas on their clothes and spewed racial slurs as they gunned down black classmates. Kumbaya circles wouldn’t have fixed that.

The Columbine Memorial in Littleton. (Kirsten Leah Bitzer)

But, nearly 20 years later, not even people in Littleton can agree whether the best way to prevent another Columbine is more guns or fewer. Todd’s experience—a 15-year-old whose brush with death-by-gun led him to respect guns more—helps to explain why there have been so few new federal gun restrictions since Columbine.

There have been at least 10 mass school shootings in the years since, which have claimed at least 122 lives. On Saturday, hundreds of thousands of young people will march on Washington to show just how much this disgusts them. They believe they will be the ones to end the most calcified cultural stalemate of our time: that Americans fundamentally do not agree on whether guns are dangerous—or essential.

Todd worries that if more guns are removed from the hands of law-abiding citizens, a tyrannical government could take over—we could see an American Stalin or Mao. “More people would be murdered without the Second Amendment,” he said.

In the nearby town of Centennial, 64-year-old Carol Schuster said that’s one thing that keeps many conservatives from supporting gun control. “They’re afraid of the government,” she told me. She knows because she used to be one.

Schuster and her husband, Bill, own a company that sells big mobile filing cabinets, the kind that doctors use to store their patient records. Like many small-business owners, they long voted Republican.

The Schusters were terrified when Columbine happened, but they didn’t think it would keep happening. Those shooters were freaks, juvenile delinquents. “Another school shooting” hadn’t yet become a thing Americans say almost every month.

Carol Schuster outside her home in Centennial. (Kirsten Leah Bitzer)

Then came the Sandy Hook shooting, in which six- and seven-year-olds were mowed down as they cowered in their elementary-school bathroom. Schuster began to feel like her party wasn’t doing enough. (Just this week, Republican state legislators in Colorado rejected a ban on bump stocks, the devices used by the Las Vegas gunman that allowed his rifles to fire faster.) She attended a meeting of Colorado Ceasefire, a local gun-control group, and she was the only Republican there. “Oh,” she thought. “These Democrats really are nice people.” In 2016, Schuster voted for Hillary Clinton as a single-issue voter on guns.

Today, one portion of her office wall is devoted to photos of her family, another to pictures of dogs, and another to the front pages of newspapers covering all the mass shootings that have taken place since Columbine. “Important things,” she explained.

When she saw the Parkland shooting on TV, she decided she would go to Washington on Saturday to take part in the March for Our Lives. Her sign will read, “Former Republican for sensible gun laws.”

Schuster asked me where I was going next, and I told her I’d be interviewing Patrick Neville, a former Columbine student who survived the massacre and is now a Republican State Representative who supports concealed carry among teachers. Schuster said she had a lot of questions for him.

When I arrived at his office in the Capitol building in Denver, Neville looked red and tired. His press secretary seemed weary, too, from listening to dozens of voicemail messages, many of which wished to inform her that her boss was a “fucking asshole.” A bill Neville introduced, scheduled for a hearing just days after the Parkland shooting, called for allowing concealed-carry permit holders to bring their guns inside schools. “Get your head out of your ass!” one woman’s voice screamed on the answering machine. “Protect these children!” (Todd gets angry messages, too—including from people who tell him they wish he died at Columbine. The Schusters, meanwhile, say they get run off the road for their gun-control bumper stickers.)

Neville wasn’t inside Columbine when the shooting happened. He was just outside the building, skipping class to go smoke with friends. When he realized what was happening, he ran to a nearby house and called his mom. “I’m not going to be able to get to my next class,” he told her.

If Republicans are afraid of government overreach, then on the other side, “there’s an irrational fear of guns,” Neville said. Todd and Neville see guns as “tools” that can be safely used for fun or protection. Like Todd, Neville believes shooters target gun-free zones like schools because they know they won’t meet resistance. Not knowing which teacher might be armed is a “huge tactical advantage,” Neville argued. To protect his three young daughters, he plans to send them to a private high school, where teachers can carry guns.

This was the fourth time Neville sponsored the concealed-carry bill, and it failed like it always does, but he plans to introduce it again. Why? “Never a wrong time to do the right thing,” he said. The morning we spoke, another school shooting had taken place in Maryland.

Littleton, a Denver suburb, in many ways offers a typical middle-American landscape—dotted with drab office parks and Outback Steakhouses. Less typical are the striking, snow-streaked mountains, which loom in the background.

The light-beige Columbine High School building gets threats all the time. It’s the unholiest of holy sites: Several times a day, a security guard told me, random people stop by to take pictures or just to take a morbid look. The guard can’t allow them to do that; he can’t make the kids relive it that often.

Another security guard in the student parking lot kept a wary eye on me. But at 2:45, the glass doors swung open and perfectly normal students burst out of a perfectly normal school, laughing and asking each other about homework assignments. Among them was Kaylee Tyner, a junior who organized Columbine’s student walkout for gun control, which happened earlier this month.

Kaylee Tyner at her home in Littleton. (Kirsten Leah Bitzer)

The day I met up with Tyner, she had called a handful of her classmates to her house to make signs for Saturday’s march. Her friends plan to go to the local march in Denver, but Tyner will travel all the way to Washington with her mom. On top of her political advocacy, Tyner is in four AP classes, several clubs, and works as a waitress at a retirement home.

Tyner peeled a sticky note off the window of her Nissan—she’s in a club whose members leave encouraging messages for one another—and drove the four minutes from her school to her house. She put out some snacks and brought up tempera paints from the basement. The other girls trickled in a few minutes later. They huddled around Tyner’s dining-room table and laid out orange, black, and white poster boards. They’re Columbine’s core group of activists, and it’s something they’re surprisingly secure about. Once, a boy said something like “oh, there go the feminists” as they walked by, and one of them, 16-year-old Mikaela Lawrence, said simply, “Chh—yeah!”

The girls might get their news from social-media sites like Twitter, but, they tell me, they’re careful to check it against other sites to be sure it’s not “fake news.” Rachel Hill, a cheery 16-year-old, easily rattled off the gun measures she’d like to see: universal background checks, a ban on bump stocks, higher age limits and longer waiting periods. She painted a sign that read, “I have thought. I have prayed. Nothing changed.”

Kaylee and some friends work on signs for March for Our Lives at her home in Littleton, Colo.

The day after the Parkland shooting, the halls of Columbine were unusually quiet. Despite all the security, kids at Columbine periodically worry about another shooting happening there. Some of their teachers have panic attacks when the fire alarms go off, the girls said.

“We’re not gonna stop fighting until laws are passed,” said 14-year-old Annie Barrows, laying down her paint brush and hammering her fist into her hand. “There’s blood spilling on the floors of American classrooms.”

Kids who go to Columbine rarely joke about the shooting, but students from other schools sometimes make crass remarks, the girls said. “Going to Columbine, we don’t get to pick the label for our school,” Tyner said. “We’re one of the most infamous schools in America. We’re trying to show people that this affects your community for decades.”

One day in early April 1999, Daniel Mauser, a blond-haired, bespectacled Columbine sophomore, came home and asked his father, Tom Mauser, “Did you know there are loopholes in the Brady bill?”—the national law that requires background checks for gun purchasers. Tom didn’t think much of it. Daniel was on the debate team; he and his conservative classmate, Patrick Neville, would sometimes argue about politics.

Two weeks later, the day of the Columbine shooting, Tom didn’t know whether Daniel was alive or dead for nearly 24 hours. Late that night, authorities called to ask what Daniel had been wearing, or if the Mausers had any dental records. They said the Mausers would hear more in the morning. The following day at noon, the sheriff came along with some grief counselors to tell Tom that Daniel had been shot to death.

The Mausers stayed in the area, but they couldn’t bring themselves to send their surviving daughter to Columbine. Instead, she went to the nearby Arapahoe High School. It, too, had a shooting, after she graduated.

Tom, who worked for the state’s transportation department, took on a second role as a spokesperson for Colorado Ceasefire. He and his son shared a shoe size; he began wearing Daniel’s black-and-gray Vans to testify at hearings. In 2000, he successfully helped push through a measure to close the state’s gun-show loophole. He’s one of the few Columbine parents who speaks out about guns; some others support him but find it too painful to talk about, he says.

Over lunch at Panera Bread, he told me he doesn’t support arming teachers—there’s too much of a risk of crossfire, accidents, or police not knowing who the true “bad guy” is in a hectic shooting situation, he said. And what, are we going to hold first-grade teachers accountable for acting as soldiers would in combat? Many Republicans, he argued, seemingly “cannot acknowledge the danger caused by guns.” (Many Republicans, of course, argue Democrats can’t acknowledge the danger caused by restricting guns.)

One of the most helpful gun measures, he thinks, would be a state- or nation-wide red-flag law, allowing family members or law-enforcement officers to ask a judge to temporarily take away the guns of someone who seems dangerous.

At this point, a woman approached our table to thank Tom for his efforts. “You’re welcome,” he said.

The following day, Tom planned to go for a bike ride in the 70-degree weather, enjoy his retirement a little. But for the moment, he went back to talking about his dead son with yet another reporter. Because Columbine High has a stain, but so does the whole country, and it will endure until there aren’t any more stories like this left to tell. So he tells it.

Like Evan Todd, Daniel Mauser was in the library. Eric Harris insulted him, then fired his rifle and hit Daniel in the hand. Then the mild-mannered Daniel fought back—he pushed a chair at Harris. Harris responded by shooting him in the face.

I sat there speechless as Tom Mauser calmly ate a spoonful of soup. “This is America,” he said.

(Kirsten Leah Bitzer)

https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2018/03/033_KLB_toned/lead_960.jpg Credits: Original Content Source

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dmmowers · 7 years

Text

God is not a vending machine

Rub the cross; it will give us good luck!

I was in fourth grade. My friend Matt and I were sweating in the back of his parents' Chevy Beretta, watching the chest-high corn pass by out the window as we drove to our town's arch-rival town. Matt had his baseball uniform on. He was ready to do battle with the infidels from Genoa Kingston on a glorious field of green. I had been to Vacation Bible School at the Methodist the week before, and I had made a medallion out of plastic beads. You might remember the kind of medallion I'm talking about it. You made it by placing these colored plastic beads on a grid. When you finished placing the beads on the grid, the teacher took a hot iron and ran it over the beads with it so that they melted together. When they cooled down, you would take the melted-together-beads off of the grid. They cooled down, and you'd have a medallion. With me so far?

I put a black cross in the center of my medallion, surrounded by orange and yellow beads. I had brought it with in the car on the way to the baseball game. Just as we arrived at city limits, a couple of minutes away, I had a brilliant idea. I wanted Matt to win in his baseball game. I had been told that God cared about the details of our life, that God loved us and wanted what was best for us. Surely that meant that God wanted Matt to win too. I turned to him and held out the medallion. "Rub the cross!" I said. "It will give us good luck!" We both became reverently quiet as Matt rubbed the cross. We arrived at the field. We threw the medallion on the backseat and ran out of the car.

I cannot now remember whether his team won the game or not. What I do remember is the reverent silence as we asked for favor from God to win a baseball game. Yes, it was just kids playing, but what we believed was that this medallion had special power because it had a cross on it - that somehow, because there was a cross, God would give us victory if we touched the cross and thought good thoughts. We believed in the kind of God who would intervene in our lives so long as you said the right things and did the right things.

And yes, we were just kids, but when the chips are down for a lot of us adults, many of us try to play The Art of the Deal with the Most High. We think we are freely choosing to go to God with our problems. We try to persuade God into doing something that we want by offering to do something for him. What we don't realize is that the Power of Sin lurks just behind the corner. We revere the cross of Jesus - a good gift God has given us - and us it for our own manipulative purposes.

In our reading from the Apostle Paul to the Romans this morning, Paul describes the way that the people of Israel took a good gift from God and used it for their own manipulative purposes. In their case, it was not the cross - it was the Law of Moses. God had chosen Israel to be his special people through the covenant he made with Abraham, and so God gave them the Law of Moses. The Law was summarized by the Ten Commandments, and the purpose of the Law was so that the people of Israel would know how God called them to live - humbly, gently, so that the other nations of the world would take notice and the people of Israel could be a blessing to them. But that wasn't the way it happened. Instead of guiding the way that the people of Israel lived, the Law became a badge of honor, a source of national pride. The proof, they said, that we are better than everyone else. We are the people with the Law! We are the people God has chosen! We are the special people!

The people of Israel thought they were pleasing God by honoring the Law. They thought their religious zeal for their status as a people was what God wanted for them. Just like that cross medallion, the people of Israel had taken a good gift of God, the Law, and were coerced into using it in the service of the Power of Sin. The Law became a way to distinguish the righteous from the unrighteous, the good people from the bad people, the people God loved from the people God hated. No longer was the Law the way Israel was to be a blessing to the nations - instead the Law turned into the measuring stick Israel used to keep all those other nations from the blessing of God. They thought they were honoring God by using the Law in this way, but the power of sin had deceived them and sold them into slavery, as Paul writes in verse 14.

Paul tells us that the giving of the Law gave the Power of Sin an opportunity. Before the Law was given to Moses, the people of Israel only knew what God wanted when God revealed himself to them. But now they had a Law that was written down, a series of commandments that told them to do some things and not to do others.

The effect was similar to telling a toddler not to touch a hot stove. The toddler runs around the kitchen, oblivious to the stove. But the moment you tell the child that the stove is hot and they are under no circumstances to touch it, you can see the wheels start to turn. Oh really? I'm not supposed to touch the oven. I wonder what would happen if I touched the oven. Okay, fine, I won't touch the oven. I'll touch the cabinet right next to the oven, just to see what happens. You know where this is going! Eventually the child touches the oven. The child was tempted to do something because they had been told not to do it. The command not to touch the oven - that's the Law. The temptation to touch it just because they had been told not to - that is what the power of Sin does to the people of Israel. "For sin," Paul writes, "seizing an opportunity in the commandment, deceived me and through it killed me." The Power of Sin saw that God had given Israel the Law, and saw an opportunity to enslave God's chosen people by tempting them to break the Law, which they did again and again, not only by disobeying it, but by treating it as a symbol of how favored Israel was among all the other nations. Israel's vocation was to live as a blessing for the other nations but ultimately they chose to live as though they were better than everyone else. They took a good gift of God and used it for their own purposes, and what it brought about was not the favor of God, but slavery to the power of sin.

II.

Just like that parent standing at the stove, watching the toddler edge closer, we understand what it is to use God's good gifts for our own purposes, and then to suddenly realize that the Power of Sin has used our actions to bring about death. Every time we use the name of God or what we know about Jesus Christ for our own purposes, that is the Power of Sin working in us to bring about our destruction.

The God of Jesus Christ is not a God who makes bargains. So many people have this idea that the God of Jesus Christ is like a vending machine: if you put a dollar in, press A4, you get a Snickers bar. The Packers are down by a touchdown with 34 seconds to go, you tell God that you'll go to church next Sunday if Aaron Rodgers can find Jordy Nelson on a sideline route towards the middle of the field. You are a politician and you tell the people that you feel called by God to help heal America, and all of you voters out there will be blessed if you vote for me. If you're kids who want to win a baseball game, you silently touch your cross medallions on the way to the field so that God would give you the victory.

People do this all the time for much more important things, too. People fight with their spouses over a long period of time, and then one day, you argue and fight all day. You get to that climactic moment in the fight and you realize that the next words out of your mouth are going to determine whether you get a divorce, and in the heat of the moment, you tell God that you will give God anything he asks for if you can get out of this moment still married. We'll help other married couples who are having problems! We'll go to Fr Dave and tell him we want to put on a marriage retreat for Trinity Church! You're in that moment when your stomach drops after your college-aged daughter comes to you and tells you to sit down. She's already crying as she tells you that she needs to tell you something, and in that moment you think, "Lord, I will give you anything you want for this not to be her telling me that she's had an abortion, that she's hooked on drugs, that something terrible has happened to her." Even in the midst of the most terrible moments in our lives, we are tempted to do the same thing that the people of Israel did. We have received such good gifts from God in Jesus, in the church, in the way that Jesus has shown himself to us in Scripture, and the temptation for us is to think that we have achieved some kind of status because God has given us those gifts to us. The temptation is to think that we are special, that we are the ones with something to offer to God, that we are the ones that God needs to worship him. But that is all wrong. III.

Here's the good news: none of this is news to God. God knows that the Law provided an opportunity to the power of Sin to enslave the people of Israel. God knows that the good gifts that he has given to his church provide an opportunity for us to try to manipulate God. Paul writes about this struggle in such memorable terms: "I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate...I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who shall set me free from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

God knew that the giving of the Law would provide sin an opportunity to enslave the people of Israel. God knew that giving the Church the many good gifts it has would provide an opportunity to enslave us. So what did God do? He sent us Jesus Christ, so that we would no longer be slaves to sin.

The Jewish Christians Paul was writing to in Rome were no longer slaves to sin because Jesus Christ had broken the power of Sin. No longer did they hold up the Law as the special possession of their special people, they held up Jesus Christ, not as their possession at all, but as a gift they had been given to be shared with the world. No longer were the people of Israel to live as an enclave, as a pure people set apart from the pagan Gentiles around them. They were to be a people that invited the Gentiles in, that invited people of other races, who didn't have the Law and never had the Law, to be a part of the chosen people of God. This chosen people would be open to people of every nation, of every tribe, of every tongue, no matter how uncivilized or backwards or Barbarian or dirty. The worship of the one true God would no longer be limited to the people who thought they were better than everyone else because they had received the gift of the Law. The worship of the one true God would be for all people, for the people of Israel have been set free from the law of sin and death through Jesus Christ our Lord.

IV.

And today, Trinity Church, we have been set free from the power of Sin through Jesus Christ our Lord. We no longer have to believe the lie that we need to have something to offer God for God to intervene in our lives. We don't have to have a cross medallion to ask God to help us win a baseball game. We don't have to tell God how often we'll go to church if he will come down right now to save our marriage. In that moment when our stomach drops and we're looking at the tears streaming down our child's face, we don't have to tell God that we'll put our life savings in the offering plate to have him be with us. When we cry out to God, "Abba! Father! Daddy! Help us," God is faithful to meet us in that moment because he has adopted us as his children: not because of our goodness, not because of anything we offer him, but because that is the kind of God our God is.

God doesn't need us. God doesn't need any of the things that we would try to use to bargain with him. God is not subject to manipulation; God is not a vending machine. Because the God of Jesus Christ raised him from the dead, God is as near to us as our next breath. He is with us in that moment when the knock on the door comes in the middle of the night, no matter how bad the news is. He is the one who puts those words of forgiveness for our spouse in our mouths in that pivotal moment of fighting, those words that we are surprised to hear ourselves utter. When we are out of our minds with fear watching our adult child crying in front of us, God is with us when we find ourselves telling that child that we will always love them, no matter what they are about to tell us. We cannot manipulate this God into giving us what we ask for, but thanks be to God in Jesus Christ, this God has already given us everything we need. The only response left open to us is not to work hard to please him, but only to thank him, to worship him for all of his goodness to us.

Who shall rescue us from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

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