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anadiasmount · 4 months

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glory box - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: pr stunts looks good on paper and online, but no one ever truly know what happens behind closed doors. when deciding to abruptly terminating your contract, you’re faced with a unsettlement that can’t be resolved until you confess the truth and nothing but the truth.

wc: 7k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa🗣️: this contain smut so minors please dni! 🔞 content ahead contains unprotected p and v, being tied up, handjob, oral on f, and being edged. a bunch of angst but fluff as promised! my longest story yet and I really love this :PP insta au's included throughout the story! like always hope you enjoy! 🤍

the streets were quieter than usual, always filled with people walking up and down, on their bikes, or with loud cars driving by. it could have been due to the weather, the grey skies and cold air, immediately making people rather stay inside than stroll around. you would rather be those people, either finish packing for your move to germany, or sit on the couch and eat sweets all night.

the decision was made rapidly. being accepted to uni and the internship that would help you start of your career, going full ride as long as you made no mistakes or fell behind. you felt utterly grateful and full of joy, but that would mean moving away from the place you called home, to a newer city alone.

here you had your uni friends, and some family, you weren't alone. leaving all this behind meant leaving them which you weren't prepared for. no one is ever prepared for a sudden goodbye, you hated goodbyes, it made you feel even guiltier. it wasn’t easy to break the news, with many tears and reminiscing, though the support would always be there, their words of encouragement making you feel less regretful.

although you had one thing left to do, which was terminate the pr contract with no other than him. jude bellingham. the pr stunt that was made strictly professional turned into no other a friends with benefits situation. it was risky business, and became awkward when strangers or close friends asked you personal questions about the relationship. kids, marriage, how long you had been together, how you met. your life became a lie and you were tired of that.

was it a foolish idea? totally. but you needed the money nonetheless, school became expensive and then you hardly could eat because you could never afford the groceries after paying utilities, your job not paying you enough even after the amount of work you put in. if there was another way, you wouldn't have hesitated to take it.

you weren't looking forward to this, because saying goodbye to jude would make every plan and decision you made official. you would have had your pr manager do it for you but you felt the need for closure, even though it would be hard to receive that when jude was famously known everywhere. you and him were famously known everywhere. the it couple.

they only saw what was posted online or on paper. a happy smiling couple walking into a dinner setting hand to hand, a media event consisting of many red carpet photos, being “discreetly” caught late at night stealing kisses, oh don't get started on the game day photos, or photo dumps jude did on his feed and story dedicated to you… they never knew what happened behind closed doors. it was all fake.

the door opened, the creak making you squint your eyes and cover your ear. you saw jude walk in with the guy who made all of the pr stunt come to light, jonah. jude sent you his pearly white smile, a sudden wave of nausea hit you, reminding you about the first time you came here to officially sign off on the deal, now it was you terminating it.

you quickly greeted jonah, avoiding jude because now you felt it impossible to do what you wanted to do. his confusion went unnoticed by jonah, but you could see hurt flash him, as jude’s body language completely changed. his hand trying to discreetly catch your attention to him. if there was one thing jude hated more than anything, it was being left out.

“so to what do we owe this pleasure, y/n? must be something good?” jonah sipped onto his warm latte completely oblivious. you pursed your lips and looked up, feeling jude’s brown eyes drown into you. he watched as you pulled out a manilla folder, your hands slightly shaking as you opened it to reveal the contract.

“i’m here to terminate the contract we have,” you said softly with a barely present smile, jonah choked on his drink, turning away to cough loudly in pure shock. you couldn't see it but you could almost feel the plastered face of confusion on jude’s face at your words. jude was stunned, not able to process your words. terminate our contract?

“what are you talking about? what are you on about?” jude spoke as his brummie accent popped out more than usual, furrowing his brows as his hand finally touched your thigh trying to get you to look at him, but it only irritated him more as your attention was on jonah.

“you said if we wanted out, of this,” you pointed at the two of you, the empty space, “we had to give each other, well everyone, a two months heads up,” you stuttered, feeling your nervous system go crazy.

“i spoke to you about this a while ago, but i made my decision…” you said surely, jonah nodding his head either in affirmation or still slightly stunned by your sudden loss in the deal. “y/n, i don't get why though? we still have a couple of months left? we have upcoming events and charities!” jude said with a crazed look.

when jude saw you couldn't face or let alone speak to him like an adult, he scoffed and leaned back onto the chair, “no! i don’t agree to this. i won't agree to terminate the contract.” so many thoughts raced into his head, desperately wanting to know why you wanted out, or if someone was bothering you. he wanted to fight for you, to keep you away from whatever was pushing you away.

“i’m afraid it is in the contract jude… if the other party wants out they have the right to do so… with or without the other person’s agreement,” jonah spoke defeatedly, running a hand along his forehead. “i’m guessing you know the terms and conditions that apply to this right?” he asked facing you, “yes, my pr person told me about it. i'm fully aware of the consequences.”

jude couldn't wrap his head around the fact you would be going along with this. that in just two weeks you would be gone, and a present reminder of the taint you left behind. was it the sudden fame you got that bothered you into doing this? had he done or said something to push you away? was there someone else who got your attention?

that made him even more upset, and jealous even. thinking of someone else making you happy when it wasn't him next to you. he envied the person if there was one, who got to hold your hand, smile at you, or dared to look into your eyes. those eyes he watched rolled back as he hit that spot that made you shiver breathless, the eyes that glistened when you laughed, eyes that he could get lost into, the eyes that never lied. even if the contract didn't state it like he envisioned, you were his.

maybe it was a mistake to start a habit or create that barrier of awkwardness when you agreed to have what you had. but soon he realized just how attached he was to you, calling whenever he felt the need to be next to you, making unscheduled dates to see you even if it was for an hour or two, always having his arm around you no matter where you went.

“it’s so beautiful here!” you said excitedly, with your eyes dazed and smile as you stared into the tulip field. you ushered him to hurry, immediately walking to the rows of flowers that layed ahead of you. he couldn’t stop watching, the way the sunset had a glow on you as you leaned down every now and then to smell the flowery scent.

his hands engulfed your from behind, making you laugh loudly and turning to hug him thanking him quickly. It didnt feel fake, it felt real, the way his heart stopped everytime you spoke or laughed, when you pointed in the distance, when you told him a childhood story of how you became obsessed with gardens.

“if i could buy this field, it would all be yours. i would do anything to see you this happy and excited every day… you’re so beautiful y/n…” he tucked your hair back and kissed you. it felt exactly how he planned the date, with butterflies and a sense of home.

“i’ll have the terminated contract ready by next early next month. it will be signed by me and jude by then, you can drop them off at the office after you sign,” jonah said. the three of you said nothing, not a single peep or action. you jumped, the table shaking as the drinks almost spilled, when jude stood up and walked out and yelled out, “this is bullshit!”.

your heart thumped in apprehension, knowing jude reacted the way you pictured it. your eyes followed him as he rapidly walked out, disappearing into the crowds of people by the intersection. your eyes stung, feeling the irritation and picturing just how red they would get, jonah squeezed your hand in comfort, “do you wanna talk about it? i know it’s not my place to ask, but i’m open to hear…”

you hesitated to speak but you felt like you owed it to him at least, “i’ve accepted to move abroad for school and work, and i’m moving away soon. i thought about it closely enough and i just don't think physically and mentally could’ve managed this pr relationship with my daily life. i did it most off for a new chapter and start, to leave out the old and bring in the new.”

“well, first of all congratulations! i’m very proud of you for always being a tough fighter and always dedicated to your studies. it takes a warrior to do that especially when dealing with a contract like this, having to judge your every move and ignore the comments they say. like you said, if you felt the need to begin something new, go for it! you’re young and smart, and i know this move will be perfect,” jonah said encouraging.

“and i’m glad you were able to think of the risks and sacrifices you would’ve faced if you continued it. the traveling, not being able to focus on studies or on the job, the fake smiles and interviews, plastering your face here and there for companies knowing you weren't happy. it doesn't make you selfish, quite frankly it makes you stronger, y/n,” jonah continued.

“i know it isn't just that though... something deeper happened between you and jude. whatever it is i feel like you should tell him before it's too late. even a blind bird could see the tension, i think that is why it made your relationship even more believable… it didn't look like a pr stunt to me, especially with the hidden glances.”

you rapidly blinked the tears that threatened to fall down your hot cheeks, forcing yourself to smile and show no indication of how the move, jude, terminating the contract made you feel. blinking away at the image of jude’s face being hurt, you never wanted to hurt him, but the inconsistency the two of you had become insufferable.

while what you and jude were doing made you feel alive, you wanted more. which scared him as his sole focus was football. it should've never happened, it was all a mistake, and you hated yourself now more because of it. for allowing yourself to get attached, to be consumed away by his words and kisses, for making you believe there was something more than stupid words on a sheet of paper.

you sat quietly on the carpet, the paintbrush in your hand stroking the white canvas, with different lines and shapes, colors and patterns as you painted. jude had his tongue slightly peeking, a look of concentration as he focused on perfecting every trace of color on his canvas.

“jude?” he replied with a hum, still focused on painting.

it was a topic you thought about every time you had sex, or shared an unexpected kiss. would this probably ruin things maybe… but it would mean you tried. you sighed and nervously chuckled, your thumbs running on the pads of your fingers as you took a deep breath an asked, “after the contract ends, where do we go from here? us i mean…”

his head slowly rose up… an eyebrow raised with a face of questioning. he didn’t anticipate you asking this, taken at back and chuckled a bit. your smile fell, feeling embarrassed as you had the urge to scratch the tip of your brow in nervousness. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water, his eyes bored into yours.

“well, we end of course… the contract ends so do we, no? we could still see each other, when we feel the need to you know, but i don’t see why we would continue this? whatever you're trying to imply? remember this is just for public figures, for the two of us to benefit from it… its all an act. it's all fake…”

you felt as your heart was taken out of you, empty and felt lied to. all an act? all fake? you knew it was a pr stunt, but you thought maybe he would feel the same for you after sharing constant nights and kisses together. Was there anything inside that maybe felt the slightest bit for you? with a painful smile you responded.

“oh… right.”

“please don’t tell him jonah. not a single peep of what we spoke…” you pleaded, wiping away a tear that let out. jonah opened his mouth to deject but closed it, understanding you needed time to process what was going on in your life. he licked his lips and closed the folder, standing up and buttoning his blazer, “please don't make the mistake of leaving knowing there's more that needs to be said to him. you’ll regret it…”

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spottedcelebreity

liked by: 349,908, and others

spottedcelebrity: after recent rumors of the couple splitting up, it seems like jude and y/n are together. what is your opinion on them? live show is present at 9pm so stay tuned.

comments:

user34: i still think its a pr stunt... theres no way they've been together so long.

username3: he looks so good!!! y/n is a lucky woman to have jude as her bf.

user50: the flowers, he is so perfect.

username21: fuck jude, i want to see y/n? ik my queen ate with her fit!!

username589: i swear, how are they still together? they weren't posting at all like they used to?

—————————

the limo ride was quiet, soft music playing in the background as you nervously bit the nail on your thumb. your leg bounced rapidly, your dark gown making flowy movements, attempting to distract yourself from the over 6ft tall man who sat beside you. before you could successfully terminate the contract, there was a club charity event downtown, which would be your last appearance together.

you would’ve thought your “relationship” ended that day at the restaurant, but jonah still needed the two of you to post content, even if it was a small glimpse because technically you still had those two months left. you didn't want to get sued or be treated worse, for his and your sake you agreed. a month and a half filled with quiet silence, unspoken feelings, and forced smiles.

you couldn’t bring yourself to tell jude you loved him, that for you jude meant more than a stupid contract, but he obviously wasn't ready for that. that didn't stop him from talking to other girls and making you feel less without knowing. he never was ready for more with you, focused on other people and things, and you really wanted to avoid another heartbreak before moving. the idea of never being enough for him hurt you, because after so long you sacrificed what you had in life to be with him. your friends, your family, your privacy.

“i know we aren't on best terms but let’s keep it civil,” jude suddenly spoke up, making you nod carefully and look out at the window again. jude’s hand itched to interlock with yours, looking down to see you wearing the rings and bracelet he got for you adorned on your hand.

he fisted his hand and knocked it on his thigh gently, a million thoughts raced his head as to whether the club dinner would go to plan and no one suspecting a thing. he was nervous as lately there have been so many headlines saying you had broken up. jude wasn’t stupid and he knew you were hiding something from him, he just didn't why you hid it from him.

even though you had been nervous, it didn't stop you from reaching over and grabbing his larger palm and conjoining them together with yours. this was his day today, and the good persona in you wanted to assure he wouldn't be a mess thanks to your situation and feelings. your thumb softly stroked his skin, making jude smile inside, as butterflies appeared in his chest.

“i know i don't say it enough, but thank you for everything you've done for me. the traveling, sacrifices, events, the fake smiles… everything we did together,” jude said knowing this would be his final chance to make things right. he could feel your hand loosen its grip, giving him big eyes as you heard him talk. “i am going to miss you… so much y/n.”

“me too jude,” you gave him a small smile, leaning up and pressing a faint kiss on his cheek to avoid leaving a print, but he wouldn't have cared either way, he loved when you did that. he wanted to relish every last second knowing it meant you'd never seen him again. he couldn't tell but you were a nervous wreck, you pushed your feelings aside once again to calm him, but deep down all you could feel was cold air and a pit in your stomach at his words. “i am going to miss you y/n… so much…”

you so badly wanted to run away in that moment, for allowing those words to mean more than they should. with a heavy heart and shaky hands you stepped out and walked out hand to hand inside the event center, jude glancing down every now and then to check in. your hand found home around his bicep, faking all the smiles and laughs when the media team asked both of you questions, complimenting him for his season so far, making sure to be the supportive girlfriend you have been so far.

you immediately downed the glass of champagne as soon as the waiter offered, fanning your face because the room became hot. you said your hello’s to other wags there, taking pictures and talked with them as the night passed. you stayed close to where jude was as you watched him talk with his teammates and coaching staff.

you checked your socials and immediately found yourself clicking on his story, a bereal picture taken of you when you were in the car when you had held his hand looking out and the small kiss print selfie of him. you giggled and hearted it, scrolling along some fan pictures and comments filled with relief as you two were still together.

—————————

spottedcelebrity

liked by: 547,768, and others.

spottedcelebrity: y/n was seen wearing a glamorous dress, as she approached her boyfriend jude who waited outside their car with open arms. the couple seemed to have missed each other as their hug lasted a minute before sharing a quick kiss. what do we think about these two?

comments:

user39: same old same old.

username1: i think jude could do way better than her...

↪️user45: no way? i honestly think with his lifestyle SHE could do better than someone who runs for a ball every day.

user23: she looks so beautiful, shes so gorgeous always! 💕

username88: anyone hear the rumor about her moving away?👀

↪️ username3: WHAT

↪️ user43: me too! some wag gossip page posted it but we don't know if its true.

↪️ user73: if she moves away that means they break up...

↪️ spottedcelebrity: well that being said... stayed tuned for our 9pm live show...👀

user44: i'm so happy they're together! she's so supportive and such a good person to judge :(((

—————————

even though the night was dedicated to him, you still had your fun. playing a game of poker and winning while sitting on jude’s lap and feeling him pepper kisses on your shoulder delicately, danced with the girls, and took picture with them at the booth. you clapped loudly as jude had been awarded a small trophy for the season, when he returned he kissed your lips softly, savouring the moment by leaving a last kiss on your forehead.

your hands slightly scratched the back of his neck as you slowed danced together, it was so late but no one wanted to leave. your feet ached but you could care less as you wanted to hold him like you were, to appreciate him for the last time. words didn’t need to be said, the way you both held each other said enough.

the sudden rush of sadness hit you, feeling your hands come to a halt, and a desire to be honest. it wouldn’t matter two weeks from now. two weeks from now you’d be living a different life than currently, attempting to forget every trace of jude. beginning a new chapter and living life to its fullest.

“i haven’t been honest with you lately jude…”

jude swallowed hard, grabbing the back of your head gently and pulling you to see your watery eyes and biting your lip. “talk to me. say what you have to say. believe me, you’ll be doing us both a favor by saying what you have to say. no matter how much it hurts or feels… put me out my misery. i need to know why you're doing this. to us…”

his hand remained there, holding you in his place, with his jaw clenched, his soft glistening eyes begging you for answers. your chest flooded with warmth, “if i do say what's on my mind… i’m afraid i’ll do the biggest mistake and regret… i’ve tried in the past, and it always take a toll…”

“i’m moving to germany,” you deadplanted. jude released a breath, stuck in place, he scowled and gave you an unsure side smile. “what do you mean moving to germany? what for? for how long?” he asked with a insisting tone, brows tucked in. he could handle a couple months top, but forever is something he couldn’t do. it was becoming too late and your words were becoming his biggest nightmare become reality.

“jude, what is the most thing that scares you the most?” the interviewer asked. jude thought about the answer, tapping his bearded chin with his index finger, a taunting smile with playful eyes. you stifled a laugh, covering your mouth not wanting to seem disrespectful.

it was you. to lose you.

“probably my girlfriend y/n. it’s my biggest fear yet, to think of anything happening or her not being with me? yeah that’s what scares me the most,” he nodded as your mouth agape, you offered the camera a nervous smile. just when you assumed you couldn’t be more in love, this was the tip of the iceberg.

“i’m moving for school, i’ve been accepted to their program and their internship that can help me later on in my career... i genuinely didn’t think i’d get accepted but i did, and i’m doing it…” you told. jude shook his head in surprise, blinking rapidly to see if this was actually happening. jude was attempting to comprehend, how you could’ve kept this secret so long away from him.

everything was making sense to him. the random cancelations, when you didn’t text back, when you abruptly left the next morning after having sex, no more ‘good morning’ or ‘goodnight’ texts, how you dodged his kisses even when it was the two of you alone. he saw all the signs but ignored them. it was his fault. for not being able to see how things were being portrayed.

jude grabbed your hand, leading you out to a private hall in the venue, and then outside to a white balcony. you tried to keep up, but with your heels and urgency to run it became difficult. some of his teammates and wives gave you suspicious looks, making you give them a reassuring smile and mouth a “we’ll be right back.”

jude paced back and forth on the concrete, clearly stressing, you sat on the small bench by the door. “you were just gonna get up and leave? just like that? without saying anything to me?” he asked his voice cracking, walking over to you. “i mean you wouldn’t care? you said so yourself that day, that when the contract ends we end,” you quoted his words.

jude felt guilty because he remembered he had said that. he could still see the painful smile on your face when he said those words. “i don’t get you jude. one day you want me, the next day you don’t? why would it matter to you if i left? all you’ve made me feel is like a shitty person. you use me one day, give me hope something could happen between us just for you to push me away. yeah, i sure do matter to you,” you sassed.

“it does matter to me. you matter to me. do you think i wouldn't feel anything for you after this year and a half?”

“well, i don’t know jude. what do you think? i’ve constantly shared what i feel when i’m around you, and you don’t even bother, so why should i? it hurts me, i feel embarrassed at the amount of times i tried, but it will never be enough for you. we’re in this pr mess because of you!” you yelled out. it wasn’t right to blame him, for everything including the pr, you just couldn't hold back on the anger you felt. after holding it for so long.

“i’m sorry but you agreed to it remember? you had your reasons i had mine,” jude retorted. “this is why. this is what i was afraid of. the constant arguing, not being able to make time for each other, the trust issues. i’m scared of losing you even if it is due to the smallest thing. i hate thinking of you not being in my life because it hurts me. to lose you would hurt me.”

“you’re just saying that..”

“i’m not just saying that. it’s how i feel about us and for you. my whole life has been dedicated to football and quite frankly i don’t know if i’m enough for you. i don’t know how to do all this… i don’t have the experience, though it feels right being with you. with or without the contract. i hope you know what i’m getting to… you’re more than enough y/n.”

something inside you want to not to believe him that it would be one of those moments again. but the way he sat here begging with his eyes for you not to go made you understand there was more to what he was saying. “all those times i pushed you away i thought i was doing what’s best but turns out it was the opposite. i’m tired of that, i just want to start fresh. i won’t hold you back from your dream, but please, try to understand me, ” jude pleaded.

“i do understand you jude, it's just troubling to find a solution to this after the amount of times we pushed each other away,” you said with your voice cracking. “i just wanna be yours…” you confess tears sliding down your cheeks, unable to get rid of the pain and chill feeling you experienced.

“you are mine baby… from the moment you walked into that office, when we signed those papers, after our date in the tulip fields, you’ve always been. i was just a coward to continue letting my overthinking get in the way of our love,” he pulled you onto his lap, stroking your hair back, “please don’t leave me here alone… i love you y/n.”

“you love me?” you stuttered tears no longer coming out watching jude with wide eyes to see if you heard properly. your heart hammered in your chest, jude felt like he could hear his own pulse beat rapidly, he was finally expressing how he felt and there was no holding back. he wanted to make sure you knew how he felt, that you were on the same page as him.

“how could i not? you changed my soul from a dark place to where now i picture us in that field of tulips. the moment i met you i knew you were special, everything about you captivated me, your smile, laugh, eyes, your kindness. i know i’m not big on communication, but it feels like a relief to finally say this,” jude kisses your wrist thumb tracing over your knuckles as he continues. “i love you, and to have someone who loves me like you do, is so grateful…”

“let’s get out of here jude…”

the bedroom door to his room opened quickly, jude placing you on the floor before going over and shutting it. he strides over again, grabbing your face not caring about your makeup, and leans down to capture your lips with his. your hands settled locked on his wrist, allowing your body to rest at his mercy.

“it scared me to think you would go away and be alone. where i can’t protect you or hold you like this when i please,” jude whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “don’t ever do that to me again. i can’t afford to lose you baby, ever,” jude confessed tucking a stand of hair back, closing his eyes and allowing the moment to pass.

“i promise i won’t jude. you have my word.”

jude placed soft kisses all over your collarbone, his beard tickling you as his hand moved down your spine to slowly unzip your gown. your head felt cloudy as his eyes stared at the black lacy set of lingerie, roaming over every beauty mark and parts he wanted to see uncovered. “to think you were walking around with this underneath without me knowing…” jude tsked.

jude kisses a small mole by your boob “every inch,” then down to a faint scar on your shoulder “of you…”, he ran his tongue along your skin, making you lose balance and squeeze your legs together, “is perfect. so perfect and beautiful.”

“jude…” you said shakily, he hummed, his hands gripping your waist and bringing you to him. “don’t get shy with me baby… i’ve seen you like this many times. this feels different because we’ve now said i love you to each other…” jude kisses your lips fervently, groaning at your sweet taste once again.

“do you have any idea how crazy you make me feel?” jude asked, ending the question with a ‘hmm’. “how long i waited to hear you say those words? how you consume my everyday thoughts…” jude groaned, and squeezed your ass making you grip his biceps tightly. “i want to make you all mine. not on a sheet of paper, here tonight…”

“then what are we waiting for jude? i'm here…” you say breathlessly, “i’m all yours with or without that stupid contract.”

the kiss was different from the one he gave you in the hall an hour ago. this kiss was filled with urgency and neediness, yet also with undeniying love. he felt you crumble for him, your hand on his cheek not wanting for him to pull away. he couldn’t pull away, addicted to how you tasted, how your lips bit his bottom one and watched it pull back.

he walked you over to the bed, your legs spreading for him as your back hit the silk sheets. your back arched at the cold feeling and sensation, pulling away from the kiss and let out a small whine. jude kisses your jaw and knee, standing up with his lips slightly swollen and tainted with your lipstick, gulping at the sight of your body.

he made sure you were watching, your eyes stuck on his big hands slowly remove his suit jacket. his fingers slowly unbuttoning the white shirt, revealing his bare torso, abs and happy trail that you wanted to touch. he swallowed a breath, looking at the way you thighs suddenly clenched closed as he removed his belt and dress pants.

your chest raised up and down, your propped arms now itching to be closer to jude as he got on the bed with you. “can i touch you jude?” your voice low, jude’s eyes going wide before nodding. you crawled over to him, where he layed on his back just with his black calvins and his prominent big bulge. you bit the inside of your cheek, filling the empty spot where you would cuddle his right side.

you kissed his lips teasingly, hearing a small groan escape his throat, trailing down to his neck sucking the spot beneath his pulse, down to his chest which rapidly began to rise at your actions. “is there anything you want me to do?” you ask shyly sitting up, feeling intimidated by his brown eyes that were darker than usual. “take this off for me…” at his deeper voice he helped you unclip the lace bra, groaning at the soft flesh of your boobs, erect nipples reaching his view.

“you have the most perfect body y/n…”

your hand slowly traced down his happy trail, nails raking, observing the way his abs sucked in struggling to calm down. “relax jude…” you said tauntingly with a smirk, jude closed his eyes in desire as he felt your hand reach inside his boxers. he shivered feeling your erect nipples touch against the warm skin on his side, now fully hard as you tucked him out his boxers.

you slowly stroked his shaft, hand barely being able to wrap around his complete girth. your thumb circled the tip, pre-cum oozing and adding a layer of lube. he felt hard and heavy against your palm, kissing his neck to add to the satisfaction he was feeling. his right hand squeezed your ass cheek, as his left palm clenched the sheets beneath him.

the way you slowly yet squeezed him, was adding fire to the pit of his stomach. he couldn’t focus on anything, rolling his eyes back everytime you squeezed him or gave him doe eyes. “fuckkk y/n… you’re making me feel so good baby… keep doing that… just like that…” jude moaned, squeezing your ass cheek again moving around.

you continued the rhythm, feeling your arousal spreading as you heard and felt the way you made him feel. his groans, the way his adam’s apple bobbed, his low dazy eyes watching your small hand stroke him. he was so close, you increase his high by beginning to stroke faster, “like this jude?” you asked knowing the answer. “just like that… oh shit… shit i’m so close y/n. you're gonna make me cum…” you kissed him, hiding the loud moans he released as he shook around almost trembling.

you giggled hearing him chuckle deeply. “look at the mess i made because of you…” you hid in the crook of his neck feeling almost too shy and embarrassed to face him. you cleaned your hand with the rag, looking at jude when you licked a small stripe off your finger, jude immediately grabbed your hips and turned you over.

he removed the lacy thong, bringing you down to where your sex met where he tucked himself back into the boxers still hard even after cumming. the black tie he wore was placed by the night desk. he knelt down, your pussy glistening and begging to be touched, eaten. he took his arm and tugged you closer, watching the way you anxiously waited for him to do something.

you felt his tongue slowly lick from your entrance to your clit, arching your back in pleasure, a hand coming to play with your boob as you felt him dig in deeper. he knew exactly how you liked it, the places, the movements, he was enamored with how delicate and sensitive you were. “no… please jude…” you whined, looking down to see him smirking when he stopped his movements.

“patience baby… relax for me y/n…” he kissed both your hip bones, the skin at the bottom of your belly button and down to your inner thighs, he was teasing you, drawing out your long-awaited orgasm as much as possible. “that’s not fair jude. i gave what you wanted, what you asked for…” you say out of breath.

he placed a messy kiss on your clit, the bundle of nerves then sucked between his lips as he pulled away again. you moved around the bed, finding it hard to stay still as he continued to devour you, moaning and biting your lip. “if you keep moving around i won't let you cum…” he mocked, watching you rapidly shake your head no.

“then do something about it…” you sassed back. he raised his brow, coming back up from between your legs, glancing to the black tie that was placed on the stand. “you would like that no? for me to tie you up?” he taunted, leaning over to grab the slim material. he asked you first and you agreed giving him your wrists, feeling as he tied them on the headboard.

he returned to his original spot, his large hands smoothing your sides as you struggled to pull away. he gave you a messy kiss yearning for more, jude circled his tongue on your nipple sucking the bead as you arched your back, his tongue traced all the way down to your clit, where you let out a raw moan.

he held you down on your hips, feeling as his tongue entered you, he was being messy, being able to hear the heavy breathing and slurping he did as jude continued eating you. the familiar heat in your stomach returned, if he kept up with this, you would be on the edge of releasing. “i’m s-s-so close jude… please don’t stop…” you sobbed, pulling your hands from the hold on the headboard.

the intrusion of his two fingers had you shivering in pleasure, moaning his name loudly. you tugged on the fabric, jude pumping in and out as he took control again. He licked your clit teasingly, going up and down and side to side. “oh my god,” you moaned in relief as your orgasm hit you, your face tucking to your arm as your legs shook, jude still pumping and licking.

he propped back up, sucking the juices from his fingers, watching how your chest rose heavily trying to calm down from your high. jude undid the tie, leaving one wrist still wrapped with it, he kissed you sweetly hearing a hum of delight from you, “doing so good for me y/n… turn to your side for me,” he asked and you obliged.

you laid on your side, giving jude your free wrist back to him where he tied them back up securely. you heard him move around the room, guessing he was probably fully undressing himself. he returned back, hovering over you as his tip poked your coated walls… you bit your lip in anticipation.

jude entered you, let out a small gasp from your lips as your nails dug into your palms feeling him thrust deeper into you. you could feel all of him, how hard he was, how desperate he was, how big he was, he fully stretched you out and you loved the feeling. you couldn’t hold back the whines and whimpers you let out, the position you were in allowed you to feel everything, as he continued to thrust into you.

“not so soon y/n…” he pulled back, he could feel your walls clamp down on him, squeezing the life out knowing you were approaching your second orgasm. “no! no, not again please jude…” you pleaded for him to make you cum, he gently placed you on your back, hands tied behind you now. he spread your legs open, leaning down as he thrusts into you again, your head going to the side moaning, “jude, you feel so big… so good…”

“oh shit, shit shit…” jude grunted, kissing your neck and leaving a small suckle behind, his hands wanting to give up and crash his body on top of you. the way he was manhandling you had you close to seeing stars and cloud nine. his thrusts came to a halt, grabbing you gently to pull you up and into his chest. he undid the complete tie, your hands finding home around his neck.

jude extended his legs, not caring if he was on the opposite side of the bed. the pillows were on the floor, the sheets scrambled all over, and clothes scattered all over the room. “i didn't hurt you did i?” he gently grabbed your wrists, placing soft kisses on them, “no jude.. you didn’t.”

your legs digged into the sheets, a hand on his shoulder as the other one brought his face to yours, leaving no space between as you kissed him. his tongue entered your mouth, being able to still taste the champagne and sweet taint on you. he leaned his forehead on yours, grabbing your hips, “i love you.”

your chest warmed again hearing him confess his underlying love for you, “and i love you.”

you reached between the space, bringing his cock to your entrance feeling him stretch you out again as you sat on him completely. you lifted your hips up and then brought them back down, “shit baby… you feel so tight like this,” jude groaned grabbing and pulling you closer as you balanced yourself by holding his broad shoulders.

“Jude…” you murmured throwing your head back in pleasure struggling almost to take him as a whole, feeling the way he kissed your boob and squeezed it with his hand. you were chasing that second orgasm for the two of you, rocking your hips up and down and back and forth, like an expert of course.

your nails raked down his back and chest, as you felt get closer and closer, jude following behind. you cry out in pleasure, jude gripping your ass as you continued to bounce on him. it was a sight for him, to watch you like he was, to see your angelic face, eyes closed, brows pulled in and lips were still swollen from the makeout session before. “such a good girl for me,” jude praised.

jude felt so lucky, so lucky he helped you move against his cock, wanting to feel your walls clench even tighter as you reached your orgasm, not being able to get enough of you. “i’m gonna cum y/n…” jude warned gripping your waist and feeling the haze inside him beginning to spread around as you whimpered, tears stroking your cheeks.

“oh fuck, jude i’m cum-” you couldn't finish your sentence as your wave of orgasm spread through your whole body. jude cummed inside you, the ropes of his cum feeling hot as they spread all over your walls, down to his shaft. your ears ringed, head tucked into his neck as you caught your breath. his breathing matched yours, unable to shake off the lingering post-orgasm.

with your closed eyes, jude brought your lips to his, kissing them gently making you smile at the softness from him. jude never left you unattended, he always made sure you were left clean and comfortable, after-sex cuddles were his favorite, and right now that's all he craved for.

“thank you jude,” you say, not only thanking him for this but also for being the person you dreamed of being with. despite what you had gone through with him, that didn't matter as a new chapter of your life would start here, forgetting every past detail to move forward. jude couldn't stop kissing anywhere, your neck, cheeks, tip of nose, jaw, and shoulders, he wanted you to feel loved. loved by him. only him.

“never ever leave my side okay? i need you here with me at all times… my girl, my only girl only, y/n.”

—————————

spottedcelebrity

liked by: 1,090,222, and others.

spottedcelebrity: steamy kiss shared with our favorite couple just right outside by his dinner! seems like this two couldn't wait to get the party started 😉👀

comments:

user2: OH?

username29: CHAT IS THIS REAL?

username194: the way he grabs her, oh lord end me now.

user3984: this will be the reason of my death.

username594: so not approprite? in public what the hell?

↪️ user11: oh shut up. let them live their lives.

—————————

ynusername added to their insta stories!

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judebellingham posted on their feed!

judebellingham

liked by: ynusername, gioreyna, vinijr, camavinga, jobebellingham, fedevalverde, brahim, joselu, 3,540,999 others.

judebellingham: complete along side her 🤍

comments:

user93: they saw the pictures didn't they...

ynusername: love you handsome 🤍

↪️ judebellingham: love you more princess 🤍🤍

↪️ username873: HE CALLED HER PRINCESS OMG 💔

gioreyna: my bro, miss you hella ❤️

jobebellingham: ❤️

username: we saw what ya'll did...

user67: he is so bf coded.

—————————

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fluff #football fanfic #footballer #football x you #football x reader #football imagine #judey thoughts 5️⃣

862 notes · View notes

scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

Tag list

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153 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

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

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

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

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

#fanfic #my fic #sweater weather #lumosinlove #sirius black #pascal dumais #celeste dumais #dumais kids

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secret-rendezvous1d · 3 years

Note

OKAY WAIT READER PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP or is actually asleep which ever one is easier for you and spencer comes home being all soft for her so he tells her how much he loves her and how she changed his life and cute fluffy stuff

Oh my god-

Serene, beautiful, gorgeous.

That’s how she looked to Spencer as she slept on his side of the bed, tucked into one of his hoodies, arms folded over her chest as she laid on her side with her cheek pressed against his pillow. Her pregnant belly, which had homed their baby for the last seven months, swelling large beneath the cotton of his jumper and it made his chest warm and it just adds to the amount he already loved her because he was giving her something so special and personal. How could he not shower her with love and his adoration?

He toes off his work shoes and lets his bag slip down his shoulder, dropping it to the floor beside the desk in their bedroom and he nudges it further under the table so YN didn’t trip over it on her way out of the room, a thud echoing in the room and he cringes upon himself as she mumbles something to herself before falling back into her dream state. He’d only feel even guiltier if she woke up to his arrival and had become disturbed from her peaceful state due to any noise he made because sleep had been lacking over the last few weeks. He tiptoes across the bedroom, trying to dodge the creaking floorboards of their bedroom floor, keeping a cautious eye on the face of his girlfriend to make sure she was asleep and stayed asleep, and he sits himself down on the edge of the bed.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers softly, bringing his arm across his lap and laying his palm flat against the curve of her stomach, the thick cotton of his grey hoodie feeling heavy beneath his hand, “I missed you today.”

Truth be told, he missed YN and her sweet baby bump and the baby that was growing inside her whenever she left the room to relieve her bladder or when he popped to the shops to tend to her cravings or whenever he left her for work. His life consisted of working to provide for her and loving her more and more.

“Missed your mum too but we’ll save that for when she’s awake,” he smiles to himself as he looks at her parted lips, the most tiniest and shortest of snores leaving her with each outtake of breath she puffed out, chin dipped down to her chest, “we’re the absolute luckiest, we are. Mummy’s lucky with me and you but we’re the luckiest out of everyone here. She’s the prettiest and the loveliest and if you turn out to be anything like her, the world will be a better place.”

He feels the swiftest movement from underneath his palm, a grin on his face; it never not surprised him whenever he felt the kick or the punch from his little baby and, whenever he got to see the motion from beneath her belly, it seemed like the most amazing experience that was one he would never tire of.

“I love your mum so much,” he whispers but it’s more to himself... even though their baby wasn’t necessarily with them, he felt it needed to be whispered. Not that he felt embarrassed but because he never really believed this would have ever happened to him. He lifts his hand from the swell of her stomach and cups the back of her head, stroking her hair with the pad of his thumb, “you changed my life, baby. For the good. You made me know what love is, you made me feel love and you made me feel so warm and I don’t want to picture my life with any other woman.”

“Good,” she mumbles softly and his thumb stops stroking her hair for a second. A startled look upon his face that had his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open in shock, “I missed you too, by the way.”

“How long have you been awake?”

She shrugs as best as she can and cracks an eye open to look at him, a smile on her lips as she let her head fall back against the palm that cupped the back of her head, eyes fluttering closed.

“It’s hard to sleep when you have a baby kicking your insides,” she clarifies and the guilt settles back in the bottom of Spencer’s gut, “not because of you, you donut. They’ve been dancing around in there all day. I think they missed you as well today.”

He chuckles softly and leans over, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Come get in bed with us. I don’t feel like getting up,” she reaches behind her and pats the empty side of the bed, “I also feel like chinese for dinner, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds like the perfect night in.” xx

#spencer reid chats #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagines

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Note

Can I request a self conscious chubby Shouto? Reader gives him kisses on his tummy and reassures him about his weight?

tw: shouto has poor body image, fluff, angsty

shouto had been hospitalized for five months.

after what was most definitely the most horrific villain attack seen on live tv against only one hero, the doctors never shut up about how he was lucky to have won, how lucky he was to be alive. it was far after the days that recovery girl had passed, and with no healing quirk having matched her ability it had been a long five months in hospice care.

he had spent one month in a coma and the next four just healing. it had been a hard four months, his body almost refusing to move, black and yellow bruises covered his body still, and the diet... the diet they had him on was one that was supposed to help him gain weight. it was to help with his healing and aid with the muscle gain he was going to need in order to be where he once was - he understood that and he appreciated the doctors doing what was best for him but he didn’t understand how he went from his strong, toned, and lithe form to one with flappy arms, pooling thighs, and a tummy so large he couldn’t see his toes without leaning forward. he never thought he would hate that he couldn’t see his jawline anymore, that he could hate that he couldn’t sit up without feeling his stomach, hate that he was so hungry all the time. he hated that he was so... he was so—

“welcome home!” you cheered merrily, guiding shouto back into the house that had been without his presence for almost half a year.

he tried to focus on you and only you, your mindless babble about how you had learned how to make cold soba noodles for him while he was in the hospital (although you made sure to insist that they weren’t that good so to not get his hopes up, but shouto was tittering on being excited and nauseous at the thought of having endless cold soba), how you had temporarily moved the master bedroom into the closest room to the front door and kitchen just in case he wasn’t ready to move that much, how you had accidentally broken the sliding door but had his brother come and fix it for you, and of course just how happy and grateful you were that he was out. shouto tried to stay engaged but he could feel the eyes scorching on his back, the nosy neighbors and paparazzi who wanted the first pictures of him since his release.

he hated this, he hated his body right now, and their judgmental gaze burned him from the inside out. for over twenty years of his life he had never been without muscle on his body and now... now he was... he was—

“watch your step, you’re been limping again, I don’t want you to trip,” came your gentle voice, your foot planted on the stair and the other on the floor as if to support him in case he fell. like you could keep him upwards if he did, he bitterly thought.

regardless, shouto gave you a gracious half smile and carried through, stepping up to the stair and flinching when he felt that skin he was still starkly unfamiliar with move. but the moment the front door closed behind the both of you, shouto felt empty.

the rest of the day was filled with shouto adjusting to the house once more. adjusting to the way the floors creaked under his feet, of how you always waited for him to enter through the doorways instead of attempting to go through them with him, of how you lingered behind him with conscious eyes and nervous fingers. he knew you were worried, it was as obvious as the sun during a summer heat wave, but it offered him no comfort... it only made him feel worse, made him graze his fingers against his... his...

“why don’t you take a shower?” you suggest, your hands grabbing the dishes on the table. you had made soup, he was still to be on a mostly liquid diet until next week. “I bet this has been exhausting, and if you shower then I can shower and we can sleep early tonight!”

shouto strained a smile again, his tongue still failing to speak. he hasn’t spoken a word in weeks, but you never seemed to grow angry at his lack of words thankfully. his eyes fluttered close when you leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his body shivering both at the familiar contact that he loved and the aching pain that continued to be suppressed.

showering nearly killed him.

feeling the way that his body now worked within the confines of the small room made his head spin. he hated that he couldn’t merely twist his body anymore, he had to completely turn around. he hated that he had to use more body wash, his hands shaking when he maneuvered around the fat that had built on his stomach, the stretched skin that fell on his thighs and arms.

stretch marks... as if the scar on his face wasn’t enough.

with a shaky sigh, he turned off the water and exited the shower.

he wasn’t feeling too bad with the warm water soaking into his skin, but he made the mistake of looking into the mirror as he made his way back to the room.

a mistake.

his eyes bore into his figure, was this really him? he could barely recognize himself. this... this had to be a mistake, there was no way this was him. his hands pressed to his side, hoping that this was all a figment of his imagination, just some twisted depression that was keeping him bound to the worst of this all.

but his hands fell on his body right where he had hoped they wouldn’t, and something snapped within him.

CRASH!

shouto didn’t even realize that he was panting like some rabid animal, his body trembling with extreme force, and the room covered with ice and burn marks. he collapsed forward, suddenly feeling weak, and with every ragged breath tears pricked at the back of his eyes, threatening to fall out but wouldn’t.

he was...

he was f--

“shouto? are you okay in there?”

he couldn’t even bother turning his head to look over at the opening door, but had he, he would’ve seen the way that your head peeked in, your eyes focused with concern, sympathy, and love. he focused on his hands, the white of his gripping knuckles, and the bulge of his veins.

“I-I’m okay,” he finally spoke, his head remaining low, horrid thoughts plaguing his head as the cold hallway air drafted into the room sending shivers down his spine - not that he reacted to it.

“that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” you sigh, not even trying to give him the satisfaction of believing his lie. but again, that was a quality he loved about you. “I won’t press because i’m sure this has been an overwhelming day for you, but... i’m here for you, shouto, you know?”

it was then that your hand pressed against his spine, and shouto felt his soul leave his body.

he didn’t want you touching him like this, he thought, storming away, trying to avoid your worried look as he pushed past you.

no not like this, his eyes clenched and his fists trembled at his side.

he was ugly, he gasped for air as he entered the room, his vision swimming.

he was... he was--!

“please don’t cry... please don’t cry without telling me why you’re upset!” your voice begged and shouto hated how distraught you sounded. “are you in pain?”

“no. well, not really.”

“is this happening too fast? were you discharged too soon?”

“no... i’m fine.”

it’s....

“was it the food? I know i’m still learning, but I didn’t think the food was that bad!”

“n-no, not that...”

it’s because...

“then what’s going on, sho?”

“it’s because i’m fat!” shouto finally spat, his body shaking with exploding emotion, steam spilling from his body as if he was fighting some evil villain.

his face was set in stone, a look of pure emotionlessness as long as you didn’t look into his eyes. as long as you didn’t know that sad glint in his eyes meant that he was emotionally beyond repair right now. he saw your mouth drop, most likely to ease any ‘untrue’ thoughts that danced on his mind. he didn’t want to hear it.

“I am, y/n, i’m fat. my clothes don’t fit and I have to wear these... throw away clothes! the doctors said im almost twice my usual weight. I-I have fat in places I didn’t even know existed, my stomach is so fucking huge i’m surprised kaminari hasn’t sent me some pregnant meme by now, and it took all my energy to just shower today. i’m fat!” shouto heaved, his forehead covered in cold sweat while glaring at the wall to the left of your head. he couldn’t look at you right now, not after that outburst.

the silence lingered thickly in the air, corroding the muscles in his throat, making his heart flutter in anxiety driven pulses while you shifted from foot to foot, your teeth gnawing at your lower lip. he wanted to apologize to you, for what he didn’t know but he felt bad. his actions were halted by you sharp inhale, and that kind strong smile that fell on your face.

“...well, im not going to fight you on that, but i’m glad you spoke your mind,” you said softly, your hands moving to grip each other while you tried to save face in front of him. it was obvious that you hadn’t even thought that which made shouto feel even guiltier. “I’m going to shower, so please get ready for bed, yeah? we’ll talk more once we’re in bed and relaxed a bit!”

shouto’s nostrils flared, his heart squeezing at the fact that you still showed him such kind and soft love, and so he nodded his head in agreement.

“I won’t take long,” you promised about your shower, and shouto smiled even if a bit emotionlessly before your lips pressed softly against his. “be right back, get ready.”

he wasn’t sure how long it took him to get ready and for you to join him in bed, but his eyes were opened and he was staring off at your side of the bed as you climbed into bed. the gentle, warm, and cool scent of your hair wash and body wash drafted into his nose, a very welcoming smell after months of knowing only the sterile smell of bleached walls and floors.

“you ready to talk?” you asked him, and shouto blinked once, twice, his sight refocusing on your shining eyes and furrowed brow. he knew immediately that you had a lot to speak on, most likely creating some sort of script to follow.

“no,” shouto couldn’t help but say, his own worries forgotten for a moment when the natural need to tease you infiltrated his veins. “but i’m ready to hear you talk.”

your lips pursed, twitching in a way that made it obvious to him at least that you were resisting the urge to verbally attack him.

“five months ago, I thought I was going to lose you.” you began, your eyes uncharacteristically dropping from his own gaze and trailing down his body, as if in disbelief that he was even here. your hands moved to his chest, pressing softly onto the skin that he was hateful towards. “when I got the news that you had been hospitalized, and that you had gone into a coma... I wasn’t sure what to think. but you woke up before I knew it and then four months went by after you woke up, and i’ve been so... grateful that you survived that I hadn’t even bothered to think about how you must be feeling about this entire thing. I know this is a lot of change, its a lot of change, and I don’t know how to really help, but this is what I think.”

shouto felt his breathing nearly stop as your fingers trailed down the fat on his arms, his chest and his stomach. your eyes almost shyly met his and you pressed a kiss to his lips, unwilling to allow him to think for a second that this was just some staged thing.

“your weight doesn’t define you. your weight doesn’t make you less desirable. does your weight make you fat? sure, it completely does, but there’s nothing wrong with being fat. fat is not ugly, fat is not weak, fat is not less. bodies need fat, its basic biology. without fat we can’t exist, we can’t do anything, and sure right now you have more than you’ve ever had - but it’s okay, you’re still healthy and that is what matters. i mean look at fat gum! sure, he needs to be fat in order for his quirk to work, but nevertheless, he’s fat and he’s a pro hero. he’s healthy and still he’s fat. if you would rather be skinny than fat, that’s okay, you can choose what you want to be, as long as it’s done with good intentions. at the end of the day you’re still my shouto, you’re the man I know and love because fat determines none of that. I love the fat on your body as much as I loved the abs because either way it’s you.”

the words rang heavy in his ears, all thoughts and reasons he had seemingly disappeared the moment the last word was said. and tears fell from his eyes when you kissed every spot on his body that he had once been dreadfully insecure about. every kiss to his stomach sent butterflies through every cell, every soft breath spreading chills until he was gasping for breath - until you were finally back to his face and pressing kisses to his face until he wrapped you closer.

“I love you in any form you take.”

a/n: it may not be my place to share this with you, but while writing this it actually reminded me of a ted talk I had seen once. I think its a very good talk, and dismantles a lot of mainstream thoughts about self love which I at least thought was important. if you were able to make it to the bottom of this, I suggest checking it out because as this video re-taught me, fat is not a synonym for ugly, and we should stop believing that it is.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

where the love-light gleams

summary: logan is disappointed (but not surprised) when his husband tells him that he won't be home for christmas. virgil encourages him to celebrate, but logan just isn't in the christmas spirit without virgil by his side. it'll take a miracle to get him into the holiday spirit - a christmas miracle. (OR: an analogical holiday gift fic for my spouse squad secret santa!)

a/n: this is my spouse squad secret santa gift for @shesavampirequeen!! she wanted analogical, and i am HAPPY to deliver! the plot of this fic was inspired by a commercial for indeed

cw: mild angst, brief description of sensory overload

word count: 4130

read it on ao3!

December 20th - 5 days before Christmas

“So what you are telling me is that you will not, in fact, be home for Christmas?”

Logan does his best to school his expression neutral, even though logically he is aware that Virgil cannot see him. There is a reason he typically opts to call people on the telephone (when he has to resort to calling them) as opposed to video-calling. Personally, however, he finds that keeping a neutral expression is the best way to maintain a neutral tone of voice, and he desperately needs to do so lest his husband feel any guiltier than he most certainly does.

“I am so sorry,” Virgil says, voice shaking just so to indicate that he’s anxious or guilty or both. “I know I said I’d be home this year, I really thought I would be, I swear, but - but it’s just that my boss justtold me that the conference dates were adjusted last-minute, because of the snow, and I didn’t have the option to say no because he always steamrolls all over me, and I -”

“To quote you, Fuck your boss,” Logan says, taking care to enunciate his speech.

“Listen, I share your sentiments,” Virgil says. “But listen, Lo, I am so, so sorry that I got your hopes up for nothing, I -”

Someone shouts off-screen, and Virgil sighs. “And that would be my coworkers, who are apparently incapable of finishing any project without me. I’ll talk to you later, alright? I love you, more than all the sand on the beach.”

“And I love you, more than all the stars in the sky,” Logan responds. Despite their current predicament, he can’t stop himself from smiling at the sappy line. “Be well, my darling.”

He hears Virgil laugh once, softly, before the phone beeps to indicate that the call has been dropped. Logan pulls his cell phone away from his ear, locks it, and then lifts it to illuminate his lock screen. It’s a photo of himself and Virgil from their wedding day, standing under an arch of twining ivy lit with gleaming fairy lights. The full moon is positioned perfectly over their heads. It truly is a stunning photograph; despite his boasting and faults, Remy is an excellent photographer.

Logan allows himself five seconds to smile sappily at his phone screen before unlocking it with a sigh and tapping on the FaceTime icon to call his brother. The screen rings a few times, and then it picks up to show Emile grinning at the screen. His hair is dyed pink, flopping messily into his face. “Do you how do? Emile speaking!”

“Hello, Emile.”

“Oh! Hey, Lo! What’s happening?”

“I just called to give you logistical information concerning the upcoming holiday. You will need to set two fewer places for Christmas dinner this year, as Virgil and I will not be attending.”

“What? Why not?”

“Virgil’s job necessitates him to stay out of state longer than anticipated. He will not be home for Christmas.” Logan is proud of the way he keeps his voice from shaking. Emile frowns at him, so he suspects that he has not concealed his disappointment as well as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry, Logan. I know that must be really disappointing for you.”

“It is unpleasant, but expected. Virgil’s boss is very mercurial, and his schedule is not very consistent. I was, in fact, expecting him to be home for Christmas this year, but it is not out of character for him to express such a change.”

“Well, why don’t you come on your own, Lo? I know you don’t like travelling on your own, but my house is only a couple train stops away from yours! We’d really love to have you this year . . .”

“Thank you for the offer, Emile, but I am afraid I must decline.”

“Why is that?” Emile says. Logan frowns at him.

“Do not attempt to . . . what is the phrase? Do not attempt to ‘therapy me’ into telling you what is wrong, Emile.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for my womb-mate!”

“Please do not call me that. I am your twin.”

Emile laughs, eyes scrunching up. “Seriously, though, Logan, tell me why you don’t want to come?”

Logan exhales forcibly through his nose. “I find that my holiday spirit is significantly diminished with the knowledge that I will not be seeing Virgil on Christmas after all. And since you and Remy are coming to our house for New Year’s festivities, we can exchange gifts then. It will not be that big of an imposition.”

“Logan, I don’t want you to isolate yourself on Christmas.”

“I am not responsible for the isolation,” Logan mutters.

“Lo . . .”

“I do not blame Virgil for his fluctuating work schedule. I know that he does his best to be home when he says he will be home. But this does not reduce or relieve my distress at his absence, and I do not wish to ‘drag down’ the rest of the party because I am pining for my husband.”

“Are you sure, Logan?”

“I am quite positive. If I change my mind, I will let you know.” Emile likes it when he tacks that onto the end of his conversations.

“Okay, Lo. I’ll see you soon no matter what, alright?”

“Alright, Emile.”

“I love you!”

“I love you as well.”

Logan stares at his lock screen fondly for a few more moments before he sets his phone down and goes about his day.

*~*~*~*~*

December 21st - 4 days before Christmas

Logan pushes his shopping cart through the grocery store, eyes scanning rapidly over the brightly colored shelves. He catches a bright yellow SALE sticker on the shelf below his favorite type of jam, and eagerly sweeps an armful into his cart.

Turning the corner, he pauses over the produce section. He should really pick up a vegetable for dinner tonight, something that will complement the pork log that’s currently sitting in his freezer. He reaches out and picks up a head of cauliflower, twisting it in his hand and humming. He can roast it in the oven and bake it with cheese, just the way Virgil likes. It will be a wonderful homecoming surprise for -

His heart twists and clenches in his chest. It does not matter if he makes the cheesy cauliflower tonight, because Virgil is not coming home tonight. Virgil will not be home until almost the new year; Logan will be lucky if he sees Virgil again this year, given the general hectic nature of holiday traffic.

Logan still buys the cauliflower, because he has just spent the past two minutes manhandling it and he doubts that he is allowed to leave it in the store now. He places it in a plastic bag and ties it up with more twist ties than are strictly necessary. Logan hates cauliflower; he only makes it for Virgil, and Virgil is no longer going to be home in time to eat it.

He sets the cauliflower down with slightly more force than is strictly necessary, determined not to cry in the middle of this supermarket. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see a text message from his husband.

Vee <3: hey there, loganberry. work is shitty, and i hate being here, and i wanna come home and snuggle you in our bed, but i can’t, but i want you to know that i love you and i don’t wanna be here

Logan smiles fondly at the message, running a single finger along the screen.

Me: I appreciate the reminder, Virgil. I love you too, and I also do not want you to be where you are.

He slips his phone into the pocket and heads toward the checkout line. The cauliflower taunts him from where it sits in his cart. He does his best to ignore it.

*~*~*~*~*

December 22nd - 3 days before Christmas

Logan reaches up behind the ornate faceplate of the grandfather clock and pulls out a tarnished key. He slips it into the prominent keyhole and slowly creaks open the old wooden door. There is an odd amalgamation of things tucked away inside the clock, but Logan sifts carefully through the detritus until he finds what he’s looking for: a second, smaller key, still gleaming and new. He carefully locks the clock back up and hangs the old key on its hook before making his way to the bedroom.

He unlocks his closet door, slipping the key into his pants pocket. Carefully hidden among the clothes and shoes and spare blankets and keepsakes are the presents he’s purchased for Virgil over the course of the past several months. He normally wakes up early in the morning, while Virgil is still sleeping, to wrap his gifts.

It is strange, taking the boxes and setting them on the neatly-made bed while the sun is still bright and shining. Most years, Logan finds himself quietly cursing Virgil’s observant nature and the fact that he has to creep around with his husband’s gifts if he wants them wrapped to his satisfaction. This year, he wishes he was awake before the crack of dawn.

He has the same paper he always uses to wrap Virgil’s gifts, a reflective deep purple with small silver bats embossed on it. He buys a new roll every November and leaves it in the hallway closet, right next to the midnight blue paper with gleaming gold-foil stars that Virgil wraps his gifts in.

It had hurt, reaching into their hallway closet and pulling out his wrapping paper while seeing Virgil’s roll leaning in the corner gathering dust. Normally, his husband has already wrapped his presents and the roll is dusted off; Logan had closed the door with slightly more force than was strictly necessary.

His phone rings as he’s carefully pulling the paper away from the tube and laying it along the bed. He pins it down with a box and pulls out his phone, smiling when he sees his husband’s contact name flashing on his touch screen. He swipes his thumb across the Accept Call button.

“Hello, Virgil.” He can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“Hey, Lo! How’s it goin’?”

“I am wrapping your Christmas presents right now. I will leave them under the Christmas tree as I always do, and you can open them when you come home.”

Virgil huffs a soft laugh. “You know that won’t be for a while, right?”

“I know,” Logan says softly. “But I cannot stop myself from participating in traditions.”

“How are you even gonna be around for that? Aren’t you going to your brother’s for Christmas?”

“No,” Logan says. “I am not.”

“What? Why not? Did something change that I’m not aware of?”

“No, of course not. You are not going to be home for Christmas, so I will not be celebrating with Emile.”

“What are you talking about, Lo?”

“I do not want to celebrate the holiday without you, Virgil. I am not interested in taking the train by myself to spend my holiday in a small, too-loud, too-crowded house with people I barely know. I will celebrate quietly, here, in our house.”

“Logan, you can’t give up on Christmas just because I’m not there,” Virgil presses. “Seriously, I’m gonna feel so shitty if you give up on seeing your family this Christmas because of my fucking work schedule.”

“I will see Emile again at New Year’s, since that will be hosted at our home. I do not need to subject myself to the horrors of traveling without you.”

“Logan, sweetheart, please -”

“I have to go, Virgil,” Logan says, biting down on his lower lip to prevent himself from crying and giving away how upset he is. “I will speak to you later.”

“Logan, please, don’t hang up on me -”

“I love you,” Logan says softly. A pause, and then Virgil sighs.

“I love you too, Lo. And you know that I’d do anything for you, right? I’m sorry that I can’t be home for Christmas, but - but I - I love you so much. So, so much.”

Logan lets Virgil press the End Call button, cradling his phone against his face for a moment. He closes his eyes and briefly lets himself imagine that it is his husband’s hand warm against his cheek. He knows that it is not, but he allows himself the be surrounded in the delusion before setting his phone down and returning to wrapping the presents.

*~*~*~*~*

December 23rd - 2 days before Christmas

“Hello?”

“Lo! Hey.

“Hello, Virgil. It is always a joy to hear your voice.”

“Logan, listen, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“You’re probably not gonna like it. I’m just warning you now.”

“Virgil, I am willing to listen to another delay in your schedule -”

“No! God, no, nothing like that, Lo. I just - I think you should go to Emile’s Christmas shindig thing.”

“Did you just use the word ‘shindig’ unironically?”

“So what if I did - Lo, did you hear me?”

“I did indeed. However, I fail to see the point of me going. As I have explained before -”

“I know, Lo, but listen, I was talking to Emile and he’s - he’s really sad that you won’t be there.”

“He . . . is, is he?”

“Yeah. I - you should really go. Please, Logan? I know you, I know you’re isolating yourself because you don’t want to drag everyone else’s holiday down with your missing me. But you deserve to see your brother and have fun at his holiday party. You haven’t gone in a while, and I know how much you love him.”

“I . . . do love my brother dearly. But it - it feels wrong , somehow, to be celebrating with my brother and friends while you are stranded elsewhere at an impersonal hotel convention center and -”

“Lo, remember to breathe, please?"

“. . . . I am sorry, Virgil.”

“No need to apologize, my starlight. Just . . . please, go and have fun with your brother? For me? As long as at least one of us is having a good time this Christmas, that’s more than enough for me. ”

“I will call Emile and see if there is still a place for me at the holiday party.”

“You know you don’t have to, right? I just - I want to make sure you have a happy holiday.”

“I will never truly have a happy holiday without you by my side, Virgil. But I suppose that I can try my best to be merry.”

“That’s all I wanted, Lo. Do you still have a train ticket?”

“Yes. I purchased a ticket for tomorrow’s train. I had been planning on cancelling it, but I never got around to doing it. I suppose that is for the best now.”

“Yeah. Oh, fuck - my boss is calling me, I have to go. I love you, Logan.”

“I love you, too, Virgil.”

*~*~*~*~

“Do you how do?”

“I still do not understand why you insist on answering the phone in such a ridiculous manner.”

“Lo! How are you, womb-mate?”

“I will hang up the phone right now if you continue.”

“Seriously, what’s up? It’s not like you to call in the middle of the day like this.”

“I . . . I was just . . . wondering if you still had . . . a place for me at your holiday celebrations?”

“Of course we do, Lolo!”

“My train ticket is for tomorrow, would - would it be possible for someone to meet me at the station? And is it still feasible for me to sleep over at your house?”

“Absolutely! Rem, you’re still clear to meet Lo at the train station, right?”

“If you are not capable of doing so, it is fine -”

“Nonsense! Remy’s gonna meet you at the station, okay?”

“That is acceptable.”

“See you tomorrow, little brother!”

“We are the same age.”

*~*~*~*~*

December 24th - 1 day before Christmas

Logan carefully slides his Marie-Kondo file-folded clothes into the little duffel bag on his bed. He zippers it closed after carefully laying his Ziploc-bagged toiletries on top, pulling his backpack into reach and poking through it. He checks off his laptop, chargers, planner, the novels he’s currently tackling, a few notebooks, his backup headphones, his wallet, and his train ticket.

His phone pings with a text from his brother. When does your train leave?

Logan quickly fires off a response - I will text you when we pull out of the station - and carefully pulls on his winter coat, taking care to button each of the gleaming black buttons before tucking his dark blue scarf into his thick coat and tugging on his gloves and earmuffs.

He slings his backpack on and picks up his duffel bag, making sure that he locks the door securely behind him before tramping down the three and a half blocks to the nearest train station. The clouds are low and iron-gray in the sky as he makes his way slowly, slowly through the crowds of people. The earmuffs do a decent job of keeping out unwanted noises, as well as keeping his ears warm, but he still knows that the second he’s on that train he’s clamping his headphones on and blasting classical music to kingdom come.

The attendant glances up at him with a bored, half-awake stare. “Name and destination, please?”

Logan tells her, sliding his ticket across the counter to prove that he has it. She pops her bubblegum at him (he pretends it doesn’t send a visceral shiver down his spine) and stamps the ticket with a rubber marker. “Happy holidays, or whatever.”

“Happy holidays,” Logan mumbles, gripping his ticket tightly (but not so tightly that the paper tears).

He shuffles onto the train and settles into a window seat, placing his bag next to him to deter anyone else from trying to sit next to him. His headphones come out, hold for seven seconds to turn them on, wait for the beep and the friendly female automated voice to say Bluetooth. Connected! and then pick up the phone and hold his finger against the sensor to unlock the screen and tap tap tap at the music app and relief, finally, as Gustav Holst’s The Planets starts to flood into his ears. Logan exhales, looking up as the train slowly fills with people.

He’s prepared for movement, but he still flinches when the train lurches forward.

Outside of the conductor taking his ticket and hole-punching it, Logan is left in relative peace. He reads and annotates three more chapters of his book before the motion sickness starts to kick in, and he leans back against his seat to sleep the rest of the way. His phone vibrates with a silent alarm ten minutes before they pull into his stop, and he makes sure that he has all his belongings gathered together.

The train screeches to a halt, and Logan carefully turns off his headphones, pausing the music and tucking them into his backpack. He peers through the rush of steam and smoke flooding the train platform, trying to spot someone familiar.

He purposefully chose a seat near the door when he sat down; as soon as the conductor announces that they are allowed to leave, he gathers his bags and hurries out the door. He minds his step carefully as he descends onto the platform, swiftly moving out of the way of other passengers.

“Yo! Logan!”

Logan turns his head to see Remy leaning against a railing. He sports his signature aviators and leather jacket, and Logan does not understand how he is not freezing. “Hello, Remy. Are you not cold?”

“Colder than a witch’s teat,” Remy responds easily.

“Why did you not dress warmer? Surely you knew the weather forecast before coming to retrieve me.”

“Of course I did.”

“Why, then, did you dress the way you did?”

“The aesthetic, bitch.” Remy lifts a Starbucks cup and slurps at what even Logan can recognize as an iced coffee. He shivers, grins, and takes the duffel bag from Logan’s hands. “Let’s go.”

*~*~*~*~*

December 25th - Christmas Day

Logan wraps his hands around the warm mug of spiced cider Emile passes him, smiling at his twin. “Thank you, Em. I am sorry that I am not as festive as you and Remy and the rest of the party . . .”

“There’s no need for that,” Emile says, ruffling his hair gently. “We know that you miss your husband, and I know how you are about crowds. I’m not upset with you at all.”

Logan smiles sympathetically at his twin. “Thank you, Emile.”

“No problem, little brother!”

“We are the same age,” Logan calls at his retreating back. He takes a sip of the cider in his hand and smiles to himself. Remy is a pastry chef at a local restaurant, and it is clear in everything he makes. The cider is the perfect blend of spicy and sweet; Logan detects cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and even a hint of ginger among the rich apple flavor. Remy’s spiced cider is one of his favorite things about the holiday season.

The party goes on around him, friends of Emile’s and Remy’s passing in and out of the rooms with plates of food and glasses of cider. The lights are all dimmed, so the living room is lit primarily by the large Christmas tree and the multiple strings of Christmas lights and fairy lights hung tastefully around the walls.

Remy comes by about an hour later, with the tell-tale flush of alcohol high on his cheeks. He hands Logan a plate of various holiday foods and desserts, laughing and reaching for his glass of brandy. He’s singing along loudly to the Christmas music playing from the kitchen, and he’s kind of off-key but it’s still an essential part of Logan’s Christmas.

He quietly snacks his way through the tasting platter Remy had brought him. Despite his initial reservations, he truly is happy to be here. Logan knows that even though he is still missing Virgil, he is happier here than he would have been sitting alone at home.

Someone touches his shoulder, and Logan exhales softly. “I am alright, Emile. You do not need to ignore your party guests for me.”

“Oh, Lo,” a familiar gravelly voice says, just a hint of a laugh present. “There’s no party guest I’d rather pay attention to than you.”

Logan whirls around, empty paper plate falling to the ground as he stands up. Virgil is standing in front of him, still wearing his heavy leather bomber jacket, rolling suitcase at his feet. Before Logan can react, before he can even breathe, Virgil’s arms are around him. He lifts Logan up into the air, twirling them around as best he can in the limited space before leaning back and gently rubbing his nose against Logan’s.

“Hey there, my star,” Virgil hums. Logan feels the tears welling up in his eyes, and for once he makes no effort to fight them back. He leans in and kisses Virgil, taking in his chapped lips and the warmth of his hands on his hips and the softness of Virgil’s hair as he locks his hands around his neck.

“You - you’re here,” Logan whispers. “But - but you said - you said -!”

“I know what I said,” Virgil says. “I never meant to intentionally mislead you, Lo. I truly didn’t think I’d be home for Christmas this year.”

“What changed?”

“I’ve been applying for new jobs for a few months now. Better jobs. Jobs that are closer to home.” Closer to you, he doesn’t say, but Logan can read it in the crinkle of his eyes. “One of them got back to me while I was out on that shitty work job. I got hired, Lo. I’ll be running the IT department at a local college, which means that I’ll only have to travel there and back. I - Lo, I won’t be gone anymore.”

Logan laughs wetly. “You - you’re - you’re home. You’re home, and I - this -”

“I got the call about getting the job on the twenty-third,” Virgil says. “I quit my old job right there and then, I hopped on the first bus I could, and I came right home to you. That’s why I was so insistent on you coming to Emi’s holiday party. I knew his house was closer than ours, so I thought I could make it here to surprise you.”

Logan presses his mouth to Virgil’s again, locking his legs around his husband’s waist as Virgil sits on the couch where Logan had been. One of Virgil’s hands comes up to cup his face, and Logan shivers happily when he feels the cold weight of Virgil’s wedding ring press against his cheek.

“I love you,” Virgil breathes. “I love you, Logan. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Logan replies, and Virgil leans up to kiss him again and again and again.

#starshinewrites #sanders sides #romantic analogical #brotherly lomile #wife squad!#ari tag!

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fandomfanfics12 · 4 years

Text

10,000 Hours-Part 2

Title: 10,000 hours Pairings: Steve x Tony Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, slowburn. Summary: Tony’s a hotshot lawyer in upstate New York. Steve’s a single father in a small town out in North Carolina. When Tony’s law firm suggests he takes a year off after his Uncle Jarvis passes, Tony and Steve’s lives entangle themselves together. But their time together is limited, and their lives are so different that it may be impossible to ever make it work. A/N: lol i didn’t mean for this to be so long, hope you like it.

Part 1

When Steve stepped inside the house, there was a faint smile on his lips. Peter was sitting in the living room, hands clasped together and forearms on knees.

“Pete?” Steve asked and Peter’s head shot up.

“Where have you been?” he asked and his eyes roamed over Steve’s body.

“I’m okay kid, I promise.” His eyes landed on Steve’s hand and Peter swore.

“fucking hell dad.”

“Language.” Peter glared at Steve even as he went to go get an ice pack.

“What happened?” he asked and Steve shook his head.

“it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.” Steve promised and Peter scowled.

“I wouldn’t have to worry about it if it hadn’t have happened in the first place.” A wave of guilt washed over Steve.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered and Peter’s face softened. He sighed and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Peter put the icepack against Steve’s swollen hand and Steve couldn’t stop the flinch.

“Hold that on there.” Peter told him and Steve nodded.

“I really am sorry Pete.” Peter rolled his eyes and Steve felt even guiltier. Peter shouldn’t have to feel like this-Steve was the adult here. He was the parent and he had to get his shit together.

“was it necessary?” Peter asked quietly, unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

“They were insulting you and your mom.” Peter inhaled sharply and nodded.

“If it’s about me, I want you to walk away. Okay?” Peter looked up and met Steve’s gaze and Steve nodded.

“okay.”

“But I forgive you for hitting the guy about saying shit about mom.”

“language.” Peter rose a brow.

“are you really going to lecture me about language right now?” there was a lightness to Peter’s tone that made Steve feel better.

“how’d it go with your friends?” Peter flopped down on the couch and Steve opened up the fridge, looking for some food.

“Fine. Who was the guy you were talking to?” Steve’s hand stilled in the fridge, he hadn’t realised that Peter had been watching them.

“He’s our new neighbour.” Steve said and glanced to his son who had risen his brows.

“He’s moving into Jarvis’” Steve nodded.

“yeah, he’s Jarvis’ nephew apparently.” Peter nodded and looked back to the muted tv.

“Motel is on the other side of town.”

“and?”

“Have you looked at Jarvis’ house lately?” Peter asked and Steve frowned. He hadn’t paid much attention to the overtly large house. But it had been years since anyone had actually lived inside the place.

“so it’s a bit dusty?” Peter snorted and Steve sighed.

“the whole place is a mess. I wouldn’t want to be staying there.”

“What are you getting at Peter?” Steve was tired and still a little drunk and his brain wasn’t up to the job of picking up on Peter’s cryptic messages.

“I’m saying you should go over there and offer him our couch. After all, his uncle did just die and now he has to stay in that creepy house. But that’s just my opinion.” But by the tone of his voice, Peter wasn’t suggesting it to Steve. He was telling Steve.

“Petey I just want to go to bed.”

“And I’m sure the next door neighbour wants to go to sleep too. Best you go over.” Steve didn’t want to fight with Peter so he nodded.

“fine, I’ll offer up the couch, but he might say no.” and then Steve was grabbing his keys and heading over to Jarvis’ house. He was sure if he was sober he would have fought harder to not invite the stranger into the house. But his intoxicated brain figured that it was alright so before Steve knew it, he was on the creaking and old rotted porch, knocking on the big ancient door. Twenty seconds passed before Tony opened it.

“Steve?” Tony had a bat held tightly in his hands and Steve raised a brow.

“What’s that for?” he asked as Tony put the weapon down.

“you scared the crap out of me, what’s up?” Maybe Peter had a point, maybe this house was bad for Tony, at least for the time being.

“My son, Peter, he insisted on me inviting you over for the night. says that this house is old and falling down and it’s not safe for you to stay here. So I’m here to offer up my couch. That is, if you want it.”

“Yes.” Tony said a little too quickly.

“Oh. Okay then.” Steve hadn’t expected tony to agree, he’d thought that the man standing in front of him was going to laugh and tell him he was drunk and then send Steve on his way back home.

“Okay well, do you need a hand taking anything over to the house or…” Steve trailed off as Tony walked away. A few moments later he returned with nothing more than a phone and his keys.

“I can come back here in the morning.” Tony said and Steve nodded. He moved aside and Tony stepped out, shut the door and locked it.

Tony knew he had been a little too quick to answer. But the offer to get out of this shit hole monster house was too good to refuse. It was clear to tony that Steve didn’t actually expect him to agree but he was the one that had offered. They walked back to Steve’s house in silence, neither sure on what to say. When they reached the front door, Steve scratched the back of his head nervously.

“Well this is me.” Steve said and opened his front door. Tony stepped inside the well-lit house and found a scrawny teenager sprawled out on a leather couch.

“Hey you must be the neighbour, I’m Peter.” The kid said, smiling and flicking through the channels.

“Tony.” Tony said and peter sat up, turning off the tv in the end. Peter gave Tony a once over and nodded approvingly.

“I’m going to go to bed, I got an early start tomorrow-group project.” He stood up and hugged Steve who hugged him back tightly. There was an exchange of words but Tony didn’t hear them and then Peter was heading upstairs off to his bedroom.

“Cute kid.” Tony found himself saying and Steve let out a nervous chuckle.

“Thanks, sorry the place is a bit of a mess.” there was one glass of water sitting on a side table, other than that the place appeared to be spotless.

“Right.” Tony said and sat down on the couch, suddenly filled with nerves. Was he insane? He’d only just met this guy and even though Steve was friendly and had been at the funeral, he’d also started a bar fight.

“I should probably get some sleep too, blankets and pillows are in that cupboard,” Steve pointed and Tony nodded, stilly surveying the room. “so umm…goodnight.” Tony settled his eyes back on Steve’s nervous form.

“thanks for letting me crash here. And, uh, goodnight.” Steve nodded and then also headed up the stairs, leaving Tony alone. He took a deep and steadying breath, finally he’d be able to sleep. The last few nights had been restless, he was convinced a haunted ghost was about to appear at any moment and murder him back in uncle J’s house. So Tony took off his shoes and settled into the ridiculously comfortable couch. In the summer heat, he didn’t exactly need a blanket and so Tony just drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, it was to the sound of pots and pans banging about. Tony jolted awake, heart hammering inside of his chest, and mind foggy. He remembered Steve the neighbour, who had gotten into a barfight, and whom Tony had walked home with and where Tony had spent the night. he’d slept on a couch. With a faint smile, Tony wondered what Pepper would say if she saw him right now, sleeping on a stranger’s couch. Tony stood up and slowly, nervously, meandered into the kitchen. There he found a flawless dance executed between Steve and his son as they moved around one another, preparing breakfast.

“Morning.” Steve said as he ducked, Peter lifting a hot pan over Steve’s head.

“Morning?” it came out like a question and Tony’s head tilted to the side. Were they making pancakes?

“Sorry if we woke you sir.” Peter said and Tony shook his head.

“Thanks for letting me crash for the night.” Tony said and Steve shrugged.

“It was nothing, really.” And then there was a knock at the door.

“I’ve got it.” Peter put down the pan and darted past Tony, Steve turned down the heat on the stove.

“Sleep well?” he asked and Tony nodded his head.

“Yeah, you?” Steve nodded his head and looked down at the attempt of a pancake, watching as the bubbles rose up through the batter.

“Dad!” Peter called and Steve glanced at Tony then made his way to the front door. Tony moved closer, he knew it was bad to eavesdrop but he couldn’t help himself-he was curious.

“Officer Romanoff, what can I do for you?”

“Hey Steve, I need to talk to you about something, privately.” There was a silence and then Peter walked into the kitchen. He didn’t even judge Tony for eavesdropping, simply stood beside him and also listened in.

“What’s this about Nat?” Steve seemed nervous, his voice shook a little and Tony’s heart clenched at the sound. This couldn’t be good then.

“Benny’s pressing charges for assault.”

“Shit.” Tony risked a glance at Peter who had gone awfully pale, Tony wondered if the kid would faint.

“You’re a friend so I’m going to try and talk him down, but if this goes to court then…” she trailed off and Tony wondered what she meant.

“I’ll lose Peter.” Tony’s eyes widened and Peter sat down on the floor, leaning his back against a kitchen cabinet.

“I’d suggest you get yourself a lawyer.”

“You know I can’t afford that.” His voice had gone up a few notches, but there was an opportunity too good to resist right in front of him. Tony would at the very least be able to get some work done. He could prove to Pepper and his father that he was a good person, working pro-bono to help his poor neighbour keep his kid. Before Tony could really think about it, he stepped out into the living room. The woman was shorter than Tony had expected, her red hair tied back in a bun.

“I’ll do it.” Tony said and they turned to look at him.

“What?” Steve asked and Tony scratched the back of his head sheepishly as nerves overtook him. Was he overstepping his boundaries?

“I’m a lawyer, I’ll help you out.” Tony said and the woman-Nat-rose her brows.

Steve felt incredibly embarrassed. Here he was, getting charged with assault and his new next door neighbour knew all about it. had seen the incident he was being charged for, and now knew that Steve was at risk of losing Peter. He wondered if Peter had heard, if he knew how bad Steve had fucked up this time. Probable. God, Steve had totally fucked up.

“You don’t have to-“ Tony waved an arm, shaking his head.

“It’s fine Steve, I’ll take the case.” Natasha raised an eyebrow and then shrugged.

“Okay, well I’ll need the two of you to come down to the station some time today, as I assume you’ll want your lawyer present for your statement?” Steve frowned but Tony nodded.

“Absolutely, we’ll head down right after breakfast.” Tony said and Natasha nodded once before leaving. Steve turned to Tony, nausea rolling through him. He was going to be late to work, his boss would be fuming.

“You don’t have to do this.” Steve told him, even though he knew he needed the help. Where was he going to find the money for a lawyer?

“Don’t mention it, you gave me a place to crash and you came to my uncle’s funeral. That’s more than anyone here has done for me.” Tony said and Steve nodded, but he needed to knew how much this favour of Tony’s was going to cost him.

“How much is this going to cost me?” he asked, looking down at his bare feet on the floorboards.

“Cost you?” Tony asked and Steve nodded. God, Peter would never forgive him for this. as soon as Tony was out the door, Steve knew that Peter would yell at him. And Peter shouldn’t have to do that, Steve should be a better father, yet he was so messed up that some days he struggled to get out of bed. Peter deserved better, Steve knew that. Maybe it was better if Peter went to live with someone else. To be separated would kill Steve, but it would be better for Peter.

“You have to make money right, so how much is this favour of yours going to cost?” He looked up and he met Tony’s brown eyes. Wide and full of shock and…pity. Steve hated pity, it was a look he was used to seeing. When his wife died, everyone had that look, the casserole dishes had been stacked high on his porch-Steve had donated them all to a food bank. People still looked at him with pity. Steve used to be well off, but when his wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer-the hospital bills had turned into debt and now Steve was left with Peter, a mortgage, a never ending debt pile and looks of pity.

“I’m doing it for free Steve, no charge necessary.” Steve shook his head, it was too good to be true.

“Is it because Peter’s here, because I don’t keep secrets from him. How much will this cost?” Steve wanted to negotiate a payment plan, it was the only way he’d be able to keep the house.

“You’ve been nothing but kind and like I said, you went to uncle J’s funeral, that means more than I can express. Plus, you gave me a couch to sleep on so I didn’t have to sleep in uncle J’s creepy haunted house, I’m doing this for free. No catch.” Steve’s body visibly relaxed and he nodded.

“Okay, thank you. really, I can’t tell you how much this means for Peter and I. and consider the couch yours, until Jarvis’ house is fixed up. I can help you fix it up too, I’m really good with my hands.” At that Tony raised a brow and Steve felt himself blush.

“Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer then.” And then Tony walked back into the kitchen like Steve hadn’t just been a blabbering idiot.

Tony knew that even though he’d accepted Steve’s offer, he couldn’t actually follow through. Maybe a night or two more sleeping on that couch, but no more than that. Steve was Tony’s client now, and Tony had to respect boundaries-no matter how comfortable they may be. And the couch truly was comfortable, the whole house was comfortable, homey. It was something Tony had never really believed in before. That someone could take some walls and floors and turn it into a home. Tony had never had that. And he sort of felt like he’d missed out some how.

Which was why it was so important to Tony that Peter stayed with Steve, there was no guarantee that whoever he went to would have a home waiting for him, it could just be a house. So Tony had Steve make his statement and then sent Steve on his way to work. Tony walked around the small town for a little while, not wanting to make the phone call he was about to make. But evidently, he needed her help-so Tony called Pepper.

“Tony we’ve gone over this, I’m not letting you fly out of there.” Pepper said in an exasperated tone and Tony rolled his eyes.

“How’d Banner do?” Tony asked, nerves laced his tone.

“fine.”

“fine?” Tony asked and he could picture the blonde rolling her eyes.

“it went well Tony, there’s still a long way to go. what do you want?” to listen to a familiar voice, to not be a stranger in this town. To know if he was doing the right thing.

“I’m working a case.” At that, Pepper sighed.

“Tony you’re meant to be taking time off. Your uncle just died-you’re not in the right head space to be working right now.” Tony shook his head.

“No Pep you don’t understand, i’m fine. But this guy is my neighbour and he’s being charged with assault and they’re going to take away his son and-“

“Slow down Tony.” She said and he took a steadying breath.

“His name is Steve.”

“Okay, and?”

“And I want to help him, but dad can’t find out, alright?” Pepper sighed.

“I don’t like lying to your father Tony.”

“I know Pep, but Steve’s a really nice guy and he’s a single father and he really needs the help.”

“Wow, barely gone a week and you’ve gone soft already.” She mused and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Please just say you’ll help me. if he knows he’ll come down and ruin it. we both know that.”

“That’s because you’re not supposed to be working Tony.”

“It’s one case Pepper. That hardly counts as work, and it’s not like I’ve signed up for a murder trial, it’s just an assault charge.”

“should he be keeping his kid if he’s charged with assault?” Tony thought of the synchronised dance that Steve and Peter had performed whilst making breakfast. How in sync they’d been, Steve could never hurt Peter.

“I’ve got a good feeling about them.” Tony said instead and she sighed.

“okay fine, but you better be behaving Tony. Don’t make me come out there to clean up your mess.” and with that, Pepper hung up. Tony shoved his phone into his pocket and let out a sigh of relief. And then he spotted the hardware store. No time like the present. He thought as he crossed the road to get supplies. The sooner he fixed up Jarvis’ house, the sooner Tony could get off of Steve’s couch.

#superfamily #superhero #super husbands #stony #stony fic #Steve Rogers #tony stark #peterparker #captain america #Iron Man #spiderman #10000 hours fic

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wonder-boy · 4 years

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Trapped

For @malclombright; From Prompt 65: “Look at me—just breathe, okay?”

“Mother?”

The Milton estate is quiet. There’s no sign of their house staff so Malcolm assumes his mother sent most of them home. She isn’t answering his calls. He takes another look through the rooms but finds nothing - no movement, no signs of life drifting through.

It’s unusually empty and the feeling in his gut tells him something is amiss.

He walks up the stairs and heads down the hallway to see his old bedroom. The door creaks on the hinges when it opens and he leans in to flip the switch by the frame. His room lit up in blues, everything left untouched, still in its place as if he never left. He smiles as the nostalgia floods in, picking up some of his favorite books off the shelf, going through the drawers, reminiscing on the better days.

He moves away from his desk to stand by his bed. He runs his fingertips on the soft sheets and thinks back to all of the bed time stories, the forts he made with Ainsley, and the feeling of his mother tucking him in at night.

Of course, he can’t forget the moment when things stopped making sense. When there were lapses in his memory but at the time, he didn’t understand why. Or why his father spent more time downstairs, working well into the night on a secret project the world wasn’t ready for.

The thoughts drive Malcolm away from his bed back to the hallway and down the stairs towards his father’s playroom.

After Watkins, Jessica boarded up his study again as well as the crack in the wall that led to the hidden basement. Even though he’s been down here before, anxiety always lingers in the back of his mind every time he walks down the steps.

The hall is empty. His mother’s storage is gone. Everything except the chest.

Malcolm’s heart sinks to his stomach. It sits at the end of the hall, untouched, still in its place as if he never left. As if he never got caught. He looks around the room, wondering if it was some cruel joke but no one pops out from the corners. He slowly walks toward it with caution, fixed on the unlocked latch that pulls him forward. His breathing fills up the room but he’s not aware of it.

He hears a faint cry emerge from the box that stops him dead in his tracks. His heart pounds in his chest when he hears her - Sophie - the case he’s certain he’s already solved the minute Eve walked out of his life. Something’s wrong. Malcolm starts to back away in a panic, stepping away from her despite her desperate pleas for help. He knows how this ends.

The second his back touches a wall, his right arm is twisted behind his back and a gag crushes his face, cutting off his air supply. Something's definitely wrong.

His muffled screams fall on deaf ears, frantically kicking in the arms of someone much bigger, stronger, holding him there. Malcolm tries to hold his breath until he can get some leverage but he trips and sputters, inhaling the sweet smell that brings back memories of his fath–

“Stop fighting, my boy,”

He whimpers in fear against his hand, the edges of his vision already blurring. “That’s it, Malcolm,” his father coos in his ear as his body gradually goes slack in his arms, no fight left in him. His adrenaline starts to fade as his eyes close and his head lulls to the side. Before everything goes black, Malcolm catches his haunting last words.

“Time to finish what I started.”

Malcolm wakes up screeching, his heart hammering, and his breath coming out in painful hitches. He can’t breathe. The sweet smell of the gag makes him dizzy and nauseous but immediately swallows the bile with a grimace. The heart monitor sounds off like an alarm, and Jessica runs to his bedside, gently laying her hand on his clenched fists.

“There, there, Malcolm, it was just a dream,” she soothes, “you’re safe. You’re safe with me.” His eyes land on hers like a deer caught in headlights, not entirely sure of what he’s seeing. He looks around the room then down in his lap; he’s in a hospital. His shoulders slack as he tries to work on his breathing but the residual fear keeps his heart from slowing down.

“What is this...” he pants. Jessica frowns, “You’re in the hospital, dear, don’t you remember? You were shot on a case and - oh, god.” Her eyes drift to his stomach in horror at the dark red patch seeping through his gown. “What–” She’s up on her feet, pressing the nurse call button and running to the door, swinging it open and calling for someone to help her son.

As if on cue, a handful of nurses flood his room.

Their hands are everywhere, startling Malcolm into a frenzy, undoing the work he’s done to get himself to calm down. “No, stop,” he mumbles but no one listens. The heart monitor sounds off again as he pushes a couple of the nurses who try to prod his wound to get a better look.

“Someone hold him down,” says a voice behind him, and sure enough, an arm reaches across his chest to lay him back down. When his arms are restricted, the faint sweet smell clouds his senses again and Malcolm starts to thrash in fear.

“I can’t get a good look if he’s moving,”

“His BP is rising,”

“He’s been cleared for Midazolam,”

He writhes around in bed, not bothered by the shooting pain in his side or his mother’s attempts to get his attention. “No - stop - get off me!” Two pairs of hands hold his wrists down and rest the other hand on his chest with enough pressure to stifle his movements.

“I’m fine, I swear. Please, just let me go!” He cries out, face scrunched in agony. His flailing gets him nowhere but he doesn’t slow down, straining his muscles to pull himself free.

Jessica nods and mumbles something to one of the nurses. She moves to his bedside with a sympathetic smile and a worried look on her face as she tries to run a hand through his unkempt hair. “Malcolm, I need you to stop moving, sweetie.” Her voice is eerily calm, almost as if she knew something he didn’t.

“What’s happening? Tell them to release me, mother.” She reaches to caress his face, her expression crumbling as the nurse walks behind her to his other side with something clear in her hand. “They have to put you under, Malcolm, so they can fix you. They can’t do that if you keep moving, dear.”

Before he could respond, something sharp pricks his right arm and his head whips around just as it leaves his skin.

“No...” he whispers.

A sedative.

“No. No no no - mother, you can’t do this, you can’t,” he mumbles, panic quickly swelling inside him. His breath becomes shallow in quick fearful gasps, hitching as his body starts to shake. Tears well up in his eyes and his lip quivers. Malcolm starts to hyperventilate as he vigorously shakes his head, trying to reach out to Jessica for help but the nurses won’t let him go.

“Mom...mom, please don’t,” he chokes on a sob between breaths, “don’t send me back there, please. Please don’t send me back to him,” he panicked breathing became loud and ragged as he cried harder, delirious as the drug worked through his bloodstream.

She felt absolutely horrible. Jessica felt helpless when she saw how scared he was; she felt even guiltier knowing she’s the one who even made the call. The sheer terror in his eyes brought her back to a time where the night terrors manifested, and tore through him until he was sobbing in her arms in the middle of the night.

She ached to hold him now. To wipe the tears from his face, to tell him everything’s going to be alright; she couldn’t do that now. She had to sit and watch her son suffer at the mercy of his own mind. The hurt in her heart makes her reach out anyways, her instinct to try and comfort him as much as she could.

“Look at me, Malcolm,” she gently held his face between her palms. “Look at me—just breathe, okay? Everything’s going to be fine, my love.”

He tried to shake his head but it kept swaying. “He’s going to kill me,” he whimpers, forcing himself to look at her dead in the eyes, “and it’s all your fault.”

Her smile fades. Malcolm’s eyes flutter open, trying to fight the effects taking over but it’s no use. His brows knit together in anger, then dissipate into something resembling fear when his vision starts to go black and his body finally relaxes against the hands of the nurses watching him.

They start talking among themselves as they figure out how to manage the bleeding. Jessica tunes them out. His words don’t sit right with her; the pain in his voice was unnerving. She knew where his hurt came from. He felt betrayed.

Once again, she failed to protect him.

So, when he came to, Martin is there, smiling from ear to ear with the biggest predatory grin on his face.

“Now, where were we?”

#happy prodigal monday!#i leave you with this #prodigal son #ps fics #prompt #malcolm bright #jessica whitly #martin whitly #i hate his ass so much #also if you wanna leave some prompts pls do!#adding the read more bc this is kinda long #my fic

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nightglider124 · 5 years

Note

22 ROBSTAR, make me cry

So,I’m finally getting around to writing the prompts that have been sitting in my inox since fucking APRIL. Like, gosh, I am so sorry for procrastinating that much, holy shit. XD

Anyway! Idk if it will make you cry but it’s all I could think of lmao.

I’m trying my hardest to make the others shorter than this; more sweet and to the point.

Hope you like it all the same! ^.^

____________________________________________

“This isn’t goodbye.”

The sound of his footsteps echoed and bounced off of the walls of the room, constantly pacing back and forth, as if that would magically solve his predicament.

Robin dragged a gloved hand through his dark locks of hair, for what felt like the hundredth time that day alone.

Tamaran was a strange place at the best of times but they usually managed. This time, however, everything felt more confusing and frustrating than ever before.

Galfore had explained a fair amount before they had even hopped into the T-Ship and set course for Starfire’s home world.

There was a new threat in the galaxy; a malicious and greed fueled race that had their eyes on Tamaran, in particular.

War was already waging between the two species on the west planes of Tamaran, according to the Grand Ruler himself.

It wasn’t her fight. Not anymore.

And she knew that.

But, Starfire’s greatest flaw was that she was too kind and too giving; regardless of what she wanted or what her own heart yearned for.

She’d offered her aid and now, the team had barely seen her since they’d arrived. She was either with soldiers or Galfore or the war council.

Robin guessed a Princess’ duties were never really over as long as the blood of royalty flowed through her veins.

They’d been there almost a week and he wanted some answers and furthermore, he wanted to see his best friend’s face, an image that seemed to be fading more and more as the days went by.

So, here he was, waiting it out inside her chambers. The guards had let him pass, knowing that he was friends with their Princess but not before having one of their spears dangerously close to his throat as a warning.

He paused in his pace by the balcony, letting a breath of wind that flowed in through the open double doors soothe him. It wasn’t Starfire’s fault that she’d been practically torn away from them from the moment they’d gotten there.

She was the Princess and he knew how much her presence was demanded by her people.

The door creaked and his head snapped up as Starfire slipped past the threshold. Her jade eyes widened upon seeing him, clearly not expecting him to be in her room at this time of night.

“Robin?” She murmured, wondering if she was imagining him due to fatigue.

“Hey.” He said, quietly reigning his confusion and frustrations of being on her world in for her sake, “Been busy?”

She offered him a tired smile, “Unfortunately, yes. I have been in 10 meetings between the war council and Galfore today. Arguments and broken strategies were thrown back and forth for the majority of said meetings. It was… exhausting.”

He smiled back and watched as she moved around the room, dropping some of her stuff off before she pulled her feet from her long, thigh high boots. Starfire sighed and crawled onto her bed, staring at him expectantly.

“You may sit, Robin.”

“Oh! Right… sorry… I keep forgetting myself while we’re here.”

He took a seat on the edge of her bed, relaxing and allowing himself to deflate.

“Please… are the Titans alright?” She paused, “I know things have not easy since we arrived and I apologise for that-”

His masked eyes flicked to her direction, “It’s not your fault, Star. You’re just trying to do right by everyone.”

“Trying being the keyword…” She muttered, dragging her hair over her shoulder and stroking her fingers through the long, auburn locks.

“You’re doing your best, Star. That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

“It just feels like my input is doing nothing to help, is all.”

He frowned and subconsciously laced their fingers together, “You’re giving more than you probably think.”

Her gaze lingered on their joint hands and she tried to quench the blush she could slowly feel rising to her face, “Thank you, Robin.”

The boy wonder smile at her for a long moment before it faded and he frowned, a look of guilt pinned to his face.

“Is everything okay?” Starfire queried,

Robin watched her, trying to gauge how she would feel about the request he was about to make. He knew she was making headway with the diplomats and soldiers that were all involved with this incoming war that Tamaran was to face but the Titans were needed on Earth. He had no idea how long this feud and difficulties would last; they needed to return home in order to continue doing their jobs of saving the city from daily threats.

“Starfire… I… I don’t mean to make things even worse but…” He sighed and shook his head, “We need to leave tomorrow.”

“Leave?”

“Yes. We’ve already been away from Jump longer than I would like. Titans East can’t juggle their own city and ours for too long. We need to get back.”

She was silent for a long moment, thoughts and concerns flitting through her mind; being pulled in multiple directions all at once.

“Star?” He prompted, “I know what I’m asking is difficult… I know you don’t want to leave Tamaran with all of this going on but-”

“Robin…”

He turned his whole body to look at her, propping his knee up on the mattress; something about her tone was off, something about it concerned him and there was an icy plummet in his chest, a sense of dread seeping in.

Starfire sat there, looking meek as she twiddled her fingers. Whatever she had to say; it wasn’t something she liked and she knew it wasn’t something he was going to like hearing either.

When she raised her head, her eyes looked glossy like she was fighting to hold back unshed tears from falling.

“I- I have to stay.”

He froze, his heart thumping louder suddenly as he tried to process if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” He asked, his mask impossibly wide as he waited for her to clarify,

She gave a shuddering sigh, trying to collect herself and her thoughts before voicing them,

“Tamaran… they need me here, Robin.”

“B-But… we need you on Earth too.”

She sadly shook her head, “Not like my planet does. I am not the only one who makes up our team… you can all handle things without me, I am certain of it.”

“Star… please don’t. Tamaran isn’t your home anymore… Earth is. You’ve said it yourself.”

“My life and my heart is on Earth. That is true.” She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand, bringing her free one to clasp it as well, “But they are still my people and they are facing a danger they do not know how to fight. I must stay and help them…”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “Well… you’ll come home after, right? How long do you think you’ll have to stay?”

She tilted her head, giving him a sympathetic look and he knew in his heart that there was no definitive answer on how long a war would last.

“I am sorry…” She whispered, looking truly and utterly at a loss,

“I… don’t want to leave you here… not without backup.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, causing his heart rate to spike at her sudden proximity. She touched the other side of his face with her fingertips, leaving a trail of fiery sensations.

As she sat back, she took a moment to stare at the material of his mask, knowing exactly where his eyes were beneath.

“I will be okay… and I will come home… once I know my people are safe from the oncoming threat, I will return to Earth.”

“You promise?”

She smiled softly, “I promise.”

There was a blanket of silence that befell them; it wasn’t uncomfortable but it wasn’t one that was filled with joy either.

He watched her, trying to sort his own emotions from one another and figure out exactly how he felt about the situation at hand, besides the obvious not wanting to leave her here and hating every second that she wouldn’t be with them back on Earth.

“I guess… I should probably go and let the others know then…” He mumbled, getting to his feet,

“Robin…” She whimpered, the sadness evident in her voice and in her eyes,

He smiled at her; a facade to hide how much it really hurt to know that she would be staying on Tamaran for god knows how long. He knew he had to put on a face for her, to let her know that it was okay.

The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guiltier about the situation than she probably already did.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He told her, “It’s just… a… see you later.”

She visibly swallowed the mountain in her throat before he tearfully nodded, brushing away a stray tear that slid down her cheek.

“Goodnight, Star… we’ll… see you in the morning before we go.” He vowed,

“Of course… goodnight Robin…” She murmured, her voice unusually quiet,

He held the gaze between them for a few moments longer before he turned and walked towards the exit, wordlessly escaping through the crack between the double doors.

Once outside, he let go of a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto. His expression crumpled and his shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of her decision to stay resting on him like a heavy burden.

Starfire blinked at the closed doors, the silence that now surrounded her was deafening. She felt the hot sting of tears as they freely trickled down her face with her powerless to stop them.

Her heart felt like it was too much inside of her chest; like something sharp had torn through it and she was helpless as it bled out.

She struggled to catch her breath as she sniffled and prayed to every God in existence that would listen, that she had not just lied to the most important person in the universe to her.

Because when she dwelled on it, she didn’t know when she would return and even worse, she didn’t know if she would return; the threat of war gnawing at her like an unpredictable nightmare.

There was no certainty in war, after all.

#teen titans #robstar #robin #starfire #fanfiction #dc comics #angst/fluff prompts #oneshot #prompts #requests #nightglider124

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bigbangclappin · 5 years

Text

Smile

Genre: Slice of Life, angst

Trigger warning: This scenario/drabble is about depression if this topic makes you uncomfortable please don’t read.

A/N: This scenario is based upon what I go through. Everyone’s depression is different and how everyone copes is also different. This time of year I struggle harder than usual, and I wanted to write something for those of us who go through this kind of mental state. I am in no means a therapist or a doctor but my friends and family always help get me through, so I hope this can help some of you too. As always good vibes and love to you guys, and keep your chins up!

You tried so hard to get out of bed, to answer the phone, but your muscles ached and your stomach felt queasy. The headache assaulting your temples was debilitating enough but your aching mind decided to add your anxious thoughts to the mix.

As you attempted to roll over to answer the call your phone had ceased it’s incessant ringing. You let out a tired sigh, you know you had missed his calls for the past three days but you were just so tired.

He had texted you asking if you had caught a cold. You wish it were only a cold, something as simple as a virus but alas your mind was worse than any virus you have could come down with.

You wanted to so badly explain to your boyfriend the way your depression incapacitated you as if you had a violent disease. Knowing that would burden him while he was across the continent would only make you feel guiltier.

By sticking to simple text messages you thought he’d know you were alive and he could focus on his work. He was a busy man who was adored by many you couldn’t take him away from the thousands that paid hard-earned money to see him.

You could get through this alone the way you always did. Your boss allowed you to take three days sick time so you could recoup. You had worked in his store since you were sixteen he was familiar with your condition. He aided you better than your parents could.

He listened to you, actually listened, he didn’t tune you out so he then could tell you it would pass. He gave you suggestions to take your mind off of it, recommended a hundred and one therapists and even promised to go with you if you were that uneasy.

When Mr. Jang called you always picked up to hear the words of encouragement he warmly had to offer. He was much more helpful than any of the doctors he had told you about. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you realized that he was out of town since his own daughter needed his help with her child.

So you couldn’t bother him either.

You thought about calling the one therapist you decided to give a chance. But you didn’t want to have to leave your big bed. You shuddered at the thought of Jiyong seeing it, he hated mess, and you had crumpled tissues all over his expensive bedding along with day old take-out containers. He’d blow a gasket about common courtesy.

Letting out a sigh you reached out for the phone that began to ring again. His bright happy face flashed across the screen as you decided whether or not you should pick-up.

It went to voicemail before you could make a decision. Sooner or later he was going to get angry with you, you knew that. Your embarrassment kept you from asking him for support. You had done well enough to keep your problem from him. You didn’t want him to think you were some mental case who couldn’t be left alone for more than a week.

It was better this way for everyone you told yourself as more tears fell from your eyes. You pulled the covers over your head and turned away from the nightstand. Trying to fall back to sleep. It was the only thing that made you feel better.

Eventually you fell asleep to the sound of your own cries.

You woke with start when you heard your doorbell ringing. They’d leave like the others after the third ring, and then you could rest some more.

That wasn’t the case. Whatever this person wanted it must’ve been important. You sat up painfully, your bones creaking and popping as you feet met the floor for the first time in days. You put your slippers on and made your way to the front door.

Taking a glimpse at the high-tech security system Jiyong had; you were surprised to say the least. You hit the talk button reluctantly ,”Hello?”

“(Y/n)-ah?” Daesungie asked, “Can I come up?”

You found yourself wringing your wrists uncomfortably; you didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Let alone one of Jiyong’s close friends. What would he do if you said no?

“Jiyong gave me a key remember?” he added after a moment of your silence, “No one has heard from you in a week (Y/n) we’re worried.”

“I’m fine oppa i’m just not feeling well.”

Daesung then pulled two shopping bags up in to the camera’s view, “Good thing I brought all your favorites.”

“You’ll catch what I have—”

“Just put a mask on,” he cut you off as he waggled the silver key, “I’m coming up.”

The video call then cut off, you nearly panicked when you looked over the apartment. You scrambled to clean up somewhat. Throwing trash away, folding blankets, hiding dishes in the dishwasher to run later. There was no time to give the home a thorough dusting like it needed. You just prayed Daesung wouldn’t rat you out. That was the last thing you needed.

Checking out your reflection in the mirror you did the best you could to mask the bags under your eyes. You knew your tearstained cheeks were going to have to remain the way they were when you heard the man let himself in.

“Aish (Y/n)-ah what happened in here?” Daesung asked as he entered the bedroom, “Jiyongie would have a fit if he saw it now.”

“I told you I haven’t been feeling well…” You replied with your face mask hiding the most extreme signs of your pain.

“Have you seen the doctor yet?”

You nodded your head, “Just a small cold.”

Your friend seemed to buy it for he cleared a small spot on the bed and began to lay out all of your favorite snacks, magazines, and some medicine.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said in sincere gratitude, “Kamsamnida.”

He shrugged his shoulders with a smile, “It’s no problem here eat this you need to get your strength back.”

He handed me some fruit and then plopped down on the bed, turning on the expensive TV, he patted the spot next to him. I sat down quietly turning away from him toward the television

“You know Jiyong said you’re ignoring him.”

There it was, the real reason for his visit. You couldn’t really be upset he was your boyfriend’s friend first. You couldn’t really blame anyone for being worried, you disappeared off the face of the earth.

Guilt ate away at your insides; you didn’t mean to ignore him, you just couldn’t find it in you to talk to anyone. You didn’t want anyone to see you at your most vulnerable. Let alone your boyfriend who knew nothing about your debilitating illness. The fog you were under became heavier at the thought of Jiyong being mad at you.

“Not on purpose this cold has been really bad.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s only a cold,” you said softly, “I’m getting better I swear.”

Daesung just hummed a very unconvinced hum, he munched on a snack and turned to the TV playing a random variety show. He watched it for a brief second before turning back.

“What’s really going on (Y/n)-ah?”

Daesung always had a way of putting you at ease; it was simple to confide in him. He rarely judged if he ever and he was one of the happiest people you knew. Maybe some of his sunshine would rub off on you.

“I’m feeling really bad Daesungie, my muscles ache, my head is throbbing, and I never want to get out of bed. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t have strength enough to leave the house. I’m in so much pain.”

You leaned your head on his chest and just let out the most pitiful sob, “I don’t know how to get better.”

He patted your back soothingly and just let you cry it all out. Softly he ran his fingers through your hair “(Y/n)-ah it's okay.”

You shook your head, “It's not though oppa it's affecting my entire life and I haven't the slightest idea on how to fix it.”

“Do you want help?”

You nodded your head, “I’m beyond help.”

The older man pinched your arm, “Don’t you ever say that (Y/n)-ah you're never beyond help, do you know how many of us are willing to help you? I know it’s hard but you just have to let us in starting with Jiyongie…”

You but your lip and Daesung sighed.

“He loves you he would do anything to help you get out of this hole.”

“I’m embarrassed Daesungie,” you confided tucking your face in to his shoulder, “How can I tell the man I adore that I can’t even do the most basic of functions because it hurts too much? It’s too pathetic.”

Your oppa gently ran his hand up and down your shoulder, “It’s not pathetic (Y/n)-ah and it’s not pathetic to let others in who care about you. We want you to tell us when you’re feeling this way, we want you to trust us. We want you to get better.”

You gave him the weakest smile and continued to pitifully nuzzle in to him like a child. You were very much grateful for his support and were truly pleased you could call Daesung a true friend, but you were still terrified to enlighten your boyfriend about how you’ve been feeling. He picked up on this too, so he ruffled your messy hair playfully and left a peck on the top of your head.

“I’ll be right here,” he promised you taking your hand in his, “I know Jiyong-ah will be so willing to help you that everything will be okay.”

Frozen still with your thoughts you contemplated on taking (in your eyes) the first step to getting help, looking to Dae and then back to your phone; you picked it up and swiped across one of Jiyong’s missed calls.

Your friend gave you the most encouraging squeeze to the hand paired with the brightest smile at your “Hello, oppa?”

With the right boost of confidence you knew then that you’d get through this, and you didn’t have to do it alone. You had a whole network of people who loved you and were willing to pull you out of the hole your brain had buried you in, to be your life preservers. You can do this, you are strong.

#kang daesung scenario #bigbang scenario #bigbang reaction #kang daesung reaction #bigbang drabble #bigbang fiction #kwon jiyong scenario #kwon jiyong drabble #kang daesung drabble #bigbangclappin #angst

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adriennescomingbacktolife · 4 years

Text

Ja matta ne, pt. 1

Written with Jess

Midnight. Kohaku Fujihara gave a look around. Most of what he’d acquired during his time here was staying- a few things were coming with for old time’s sake. A couple of t-shirts, some odds, and ends. A frequent diner punchcard to his favorite noodle place. A single playing card depicting a laughing jester on one foot juggling black and white balls. These things were jammed into a backpack with plenty of room to spare. Taking a deep breath, he slipped out of the bedroom, trying to be as stealthy as possible… and promptly failed, the sole of his sneaker slipping on the hardwood, producing a sharp squeak, not unlike one would hear on a basketball court. His current tenant, for the lack of a better word, stirred in the midst of a cocoon of blankets and sheets. For a moment, it looked as if the disturbance had woken Adrienne Levi but instead, she just rolled over. Facing Kohaku, but still, fast asleep. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kohaku unfroze from the position he’d stuck himself in and continued to pad toward the door. His fault for wearing shoes inside- usually a major faux pas in Japanese etiquette but disregarded for the sake of a quicker exit. Padding across the room on tiptoe, he laid his hand on the doorknob, casting a glance behind him with a melancholy look before twisting the knob and slowly opening the door- only for the hinges that should have been immaculately silent to let out a creak worthy of a haunted house. “...kuso.” Out from the darkness came a sleepy, “Ko?” Wincing, Kohaku looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t possibly have looked guiltier- backpack on his back, hand on the doorknob, fully clothed in the middle of the night with a very sheepish expression on his face. Caught red-pawed. Shutting the door, he turned around, removing his cap to run his fingers through his hair. “...yeah?” Sitting up, Adrienne sheds the outer layer. Feeling for her phone on the coffee table next to her, she finally secured it and turned on her flashlight. Shining it on Kohaku, her eyebrows raised quizzically. However, there was a perfectly logical reason that there was a bulging backpack slung over his shoulders. “You going over to Sil’s?” Ade asked curiously. “Yeah.” Switching off the light, she mumbled, “Oh, okay.” It wasn’t a lie. He could leave it at that. But he couldn’t. “...but after I do, I won’t be coming back.” Again, Adrienne sat back up. Eventually, on wobbly legs, she stumbled towards the proximity of Kohaku. She had an oversized nightshirt and a pair of boxers on. Somehow not managing to trip over something. Wiping away the sleep from her eyes, her vision played tricks with her. The moonlight trickling in through the large windows projected a silhouette that wasn’t his. Blinking a few times, she realized the strange wavy shapes emanating from his body were just aberrations. “Yeah?” “Yeah. … I mean you don’t need to panic about a place to live, this place is paid up for a few months and if you wanna keep it I kinda ‘negotiated’ the rent down real cheap, I just… I…” He sighed, looking down, almost ashamed of himself. “...I can’t stay here anymore. I’m miserable. Everyone around me is miserable, and it’s a good part my fault. I can’t have been that fun to live with the past few weeks, I know that much.” The young woman shook her head. This was a delicate situation. They had spoken briefly about all of their complicated feelings for Axton Gunn. Ko’s circumstances were wholly different. “You’ve seemed distant, sure.” Circling back around to the crux of the issue, Adrienne contemplated what had just happened to her all of a sudden. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would handle this. How to even handle this as a matter of fact. A tiny voice in her subconscious reassured her that this was okay. So… “...but, I understand.” “I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to you. And I don’t want to leave you, you’ve been a great friend, a great… everything. I wish this hadn’t all happened this way, and who knows. Maybe once I’ve been home for a while, grown up a little, I’ll come back. And maybe when I do…” He grinned, the sort of impish smile he used to flash all the time before all this. “...I’ll have a friend gracious enough to let a vagabond ol’ fox like me crash on her couch.” Adrienne nodded and smiled in return. She noticed that his canines were rather pointed. Or maybe she was just making stuff up. Lately, she had a pretty active imagination. “Don’t dwell on it. I’ll be okay.” Adrienne sniffled. She stepped towards him. Leaning forward, Kohaku pressed his lips to her forehead gently. “It will. You’re going to be fine. Whatever place you’re searching for, you’ll find it. I believe in you.” Pulling away and running a hand over his eyes, he paused once more, unzipping a pouch of his backpack and handing Adrienne a small, worn old book. “A book of Japanese folklore. To remember me by while I’m gone. Sayonara for now, dear little queen.” Bowing, he vanished into the night, leaving behind him the scent of fresh rice and, perhaps, a flash of russet fur.

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ravenstyx · 7 years

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Heartbreak Grows in the Garden Chapter 4: Complicate. Incarcerate. Feel my heart wake up.

Rated M/A for sexual content, substance abuse and language

Summary: She's a stunner and a taker She's amused; she's a faker and you like it that way. (This is the story of all the hearts Cana has left in pieces.)

Also found HERE

Did Mira know that she was so, so beautiful? Did she know that wherever she went, eyes followed her? Did she know that when she started taking off her clothes, breaths seized and thoughts died off? No. No. She was oblivious. She was an oblivious high and she was an oblivious drunk and mixing the two together made her into something magical. What was it about the spaced out look in her eye as she stared up at the moon-and-cloud-dominated sky, dress off, feet and skin bare on grass that was two weeks late for a cutting? Was it the carelessness she had? The complete disassociation she toted while her worshippers gathered around, ready to receive whatever handout she offered? Cana used to think it was the cruelty in her eyes. She used to be mean to everyone and when she deigned to be nice, it was like being gifted something special and everyone, even if they said awful things about her when she wasn't around, wanted just a little taste. Now the opposite was true. Mira was more nice than she was mean and she was still a heavy hitter. It was different now, though. Something very, very important had changed in her life and likewise, she was changing to accommodate it. That would have been okay, if Cana didn't know Mira had a problem just then, but as Mira stood naked as she always did, face tipped to the sky, bare feet curling in the grass in a clearing on the edge of Fairy Hills' property, her uncertainty was clear and Cana knew that the one constant thing she'd had in her life was about to go up in a cloud of smoke. She watched it happen, unable to look away from the coming train wreck. There was a specific way Mira liked to do things and Sting (Cana was sure that wasn't his real name—as sure as she was that he wasn't Mira's first pick) did them without flaw, but Mira, numb and dumb Mira, wasn't so numb nor so dumb. High didn't make her loose and lackadaisical, drunk didn't make her hypersensitive and happy.

It made her judgemental and unreceptive.

Cana fought to hold onto the enjoyment she'd been riding just moments before—before she heard Mira's frustrated puff of air and she, too, was forced to think about the reality of their situation. Nothing was doing. Rogue stretched her from behind and he was skilled enough, but no matter what, how she tipped her hips, how she longed to thrust herself into the feeling and forget about everything—she couldn't do it. Mira wasn't having fun and if she wasn't having fun, Cana could think about how she wasn't really having fun, either.

Sting still tried. He kissed Mira's neck and fondled her breasts and told her to get on the ground on her knees. He was still hard, the silly asshole, and didn't know how close he was to one of Mira's fabled tantrums.

"I'm done," Mira pushed away from him.

"What?" Sting still reached for her, even as he asked for clarification.

"Don't," Mira said shortly and Sting's hand fell away.

"Mira." Cana didn't like how much her tone sounded like pleading.

"Sorry, Cana." Mira didn't look at her. She grabbed up her dress and before Cana knew it, she was clothed once more. She left the group without another word.

Cana almost followed her. It felt like getting up and leaving was bringing her whole world shaking down to its foundations, though.

Sting asked, "What's her problem?"

"Nothing." Nothing was a whole lot, but none of that was Sting's business. "Forget about her," Cana said, "Let's just keep going." Rogue still was. Sting turned to Cana and Cana knew already what he was going to ask. She thought a girl unaffected would open her mouth so that's what she did.

Rain fell from the sky, light and misting. Her leather jacket could more than handle it, though when Mister Conbolt pulled up beside her, Cana took his offered ride because, if she was honest with herself, she wanted to be near someone familiar.

He drove a '71 Beaumont Acadian that smelled like cigarette smoke and Little Trees—Lilac edition—and there was a mess of papers in the backseat. Cana put her seat all the way back and put her legs up on the dash. Mister Conbolt looked her way. The light of the dashboard made his skin kind of green and granted him an unearthly quality. He wasn't beautiful like Mira, he wasn't rakish like Sting and Rogue, he was a lot nervous and smoothed it over with a calmness that came to men in their forties.

He didn't scold her for her wet boots leaving marks on his leather; in fact, he hadn't said much of anything. Cana tried to get him out of his shell a little. "Where were you tonight, Mister Conbolt?" She already knew; she saw the receipt for Macy's on the passenger seat before he could crumple it up and stuff it into his pocket, recognizing the paper trimmed with purple.

"Just out with some colleagues," he said casually.

"At a strip joint?"

If he was embarrassed, the light on the dash covered it up for him and his voice was near-even as he turned the question around on her. "Where were you, Cana?"

"The park."

"So late?"

Cana couldn't tell if he was trying to be an Adult or if he wanted the gritty details. She didn't think Mister Conbolt could, either. "If I did what I wanted there in the middle of the day, I'd be arrested."

"I wish you wouldn't take so many risks."

"No, you don't," Cana said bluntly. "You wish you were out there taking them with me."

He took his eyes off the road to look at her. "Where would you get an idea like that?" He sounded properly indignant.

"It's written all over your face. You wish it was you out there with me tonight, getting fucked in the—"

He cut her off. "You have it all wrong. You're my patient, I want what's best for you." His protests only made him guiltier.

"Really?" She slid her hand over her bare legs to the hem of her shorts where she lingered, following the material around to her outer thigh before she kept on, up over her belly to where her crop top rested two inches above the waistband of her shorts. She pulled it up another inch. Mister Conbolt shifted in his seat. There was no clipboard to cover his erection now. Cana didn't even pretend that she wasn't looking and it made him uncomfortable. Good. She felt like she had all of the control, which made it seem like everything else in her life wasn't spiraling so badly. "Did you want to pull over?"

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel and the leather squeaked. "No, Cana. I do not."

"You're a liar."

His forties cool was slipping and slipping fast. Cana brought her hand up further and the car weaved; he was too busy watching her and not watching the road. He corrected and slowed. Cana thought it was to pull over but it was to make a left-hand turn. Fairy Hills came out of the darkness, the half-way house for teens looking like a towering monster amongst all of the other residential homes. It stood out like a sore thumb, ancient and pale brick when everything around it was new subdivision. There was a tired '02 minivan in the driveway and that was all, the only people that lived there fulltime Mister Dreyar himself and the teens Mister Dreyar took in from the streets or salvaged from Children's Aid when the parents were too shitty to get their act together and adoption agencies had a hard time finding homes.

Mister Conbolt stopped on the street at the mouth of the driveway and it seemed that the appearance of the building, his place of work and his sanctuary from his home life, stapled him in reality. He brought himself to look at Cana. "Here we are." The rain started to fall harder from the sky, tinging off the roof and almost taking his words. Cana still heard the strain in them. He could pretend all he liked, he could put on the noble act, he could throw well-meaning questions her way and try to make her think about what she was doing, but she knew he wanted her to keep going. Men like him always did.

Her leather jacket creaked as she sat up and leaned over. Mister Conbolt stiffened when she touched his cheek, frozen in place as she leaned in, and mute. Until she kissed him. Then he pulled away from her and pushed her back at the same time, just as Mira had to Sting. A second passed, two, and then he wiped his mouth. "Get out." The game was over. It felt like she'd been slapped. Cana opened the door and gladly stepped into the rain. It fell like a torrent then, soaking her through and chilling her to the bone. She walked with reservation up the gravel driveway and under the porch's awning. She smelled his cologne before she saw him, Elfman always wore the same scent, and then she saw the glow of the cigarette he was smoking, though as far as she knew, Elfman never smoked before.

Shadow revealed him bit by bit, and the girl at his side, too. Cana ignored her and looked into Elfman's eyes and knew without a doubt that he'd seen everything on the street. She waited too long for him to say something. Elfman was as silent as he'd been when she left him in the theater. She half-wished he wouldn't be and, contrarily, was glad, too. She fumbled with her key in the door and left him there. The house was dark and quiet; Cana tried to keep it that way, using the light from her phone to see by. In the room that was hers for another six days, she shed her coat and her clothes and climbed into the shower. There she stayed until the water ran cold.

#cana alberona #my spirit animal #she's still a fucking mess #ft fanfiction #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #mira strauss #i'm late in posting #sorry

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mabel-but-slytherin · 7 years

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Connection (6 part 1/?)

I’m late. Super late. So late most of you probably don’t know/remember this fic exists. I’m super sorry and I’ll leave it at that for here because tumblr format sucks for ANs. The total chapter clocked in at well over 10k words so I cut it in half and part two will be posted next week. It’s done and edited and I’m sicced for it just didn’t want to overwhelm people and then potentially disappear again.

Tagging the people I know were super active in following this fic here (if you want to be added to future chapters let me know!): @scrollingdown @sapphireswimming @spookytiffany @seulgi008 (your url’s changed I believe multiple times since the last update and that makes me feel even guiltier)

Enjoy! On ffn and ao3.

Danny packed up his ghost gear in less than a minute.

Soon three claws cut into the air, cutting a green tear between this realm and the next, and then criss-crossed over itself to create a shortcut that the psychic could fit through. Danny sent a grateful smile and a short thanks in Esperanto to Wulf as he passed towards it, gesturing for the ghost (who happened to be named Nathaniel, not nearly as ironic as Nick would've been but close enough that Danny had to stifle giggles) to go first.

After all, Nathaniel already looked like he was starting to fade away without his haunt.

Bobby was waiting on the edge of and into the rift itself, his grizzled face somehow not looking nearly as uncomfortable or out of place as it should leaning on such an unnatural tear between two worlds like it was any old truck or other mortal form of transportation. He reached out a semi-tangible hand and rested it on the teen's shoulder.

"Don't let those idjits get in any more trouble than they need to." Danny gulped and nodded as he understood the weight the statement carried as both an apology and permission rolled into one.

"I won't. And I trust you to be there to pull me out if I do?" Danny pulled his own statement into a question with a taunting smirk, knowing full well the hunter would see its full reciprocation. Apology and forgiveness, for both this and the Leviathan incident, with maybe a hint of permission should the need arise again.

And the grizzled dead face showed it, crinkling with a passion that made Danny oddly think of a grandfather figure he'd never really had. "Bah!" Bobby laughed, "I'm more worried about you getting yourself killed than them. This isn't their first rodeo, kid."

"And you're acting like it's mine? You know I've been dealing with this stuff for a while before meeting you Bobby. Besides, I've hung around enough with death to know a thing or two about surviving it." The teen's laugh stretched to hide a grimace of fear as he focused ahead, leaving Bobby muttering under his breath with concern about N-whatever-that-ghost-who-chased-the-kid-down-here's-name-is as Danny ventured through to the other side.

The kid's heroism, duty, and innocence was almost enough to make Bobby regret that the Winchesters' plan to keep Danny away from this hunt worked out this way instead. Danny deserved to be protected, even if he and his boys did it for entirely different intentions. After all, none of the three young men he looked after now would likely approve of his end goals, even the ghost whisperer who had put the most pieces together.

But that wouldn't stop him. Nothing would. That's why they call it an obsession.

The house Danny stepped out of Wulf's portal into was cold and it was dull.

It wasn't cold as in haunted house cold, or dull as in normal house dull, but it had a drop in temperature compared to the world before passing within its walls and a stark stillness as if some curator had decided that the Victorian home needed to be perfectly preserved. Contrasting that was an atmosphere that suggested that someone had poured a lot of energy into livening the place up, not seeming to realize that the house itself had decreed that nothing lively or even alive should grace the place again.

Apparently it also housed a resident intent on upholding that.

Nearly-Headless-and-everything-else-less-because-he-was-currently-missing Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen, and Danny couldn't help but worry as he turned around to look for his guide. On one hand, the ghost clearly would need to recuperate after two days without the spectral energy of his haunt, and it was all too likely the man was checking in on the family he chased after Danny to protect. But the psychic couldn't help but worry that something happened to the ghost he would need to consult about whatever intrusion made this haunting turn violent, and he couldn't crush the guilt that in the small time he spent talking to Bobby the invader or the Winchesters could've gotten him.

The repeating pound of footsteps creaking on old wood coming from what sounded like just outside the house echoed that thought, and the obvious humanity of the sound informing Danny that the Winchesters indeed must already be here.

Danny thought about how terrible his luck was, but quickly realized it would be a miraculous stroke given his luck to expect anything better.

Then the teen realized he was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking out towards the direction the footsteps were coming from, and he quickly bolted to hug the wall before retreating in the opposite direction.

Luckily years of companionship with the dead, as well as a lifetime of trying to sneak past unwanted confrontations with bullies or his parents, gave Danny the advantage of stealth in this mission.

Danny found himself passing into the dining room, and sticking his head around the corner he could see that he was across a main hallway from the living room, with the kitchen covering the room between his end of the hallway and the front door where the Winchesters could be heard picking at the lock. Right by the entrance was a stairway to the second floor, which given the decent size of the downstairs entertaining areas would probably contain a handful of bedrooms and maybe an office, but not much else. If there was indeed a family of ghosts living here, the haunt most likely is centered upstairs.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply in his core to better sense the energy of the house, Danny confirmed that whatever background energy was coming from the spirits, it permeated the entire building, but the vast majority was on the upper floor.

The continuing wiggling of the front lock and the direct line of sight from the front door to the stairwell made it obvious to Danny he couldn't risk dashing upstairs without being spotted. The Winchesters weren't idiots or amateurs at lock-picking and would likely finish any second. Also Danny noted with a slight frown that he hadn't thought to change out of his favorite outfit of t-shirt and jeans. On one hand at least he wasn't barging in to conflict negotiation in his pajamas, but on the other hand he'd stick out like a sore thumb against the Victorian décor if he tried to hide in the corner of Sam or Dean's eye.

Hearing the sound of rattling increase drastically as the men (Danny could easily envision it as Dean picking the lock while Sam held the duffle bags) moved on from twisting the lock to tugging at the rusted hinges, Danny dashed his way into a dark corner of the linen closet off the dining room, keeping the door open and hoping he wasn't spotted. He'd wait until he could make a clean sneak towards the stairs.

He didn't think the Winchesters would appreciate the mysterious kid they locked in a hotel room two days ago beating them to an undisclosed location that must be at least hundreds of miles away.

"Finally! With a door like that this place must've been condemned for over a century!" Dean's relieved voice carried a booming echo compared to the dead silence of the house only moments before.

The silence carried even the sound of Sam lifting the gun bags off the doorstep as he followed his brother in. "I told you before Dean, town records show this house has had consistent residents up until a couple years ago."

"-when all the families moving in reported this place going from uptown to Halloween town, I got it." Dean finished, looking around the main hallway and the footsteps turning towards the living room.

Danny let out a sigh: all that he needed now was for Sam to follow his brother and Danny would be free to hug the walls of the kitchen across the hall until he could make a break for the stairs.

"Hey, Sammy. You notice something weird here?" He heard Dean call out, followed by a buzz and whine Danny quickly placed as the homemade EMF/Walkman he had seen Dean fiddle with in the motel room before.

It sounded different from the clearly non-responsive it was the night Danny first saw it (which had seemed to almost disappoint Dean, who was clearly trying and failing to subtly wave it around Danny), and this time the teen feared they might take that to go straight upstairs and block him from meeting up with Nathaniel before the Winchesters might get to the ghosts.

Sam must've had similar thoughts regarding the EMF as Danny could practically hear the raised eyebrow. "You mean besides the spectral energy readings coming from almost everywhere?"

"I'm not talking about what spooky stuff we're getting, Sammy, I'm talking about what spooky stuff we're missing." Dean paused, and there was clearly the gap where Sam must've sent him some look or a shrug. "If this place is haunted enough to get condemned and has been sitting here empty for over two years, then why isn't there a buildup of dust?"

Sam's steps had a hint of uncertainty as he followed his brother into the living room. Danny took it as his cue to slip out of the linen closet and back up against the wall between the dining room and kitchen. "Someone's been cleaning."

"Something's been cleaning. We both know that door hasn't been opened in at least a year and there's no back door in the floor plans." Dean cut in. "And I don't know about you, but I don't think we've ever seen a ghost that keeps house before."

"Are you starting to think that this might be a 'maybe Danny has a point' kind of thing?" The phrase made Danny's entire posture go rigid. There was a clear dash of skepticism in Sam's tone when he said it, but the teen could hear that it was a word for word quote that had somehow entered the Winchesters' terminology. What did it mean if Sam and Dean clearly still believed he was wrong about ghosts being peaceful, but were willing enough to debate the idea that they had clearly discussed it out of his earshot, and would look and consider potential evidence in his favor?

"I'm starting to think that someone still died here and this Casper's gonna keep on killing people who live here unless we stop it. If anything, weird ghostly habits are a sign that the kind of ghost Danny's convinced are safe might be plotting to kill people, or worse: using him to do it."

Sam's voice went soft at the anger in Dean's, and Danny found himself so enraptured in his eavesdropping that the ghosts upstairs were all but forgotten. "You're worried about Bobby."

"Of course I'm worried about Bobby."

The emphasis that it was their mentor they cared about rather than him only made the pit of ice growing in Danny's chest go deeper as Dean continued.

"You know he was never exactly stable since he… since he died, but that thing he did to the Leviathan with Danny- to Danny, that was something else."

"You think it was Bobby who did that." Sam's sentence hung somewhere in the middle ground between a statement and a question, between doubt and incredulity. On one hand, the younger brother thought that Dean was wrong. On the other hand, he had no clue what to think.

Danny shook at how strangely perceptive his ability to read people, especially these two, had gotten. He tried to laugh it off as either a lifetime with Jazz or a weird tick from his powers, but neither felt right.

"I think Bobby shouldn't have been able to do that," Dean started slowly. "And I also think Bobby shouldn't have been able to come back again, even if only the kid can see him. But most of all, I think the kid couldn't have possibly done that on his own. You were driving when he woke up in the Impala afterwards, Sammy. You heard me need to tell him what happened. He… there was nothing there at all Sam, and then he started looking so scared. The kid had no clue."

Danny felt shame itch on the back of his neck as he recalled that at least half of that fear was of Dean, but the hunter didn't seem to know that.

Just as the moment of calm settled between the siblings a loud crash came from the upper floor.

"We can have another chick flick moment later," Dean said with a scoff. "Let's take care of fugly first."

Less than a second later he and Sam were bounding up the staircase after the noise, with the few heavy poundings betraying that the giants were taking the old wood stairs several steps at a time.

Danny looked up at the ceiling above him as he quietly paced his way through the kitchen. Regardless of the number of ghosts here, or how happy they were to have Nathaniel home, there wasn't any reason for something that could turn insubstantial to make a sound like that. Which meant that whatever malicious ghost had taken up resident decided to try to scare the humans who had been obviously settling in for a long chat downstairs out of the house.

But then Nathaniel's words came back to Danny and he remembered that the ghosts were all fully aware that the next visitors to their haunt would be hunters, even if they weren't familiar with the Winchesters themselves. For a ghost to be so illogical to make it obvious they were haunting the place in front of hunters who wouldn't be scared that easily, but at it same time it also wasn't so out of touch to immediately Rage as soon as trespassers entered the property. Danny couldn't think of a reasonable explanation based on his experiences, and that in itself was disturbing.

Danny had the sudden feeling that this might not be as simple as just talking down a ghost stubborn enough to ignore his hauntmates warnings for years.

Most worrying, either the intruding ghost was variable enough to need minutes to flicker into reality when disturbed but simultaneously carry substantial tangibility in the real world, or it wanted to lure Sam and Dean upstairs.

Danny waited until the footsteps were at least a room away on the upper floor before he turned the final corner from the kitchen into the main hallway and saw the stairs were clear. He was just about to start making a silent way up and testing how much weight he could balance on the first step without creaking when a blurry figure floated out of one of the rooms upstairs and made its way down towards him.

"Ah, young Daniel! I'm glad to see you're still here to help us out!" Danny urgently raised his finger to his lips to shush the ghost as it spoke in a conversational tone, desperately gesturing towards the upstairs where the Winchesters were clearly still investigating supernatural activity.

"Yes, sorry." Nathaniel stayed parked in the air above the teen and Danny internally sighed at how clueless the dead man was if he thought they could stay and have a chat in the open. Realizing going upstairs would be fruitless now that he found his guide, the psychic turned back towards the kitchen, before having a second thought and realizing the colonial family who clearly still acted as if they lived here in whatever age they were alive in would fuss less if they 'entertained a guest' in the living room.

Just as he was about to turn another figure materialized a foot in front of him. The slight tingle of energy and years of practice pretending to be normal quashed the instinct to jump, and the female ghost looked at him curiously.

"You were right, Nathaniel, he does appear to have instincts beyond merely the Sight." The spirit, clearly Nathaniel's wife and believing Danny had sensed her arrival to this plane, seemed pleased at the assessment and followed daintily behind. Danny bit in the instinctual response to point out that his 'sensing' her was entirely a coincidence.

The teen also noted her feet soundlessly touched the floor with each step she took, which only made it clearer that whatever was upstairs was an anomaly in the household.

"I apologize for the mess everything is right now, I've been worried sick the whole time dear Nathaniel's been away and haven't had the chance to clean. And I hope you don't mind the children," two small, translucent faces watched from the corner of the living room as they entered. "Normally I would have them play upstairs when we have guests over, but I fear leaving them alone in the company of either unwanted danger invading our house.

"Tea?" The ghost mother vanished and reappeared back by the living room entrance, and Danny could hear the rattling of porcelain in the kitchen as Nathaniel floated to get it. "Also, don't mind my husband, he normally can vanish as well but he's been feeling ill ever since he returned. I've never seen it before…"

"-It's ghost sickness." Danny cut in, glad that there was at least something he could say that may hopefully get the conversation serious and on track. He didn't want to be rude but it really wasn't the time for tea. "It's from not being in his haunt-" Danny realized tact might work better, "-the house for so long. Some time here and he'll recover.

"And really I'm good on the tea right now." Danny threw in as an afterthought, seeing the question build on her face. The rattling stopped and Nathaniel floated in.

"Oh, no trouble then. Thank you for the reassurance, Mr… now what is your last name Mr. Daniel?"

Danny flinched a bit at the name again and thought of how to avoid giving out his last name. It was a habit to avoid being identified as a Fenton, and if word about him was already spreading through Ghost Zone gossip here he didn't want to make it worse. "My first name's fine, and please call me Danny." He added with a grimace. Hearing someone, especially so formal, call him by his full name still sent tingles down his spine. Seeing her prim face frown made him scratch the back of his neck, only making the frown deeper.

Danny had never been grateful before for the sound of a destructive ghost attack upstairs. "And I really think I should be getting on to whatever trouble your new neighbor has been making upstairs. Your husband says he's been a problem ever since he moved in?"

"Yes!" The mother cried, and Danny couldn't help but notice the ghost children were shivering a bit in the corner. "He has no manners, or sociability, and is a makes a complete mess every time he-!"

Nathaniel put his intangible hand on his wife's shoulder to cut off her exasperated rant. "Darling, that isn't exactly what young Danny has come here to hear. Now that I can hold a conversation without fading out again I can finally tell you what I should have before you came. It started only a few weeks after tragedy struck the family that was living here, and all of us could feel the energy manifesting from the Ghost Zone the entire time in-between. You see, we had always been companionable but separate from the humans that lived in our house, until…"

Sam could hear the whine of the EMF meter growing louder with each step as he followed Dean upstairs. His brother pivoted at each door at the start of the hallway and heard its beeps grow stronger as he turned to the right, then the lights go straight off the charts as he turned to the left. With only a quick glance into the empty child's bedroom Dean first looked into, Sam followed his brother into the guest bedroom on the other side of the hall.

The room somehow seemed even darker and drearier than the rest of the house, with now noticeable amounts of dust caking the minimal furniture and floor minus an empty space by the window. While the rest of the house had a feeling that could possibly pass as a museum or place the Winchesters might break in to stay the night, this room screamed the haunted house the hunters were used to.

Dean slowly stepped forward towards the empty patch by the window, and stopped a few feet away to look outside. Sam followed dutifully behind to see the clear view of the front yard and the Impala parked thirty feet in the distance.

"So… master of the house decided to creepily watch into the distance as we pulled in. Don't you love it when the fuglies decide to play up the traditional monster movie roles?"

Sam smirked. "You miss that Dracula hunt, don't you?"

Dean turned his head and Sam saw in his eyes the joy that made hunting with his brother worth it. "You know I miss any hunt where we get to save the day and get the girl. Not only was she hot, she was a bartender! The chicks on this job suck."

"Still upset about the waitress?" The dinner they stopped for dinner had a wait staff well over seventy.

"All I'm saying is that there was a Hooters right next door!"

There was another crash a few feet away, but no visible signs of anything on the ghosts' part. Looking around the empty room, most possessions still in boxes, Sam couldn't find anything that stood out as being particularly tied to the haunt besides this empty patch of dust.

"So what do you think?" He turned to ask his older brother. "An entire family died here in the early 1800s, nothing for almost two centuries and then there was a suicide here about three years ago. The first family's burial records were lost in a town fire in 1937 and the most recent death had the body cremated. No remaining body parts, research didn't point out any possible mementos and I haven't seen anything while looking around that might be it. Should we start digging through the boxes here?"

Dean continued to circle the room, the EMF meter staying at a constant full blast but no other sign of the ghost permeating the air. The older Winchester looked over the piles of boxes and wiped the dust off the side of one. A shipping label was scotch taped to the side, any sign of the address smeared by a rough scribble of Sharpie marker.

Examining two other boxes revealed the same, the black lines on each more frantic than before. Scuffing the dust off the floor revealed that one stroke went so wild it stained the hardwood.

Dean stood and turned to his brother. "Nah, somehow I don't think we'll find it in here."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "This is clearly the center of the haunt. Come on, there might be a hair or a fingernail or something in this mess."

Dean shook his head. "Even if that's the case, doubt we'd find it before the spook gets angry again. Besides, you said suicide. Didn't want to be in this world when he died, doubt something that small would hold him on."

Dean sent him a cocky smirk, and Sam felt his face narrow. He hated when Dean did that during a serious situation. "Besides, let's get to the bottom of this. Why'd he suddenly off himself with his whole life packed up? It's a few years ago, bad economy, clearly living in parents' house." Dean gestured around to the room. "Wanted to get out and suddenly couldn't. Offing himself stops a ghost from coming back, but anger like that can lead to something else."

Sam's eyes widened as it came to him. Neither brother liked thinking about the last similar case they took. "You think we're dealing with a-"

Dean nodded. "Let's get started on the blessing bags, Don't really feel like sticking around here longer than we have to."

Hearing Nathaniel speak of the ghost he was dealing with didn't inspire confidence in Danny. The fact that they knew its background helped, but the sad angry boy who lived in this house for his whole life, not even something its original residents could claim, probably wouldn't take kindly to a stranger trying to evict him.

Danny reached into his backpack and pulled out the thermos and Fenton Peeler to have on him. Even though he hated walking into what could be a peaceful confrontation armed, it would be helpful to have defenses at the ready and neither device looked outright like a weapon.

Looking up at the confused faces of the ghosts sitting around the living room, Danny tried to muster what he hoped would be a confident smile.

"I think it's best if you wait downstairs or vanish for now. Nathaniel still needs to recover and there are hunters in the house."

"You're so young." The woman pointed out with a frown. "Will you be alright?"

Nathaniel moved his hand from his wife's shoulder to comfort her back through the chair. "You've seen his abilities, dear. He's the best chance we've got."

"Thanks." Danny fought the urge to rub his neck and felt even more uncomfortable. "And you know, I've gotta say I'm surprised you're all using acronyms and stuff. Thought you'd be more stuffy."

The ghost let back his head and laughed. "Just because we're dead doesn't mean we're frozen in time! We pick up all that newfangled slang the humans who live here use." Another bout of creaky footsteps started upstairs, making Danny realize the Winchesters had paused for a while.

The ghost noticed as well, and sent Danny a final nod. "Just don't forget what those hunters never seem to realize. Even though he no longer acts it, the young man up there was once human too."

Flashes of the times the Winchesters sobered after hunts suddenly flashed through Danny's mind. Sam's face after chasing stragglers from a pack of werewolves and the desperation in Dean's voice when he shifted between anger, confusion, and hope in describing Bobby's possession.

"Somehow," Danny found himself saying, "I think that deep down they know."

In just the twenty seconds it took for Danny to figure out the right pressure to put on the stairs to silently climb them the upstairs went from dead quiet to a battleground. He could hear shotgun shells being unloaded in the room on the left (hollow, with the multiple beats of impact betraying that it was rock salt rather than iron or silver) yet the teen also noted that the brothers must've split up and taken both sides of the upper floor when he heard a crash down the hall to the left and a grunt from the right.

Why the Winchesters couldn't be smart or make this easy, Danny sighed, before freezing as he realized one ghost shouldn't be able to put up a fight on two fronts.

Danny didn't want to go either way and risk meeting a Winchester, but standing like an idiot in the center and by the only exit clearly wouldn't work, so he needed to pick a side fast. More scuffling to the right and a haunting silence to the left made up his mind and Danny quickly darted into a dusty bedroom.

Wow, it was sad when it was just as much the unnaturalness stillness of the quiet that drew Danny as the potential lack of a murderous hunter.

The teen looked about the floor and squinted down at the clearly stolen motel towel laid out in the center of the room with a smattering of herbs, dusts, and other small objects. Investigating closer, Danny almost reached out until he noticed red flower petals and crossroad dirt and froze out of habit. He tilted his head before turning it quickly at the feeling of something materializing behind him.

"Why would those idjits be making hex bags now of all times?" Bobby Singer fiddled with his trucker hat as his eyes skillfully scanned over the ingredients laid out before them, clearly picking out more than Danny could.

"Bobby, what are you doing here?" More sounds of a fight beyond drew both of their attention, and Danny had to reach out to snag the ghosts' wrist before he could be drawn towards the Winchesters. "And I'd rather you not blow my cover after being the one to bust me over here."

Luckily the comment didn't make Bobby angry as he turned back. "I'm keeping an eye on you. There really isn't that much better to do in the afterlife you idjit, and if you haven't noticed at least one of us has gotta stick around to get your butt out of here when you're done." A second later and Wulf was standing on Danny's other side.

The psychic felt himself raising an eyebrow. "And you couldn't have just stayed visible or at least in my sight this whole time… why?"

"Figured you'd focus better having this be a solo thing. That and your friend's not really the most comforting figure to approach the ghost wife and kids, or whatever nonviolent approach you wanted to take."

Wulf was still hunched over in his old torn prison uniform and sniffing the spectral energy in the room.

"Point taken."

Watching the Esperanto speaking ghost veer around the hex bag workshop reminded Danny of what prompted his allies to materialize anyway. "So what exactly are they doing with all this?"

Bobby stared at it for a second before going still mid-float and letting out a curse. "Put those toys back in your bag and get the hell back out of here. Those boys clearly didn't do their homework and are just now figuring this out." He took off his cap to let his fingers trail through thinning hair. "Idjits."

Danny crossed his arms. "Isn't that exactly when I'm supposed to be helping them out?"

Bobby turned around and glared at him. "Yeah, when you're dealing with a ghost ya moron! Go in there trying to talk it down and you'll just get yourself killed!"

"Bobby, I'm not stupid. There's spectral energy all over here, Nathaniel said he felt the Zone manifesting in this room for weeks and I'm pretty sure I can tell when I'm standing less than twenty feet from a Raging ghost even with all of you here!"

"And there's more out there than just your typical ghost, boy! You're not just gonna run in there and try to suck up a pissed-off poltergeist!" Bobby's urgency travelled like a wave of energy that pushed against Danny's sixth sense, and the teen forced himself to breath and calm down before the danger pushed Bobby too far again. Another raging ghost in a nearby vicinity wasn't going to help, and Wulf growling dangerously at the unintelligible to him threat near his human friend reminded Danny that a fight between friends here and now wouldn't end well for anyone.

Luckily Danny didn't even need to talk Bobby down. Unluckily the distraction came in the form of a particularly loud crash from across the hall as the ghost- no, poltergeist - appeared to have grown even stronger with the extra malevolence.

Bounded footsteps creaked down the stairs less than a second after and Danny startled at the thought of the Winchesters separating again now of all times.

"Those hex bags that they've made should be able to banish any hold of ectoplasmic energy over the house," Bobby provided. "But in order for them to work they have to place four of them in the wall on each extreme of the house in the cardinal directions on each floor. Until that the poltergeist's just gonna keep getting angrier."

"What can we do?" Danny's posture set in a determined stance he subconsciously took whenever he felt heroic. The thought of him independently facing down the world and the Winchesters on his own reminded Bobby of that first night they met in the graveyard following the kid's grief.

Somehow he found himself stuck guiding teens who were all too good at acting the soldier.

"Checking on whichever idjit's getting himself tossed around up here's probably best. The poltergeist wouldn't be guarding this territory if the hex bag was placed and knowing Sam and Dean either of them'd be too focused on the poltergeist to see you if you're quiet."

Danny nodded quickly and darted into the shadows of the hallway before poking his head around the corner and carrying on. Somehow the human kid managed to make less noise than the ghosts as they faded out of the visible plane and followed behind him.

#connection verse #superphantom #supernatural #danny phantom #danny fenton #sam winchester #dean winchester #bobby singer #wulf #hope it was worth the weight #nice to finally get to update this fic #and use my fic tag again #akg fic

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mira-eyeteeth · 5 years

Text

Patchwork, Part 4

This fic has taken over my mind. This seems thematically appropriate for the Magnus Archives. Should probably be writing a Statement about this brain parasite at some point.

Anyway, more of this! Jon has a paranoid episode, then has breakfast.

Previous parts: [1], [2] , [3], and AO3 .

Jon laid awake, listening as Martin shuffled around in his apartment. The sounds had the particular quality that occurs when someone is trying very hard to be unobtrusive to the other people in the home. Slow, careful footfalls, followed by the click of the linen closet opening. Soft, indistinct noises of bedding being pulled free and shifted to the couch. More tiptoed footsteps, and the louder creak of his kitchen cupboard door being pulled open. A slower, guiltier creak as it was closed. The tap running. Martin hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since Prentiss had attacked, had he? Jon hadn’t thought of that.

He contemplated telling Martin to help himself to whatever was currently in the pantry. He certainly didn’t want Martin to be hungry while he was in Jon’s home.

Did Martin even need to eat, anymore? If his account of what Prentiss’ worms had done to him was accurate, then he likely did not have much in the way of a digestive system any more.

Or, if Jon’s luck was consistent with the current trend, Martin just may have a very different digestive system now.

Jon tried to remember if he had seen Martin eating anything, since he had returned to the Archives. Nothing came to mind, but he hadn’t been keeping meticulous track of his assistants’ eating habits. He was sure he had seen takeout containers in the trash in the break room; had they come from Martin?

As far as he knew, no one had gone missing from the Institute since Martin started living in there. But it would have been reckless, to take victims from the same location that he stayed in, not to mention from people who would be most likely to consider the idea that a missing colleague might actually be the result of a monster. If Martin had been eating people, and if he had the capacity for any foresight at all, then he would have been finding victims that were easier to conceal, harder to trace back to him.

That would mean going outside at night, most likely. Would Martin have done that, when Prentiss was stalking the Institute? Jon had certainly done his utmost to avoid entering and leaving the Institute after dark during that period. And Martin had acted as though he was even more afraid of Prentiss than Jon was. Had he been lying about that?

The idea was a chilling one. Martin’s terror had been very convincing. What else could he be lying about?

Jon thought about how Martin had protested when Jon had demanded to be shown to Gertrude. How he had acted, to prevent Jon from finding her.

...Was Gertrude even in the tunnels? Had she really been shot?

It would be a very convenient lie, wouldn’t it? A potentially perfect solution to a mystery that had been taunting Jon since the nature of the Archives had been made clear. One that had such a… human cause, something that would make Jon question the motives of everyone working in the Institute. What better bait could there be for someone like him? What other information would be so likely to make him follow Martin deep into the dark and twisting corridors?

But, no. That made no sense. If that was the case, why would Martin have resisted when Jon had already done his best to fling himself headfirst into that trap? If he wanted Jon eager to follow him, then he already had that opportunity.

Unless he still had more of the web to spin? Perhaps Martin needed more time to set everything in motion.

A week, perhaps?

But if Martin had plans to implement in the tunnels, why would he be so adamant on staying near Jon? Jon was already trapped. He didn’t need a prison warden to keep him in line.

Were Martin’s powers reliant on proximity? Perhaps the sway he held would break, if he moved too far away.

But it still didn’t make sense, unless there were others who would carry out the preparations while Martin kept Jon under control. Jon didn’t think that Martin had co-conspirators. There was no indication of their existence, unless it was the spiders themselves. Which wasn’t impossible…

Jon tossed and turned, questions and suspicions and an utter lack of answers whirling in his mind.

He slept fitfully, drifting off and snapping back awake when he swore he felt the creeping of tiny legs on his skin, or the squirming of worms in his flesh. After the third time he lurched out of the bed to snap on the light and search his skin and the bedsheets and the panic subsided again, Jon realized he heard something from the sitting room.

It was muffled by the door, but Martin was snoring.

It was a grounding sound. Human. A reminder that Jon wasn’t alone, and even if Martin wasn’t human now, he still retained enough humanity that he still slept, and even snored while he was stretched out on Jon’s couch, a few feet away.

Jon let out a shuddering exhale and glanced over towards the door. The chair was in place still; the towel undisturbed by any skittering arachnids. He felt the knot in his stomach ease a little.

He flicked the lights back off and pulled the sheets up around him once more. This time, the exhaustion won before his paranoia had a chance to gain much momentum, and he slipped into sleep.

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

Jon slowly drifted back to wakefulness, stirring in his bed and flinching when his eyelids lifted and sunlight stabbed into his eyes. This was followed by the sensation of his wounds throbbing and his muscles aching, and then by the smell of cooking eggs.

Right, the attack, and the tunnels, and… where did the eggs come from?

Jon sat up, hissing at the aches in his body. His door was blocked with a chair.

Oh, right. Martin was here. That explained the smell of breakfast. The very welcome smell of breakfast, judging from the way his stomach growled at him.

More cautiously than his hunger was happy with, he removed the chair and pulled a corner of the towel free, half-expecting spiders to immediately come flowing through the gap. Nothing.

He let out a breath he hadn’t been fully aware of holding, and pulled the door open.

His sitting room looked much the same as it always had. There were no masses of cobwebs lurking in the corners or over his ceiling. The only real difference were the sheets and pillow that had been carefully folded and placed on the arm of the couch, and a shopping bag left on the table, next to Jon’s tape recorder and torch.

“Oh, good morning!” Martin called from the kitchen. “I’d ask you how you like your eggs, but I’m afraid I only really know how to make scrambled. Do you want some anyway? I also got some bread and butter and marmalade, if you prefer.”

Jon made his way out into the main area of the apartment. “Did you go out?”

“Ah, yeah. Only for a few minutes, though! I checked for the closest grocery near here, and I figured it was close enough that I could probably make it back here in time if I saw any smoke. I borrowed your keys for a bit. Sorry. You didn’t have much in the way of food in the refrigerator.”

“...I’ve been a bit busy of late.”

“Oh, I wasn’t saying it to be judgemental! I didn’t mean to come across like I was. I mean, I haven’t really gone back to my place since Pren-- since I moved into the Archives. I don’t want to know what sort of a state my refrigerator must be in!”

Jon wasn’t sure what to say in response to that.

“Um, anyway. I also got another first aid kit, because I’m not sure what kind of supplies you have and I figured you might need some more bandages or something,” Martin babbled as he started scooping scrambled eggs from the pan onto two plates.

“I am fairly well equipped. But thank you.”

“It’s nothing! I mean, kind of the least I can do.” Martin set the plates on the table, along with two sets of cutlery. “Um, did you want the scrambled eggs?”

“I… Yes, I do.”

Martin smiled at him, then scurried back into the kitchen to pour out two mugs of steaming tea. Jon eased himself into the chair. He picked up the knife and fork, but waited until after Martin had set the tea down, settled into his own chair, and taken a bite of the eggs before he turned his attention to his own food. Well, it answered the question of if Martin ate food, at least.

...but spiders also laid eggs, didn’t they?

Jon swallowed thickly and cut the eggs into fine yellow crumbs first, peering at the sliced edges for sign of anything other than chicken egg in the mass.

There weren’t any signs of tiny round spider eggs nestled in the scrambled ones, or none that Jon could see. So he tentatively took a bite.

It was good, even though it was now cold and mangled after Jon’s inspection. Or maybe Jon was just starving, since he hadn’t eaten since before going into the tunnels. He finished the plate quickly.

Martin glanced at him, his own empty plate pushed away and the mug of tea clasped in his hands. “It’s all right, then?”

Jon set his cutlery down. “Yes. Thank you, I think I needed that.”

“Mmn. I thought so; I remember the way you used to forget to eat, after being down in the Archives for hours. Didn’t think you’d had much food when you were occupied with looking for me.”

Jon took his own mug, mostly for an excuse to look away from Martin. “No, I didn’t. But you didn’t have anything since Prentiss’ attack, did you? I’m… sorry, I should have offered you something last night. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.”

“I- I mean, this isn’t exactly a standard guest scenario. And… and people have told me about how I can probably stand to miss a few meals, anyway, so…”

Jon jerked his head up. “They what?!”

“I mean, I’m aware I’m not the smallest guy...”

“That’s no bloody excuse for them to talk to you like that!” Jon snapped. “It’s none of their damn business, and you’re fine the way you are!”

Martin blinked at him, apparently speechless.

Jon realized the idiocy of his comment. “I mean… okay, the cobweb... thing is worrying. And the mind control isn’t fine. But that’s not what I was talking about, and that’s not what they were talking about, and it’s still none of their damn business.”

Martin blinked a little more rapidly and looked away. “Um, thank you. I…well, anyway,” Martin replied, pushing his chair back and collecting up the plates. “Do you want any more? I can cook some. Or would you like some toast?”

“...I could have some toast. But you don’t have to, to wait on me like this. I’m not an invalid.”

“Like I said, least I can do.” Martin slotted some bread into the toaster, and put the butter and marmalade on the table.

An awkward silence descended on them after that. Jon fidgeted with his fork, and after several long moments, the question seemed to force its way up and out through his throat all on its own. “I was… I was wondering, though. You eat food normally. Is your stomach patched up in the same way as your skin, then?” he asked, immediately regretting it.

Martin paused. “I don’t… I don’t actually know? I never really thought about it before. It… It can’t work normally anymore, can it? Not after… But, I mean, everything seems to work the same? I still,um, use the lavatory and all that, so--”

The toast popped up and both of them flinched. Martin turned his attention back to it. “Sorry, not really a breakfast conversation topic. Is this toasted enough?”

“It’s fine,” Jon replied. He was already dreading the next six days.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #web!martin #jon is a disaster #patchwork #fic

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