#my brain like desperately wants to share my art more but oh boy the anxiety really hitting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

y0itsbri · 3 years

Note

Hi Bri 🥰

C-16 if you'd like to 👀

Coffee dates and disasters

au with college!lip and barista!mandy where ian is a frequent visitor at the campus café and meets mickey under rather unfortunate circumstances. don't cry over spilled milk, buddy.

which also fits under a.u.gust for @gallavichthings

words: 2.4k

"never would have thought you the type to come to one of these places," ian mused, looking around the small café with only lamps and string lights illuminating the space. "can't believe college changed you, man," ian clutched at his heart dramatically.

"don't worry. 'm still the annoying bastard you love so dearly," lip squeezed ian's shoulder before he sauntered up to the counter.

the barista's bored expressed brightened when she saw them. her perky demeanor was matched by a high pitched voice, "hey lip," she smiled, dark lipstick striking. she appraised ian with a somewhat predatory eye, "hello, lip's friend."

"uh, brother," ian coughed.

lip rolled his eyes, "and he's gay so don't even try it, mandy."

she pouted and flicked her hair behind her shoulder, "not that it's any of your business, anyways."

ian chuckled besides him, drawing another smile out of mandy, this one kinder, sweeter.

"what can i get you boys?"

the pink highlights glistened in her dark hair as she whipped up lip's cold brew and ian's caramel macchiato, then proceeded to insist that this one is on the house. neither of them argued, but thanked her before they settled down in some stools by the window.

"fucking the barista privileges?" ian asked, raising his eyebrow at his slut of a brother.

"i think of it more like fellow south sider charity," he rubbed his bottom lip, "but yours works too," lip smirked around the edges of his coffee cup.

"you're an idiot."

"can a man who got us free drinks really be deemed an idiot?" lip philosophized.

ian paused, taking a moment of thorough consideration. he looked lip straight in the eyes as he answered, "if that man is you, then without a doubt."

lip tried to knock ian's cup out of his hand, but failed at his attempt. ian thanked his well-practiced jrotc skills and a lifetime experience of growing up in a house packed with annoying siblings for his victory.

they chatted about the robotics classes lip was taking, how he got full-time access to one of the labs, and his weird ass roommate who may or may not be gay if ian is at all interested. ian scrunched up his face. after hearing so many horror stories about the guy, ian didn't want anywhere near him. he wasn't that desperate yet.

the second that lip was out of his seat and heading to the bathroom, the beautiful mess that was mandy descended.

"hiiii lip's gay brother," she leaned against the table.

"it's ian," he spun his empty cup in his hands. he couldn't help himself from smiling at her charisma.

"well hi, ian, i just wanted to say sorry if i spooked you earlier. i just had no idea lip's brother would be so cute!"

"his ugly mug's not too hard to beat." ian laughed. "he got the short end of the gallagher stick, literally."

"cute and charming. you're funny, ian gallagher, i like you." she placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment, a movement so soft compared to her rather frantic appearance. "come back here anytime and it's on the house, yeah? i work most evenings after three."

"oh. uh- okay," ian scrambled for words, "thanks."

she squeezed his shoulder once before lip returned with a rather obnoxious entrance.

"ayo mands, stop harassing him!"

ian ducked his head in embarrassment.

"oh, shut up! i'm just clearing your cups," she winked at ian as she left.

mandy was something else. but she was kind and good company. ian could get used to the chill atmosphere over the chaos of the gallagher house anytime. he might just take up her offer.

"you'd think with all the time you spend here, you'd be offered a scholarship or something by now." mandy sipped on her chocolate frappuccino as she laid her feet across ian's lap. he always made sure to come visit during her breaks at least twice a week during the past couple months.

ian shrugged, "guess they only had room for one gallagher."

mandy hit his arm in a way that hurt. lip was fucked if he ever broke her heart.

"does fiona even know that this is where you sneak off to?"

"yeah." mandy's look said she didn't believe him. "well, kinda. she thinks i'm visiting lip, brotherly duties and all."

"yeah? how are those brotherly duties?"

"fuck if i know."

she laughed.

"i still think you should apply here for next fall," she encouraged, "could take some art classes."

"i suck at art."

"chemistry?"

"failed that."

"business?"

"yeah, no thanks."

mandy flipped him off, "fine. botany?

"ya know what? sure." he had always wanted to grow tomatoes.

"really?!"

"heart wants what it wants, mandy. we can't all be psychology brainiacs."

"brains and beauty, what can i say?" she teased. ian laughed, eyes glistening towards his friend. mandy made things better.

"hey," she continued, "there's this concert on the main campus lawn this weekend, you should totally come!"

"isn't that just for students?"

"they don't card, dummy."

"right, right, i knew that."

"sureeee. you in?"

ian mentally checked his work schedule.

"i'm in."

lip and ian strolled into the café a few days later. okay, maybe ian had felt a bit guilty for abandoning his brotherly duties lately, but at least this way he could hang out with both his best friends. well he could have if he remembered the fact that mandy had the day off for her behavioral neuroscience midterm. they had literally spent her previous shift reviewing the terms, he should have known.

ian's couldn't help his face from falling as another blonde barista took their orders, mostly eyeing lip the whole time.

"hi lip," she smiled a little too sincerely, "what can i get for you today?"

ian had ordered something new at the recommendation of the blonde and he was not a fan. and to make matters worse, he had to actually pay for the atrocity that he wouldn't even be able to finish.

"so how's your little coffee dates with mandy?" lip asked over his cup.

ian nearly choked on his god-awful americano. "how'd you know?"

"please. she's obsessed with you. every time i see her, it's 'ian this,' 'ian that,' 'ian might apply here in next year.'"

"oh."

"yeah, oh. when were you gonna tell me?!"

“it’s all mandy’s idea, i’m not even sure i want to,” ian muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

“dude, i’ve literally shared a room with you since the day you popped out of monica’s wretched womb, you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

okay maybe ian had been getting increasingly more excited about the idea of attending school and actually learning things that he wants to learn. something that might actually lead him somewhere real since rotc was looking more and more like a poor man's fantasy the more that he thought about it.

“I was gonna tell you, swear on it.” and he was. once he convinced himself that lip wasn't going to straight up laugh in his face. but the look in his eye seemed genuinely supportive.

“mhm, i gotta catch my english lit class," lip stood up, swinging his tattered tan backpack across one shoulder. he patted ian's shoulder in his big brother ways, "don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah for sure! have fun learning a language you already know!” lip flipped him off at his smartass remark.

soon after, ian stood up to return his drink to the counter, the anxiety from the conversation making him entirely lose whatever appetite he might have had. plus, it wasn’t the same here without lip or mandy. he just wanted to be wrapped up in a cocoon in his own bed. but that was so far away. maybe he could catch an early ride—

thump.

ian crashed into a guy’s sturdy body.

the remnants of his shitty drink spilled in an americano nightmare over both of them, ceramic pieces shattering on the floor in a truly horrific manner.

ian yipped and the other man let out a grunt of irritation.

they were fucking soaked. well, at least the coffee wasn't hot? ian tried justifying the situation, but, nah, this was bad.

"shit! i'm so sorry, lemme," ian reached out and the shorter man flinched away.

they were now far enough apart that ian got a good look at him. a leather jacket.. now covered in ian's drink -- shit. and shockingly piercing blue eyes that lingered too long on ian's before his cheeks turned a shade of pink that made ian's stomach flutter.

he might have seemed cold if he didn’t make ian feel so warm.

"it’s cool, man. i gotta go, uh," and he walked out of the café without looking back.

fuck.

ian smelled like coffee the entire train ride to the back of the yards. he laid in his bed regretting his entire life.

no mandy. no lip. no dignity.

the day of the concert that mandy had invited him to rolled around. ian wouldn’t admit it, but he was nervous to spend a coffee-less evening with mandy, their entire friendship built inside that one room. his little bubble of safety was bursting.

well, to be honest, the bubble had burst the moment that his disaster of a coffee was spilled onto one of the most ridiculously pretty guys that he's ever seen. every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the guy’s face shift from hostile to something else. he was torn between wanting to know the his name and also on never seeing him again in fear that he would simply pass away of embarrassment.

hopefully mandy hadn't heard about it. they may not have been friends for a long time, but he already knew that she would never let him live it down.

"hey ian!" her familiar voice called. that sounded promising.

his face fell with relief as he finally spotted her at the corner. she embraced him in a warm hug before pulling back and giving him a once over.

"huh, could have sworn you'd still have coffee behind your ear or something after the description karen gave me of your little disaster the other day." she smirked, quite literally double checking behind his ears as they turned hot under her gaze.

"ugh, fuck, how much did she tell you?" he itched his forehead and scrunched up his nose.

"oh, calm your tits, it's funny as fuck." she giggled, punching his arm in a way that still unintentionally hurt.

"whatever. are you excited for the concert tonight?"

their reunion conversation lulled eventually, and ian noticed that they weren't necessarily standing alone.

no. fucking. way.

just his luck, if he was being honest. he probably deserved this.

there he stood. the man that has plagued his dreams the past few days. in a light wash jean jacket that was a little tight on the biceps, leaning casually against the wall, kicking the pebbles on the ground with his boot.

"uh, what's he doing here?" ian gestured towards the victim of The Coffee Incident.

“what, you know him?” mandy asked, walking them towards him.

“vaguely.” if that wasn’t the understatement of the year.

"huh. i didn’t think my idiot brother had any friends."

brother? how did ian not realize she had a brother?

"what, did you think i was going to babysit you all night? i can't let everyone here thinking you're my boyfriend, no offense or whatever, but you're in good hands!" she kissed his cheek, clearly not helping her own not-looking-like-her-boyfriend rule.

ian eyed said brother's good hands only to see the faded letters of FUCK U-UP on them. oh.

mandy pushed ian over to her brother, "ian, mickey. mickey, ian," she introduced before pushing and shuffling her way through the crowd of college students to find herself someone’s cheap ass fruity alcohol to mooch off of.

mickey. ian's brain repeated over and over, a chime against the murmuring sea of voices they found themselves enveloped by.

"nice jacket," ian pointed out, an awkward attempt to converse before shoving his hands back in his pockets.

"it's my second favorite." the corners of his mouth lifted like there was more to the statement. ian took the bait, as if he could resist.

"what's your first?"

"first is still airing out the fuckin’ coffee smell," he smirked as ian groaned. "oh c’mon, man, don't go crying over spilled milk."

how could he not? on the bright side, he didn’t seemed to hate ian for it.

“if it was anyone else,” mickey drawled, “they’d have to get a beat down for it.”

“why do I get a free pass?” ian mused.

“well, you’re mandy’s friend, right?”

“yup,” ian tried to suppress his disappointment. he really did. but fiona always told him he wore his heart on his sleeve.

“yeah, that ain’t why, though,” his eyebrows waggled suggestively and ian nearly felt his heart drop out of his ass.

ian blessed whatever coffee god was out there for sending him both mandy and the beautiful man in front of him.

“you wanna go listen to the band?” ian nodded his head towards the stage with passionate players jumping around like they were playing lollapalooza or some shit.

“lead the way, stud, just try to keep your drinks off of me this time,” mickey knocked into ian’s own flannel covered shoulder.

yeah, ian couldn’t believe his luck. maybe karma was finally on his side.

—

mandy smirked at her brother and best friend not-so-subtly checking each other out over the course of the night, bopping their heads to the music and downing whatever free booze they could get their hands on.

she hoped that adding mickey to the equation would be enough incentive to convince ian to stick around. things were better when he was near.

the way that ian followed mickey around like a lost puppy with that dopey moon-eyed look, it seemed like her hopes would come true.

and when both ian and mickey strolled into the café to come visit her at work the next week, mickey in his worse-for-wear leather jacket and ian in borrowed denim, she thanks the coffee gods for her luck.

118 notes · View notes

bearlytolerant · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Bethany x Alistair (Bethistair)

Rating: T

Ch WC: 3115

AO3

Chapter 4

He was dreaming the most wonderful dream. He was old, he could tell by the amount of wrinkles on his hand. Her also. She had the same wrinkles in her skin as his as he held her, staring out over the lake. The sun was just setting and it was warm. Summer, it must have been. It was beautiful, almost as beautiful as her. Elissa smiled at him, her face clear as day and leaned into his shoulder. He kissed her forehead. They remained that way for what seemed an eternity and then—

He had to piss. Nothing was as jarring as that feeling after a nice dream. Alistair went about his business, the dream fading even though he’d clung to it desperately.

He crawled back into his bed. Squeezed his eyes shut. If he could just go back to sleep, he could be with her again. He pulled the blanket tighter. Burrowed himself in its dark and let himself be hollow. The day could start without him right?

He never slept.

Just sort of curled up into himself and let his mind lecture him instead.

Get out of bed Alistair.

No matter how many times his mind told him to get out of bed or tried to entice him with life’s beautiful delights, including the promise of spring, there seemed to be this external invisible force pressing him further into his mattress and he couldn’t get it off. That sudden urge to cry came over him again. Maker, would it ever end?

Clattering by his bed and Alistair groaned. Why hadn’t he written a decree stating that not a single soul could be in his castle excluding his son and the healer?

“I brought you some breakfast. The servants claim you haven’t been eating.”

Great. Somebody had called in the calvary. He clung even tighter to his blanket.

“Alistair. You can’t just lie in bed all day.”

He heard Anora sigh. A bit dramatic in his opinion.

He mentally prepared for her to yell at him or give him a stern talking to. She never came to the castle otherwise.

“Trust me. If I could have just lain in bed all day after Cailan passed, I would have. I understand how you must feel. But you’re not doing anyone any good by not eating. You want to waste away? Leave Bryce without either of his parents?”

The Maker knew his brain was useless for getting him out of bed so he’d thought it’d be comical to send Anora instead. He should count himself lucky.

Light blinded him as the blanket was ripped away. He should’ve clutched it tighter. Blankets these days were as precious as pearls.

“Get up. We’re going to the lake.”

He balked, shrinking away, scrambling for a cozy shadow. “But I don’t want to,” Alistair whined.

“But you’re going to. So sit up. Eat. Get your big boy pants on and meet me at the front gate in an hour. Or so help me I will drag you out of this bed myself and spoon feed you.”

He dared to glance at Anora. She was serious, of course. She shoved a glass of orange juice at him. He eyed it suspiciously as she rolled her eyes and forced it into his hands.

“Now drink,” she commanded.

He hesitated more out of defiance than anything. “I could have you thrown from court for how you’re speaking to me. Could even put your head on a pike.” Emphasis on the last word had to have sounded threatening.

Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head that time. “For Andraste’s sake Alistair, don’t be so morbid.” She shook her head and muttered something about an insufferable little brother. She handed him a piece of buttered toast next.

“Where am I supposed to put that?”

“In your mouth.”

He glared. Drank his juice and traded the empty glass for the toast. He took the world's smallest bite out of it and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. After he swallowed, Anora patted him on the cheek.

“There, wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Why are you here?” Alistair asked.

She cleaned the dirt from her nails with a brush she seemingly pulled out of nowhere. “Fergus has been concerned so he sent for me. He knows you listen to my council.”

Alistair scoffed. “More like I let you boss me around.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

After all this time, Alistair still wanted to stick his tongue out at some point in every interaction with her. He shoved his toast in his mouth instead. He didn’t miss that coy smirk on her face either.

She rose and strutted towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you in a short while. Oh, and do wear something comfortable.”

She exited like she was leading an army. Alistair glanced down at his nightshirt. A miserable army of one. He managed to finish half his breakfast and throw on some clothes before the time allotted to him. Though, his main motivator at that point was getting to check on Bryce before he went on an excursion with Anora.

He spotted Bethany and he froze. She should be at breakfast like every other morning when he visited Bryce. And he had been avoiding her for nearly a month, successfully, ever since what he referred to as the incident. He had half a mind to turn around and walk right back out that door.

“Oh good morning,” she said. She was even smiling. Then she motioned him over. Did she not remember him losing his shit over roses? “He’s been having longer periods of wakefulness. Though, he still often calls me his mum.”

All thought of embarrassing incidents, anxieties and what have you dispersed when he heard that. “He calls you mum? Does he not realize…” Alistair didn’t want to say it.

She shook her head and adjusted Bryce’s pillow, smoothed out his blanket. “You may or may not have to remind him. I wouldn’t worry about it now. It’s still too soon to tell whether his memory is affected long term. Of the patients I’ve seen sharing his condition, many have suffered from short term memory loss. I have rarely seen otherwise.”

Rarely. The word wasn’t lost on him. Alistair didn’t think he could explain her death to Bryce again. Maker, wasn’t once enough? He shuddered at the thought and Bethany’s hand was over his.

“Really, you shouldn’t worry.” She squeezed his hand then let it go.

Shouldn’t worry.

Good advice but his heart couldn’t take it. Alistair leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured. Then pulled back.

“I will return again after dinner. I’d like to read him some things.”

Bethany nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” She smiled gently at him and the thought crossed him that she had a very pretty smile. Not that he should notice such a thing. Maker, what was he thinking? Hadn’t he just dreamed of his wife this morning? Now he was admiring another woman’s smile?

Forgive me.

He rushed away from Bethany before he thought something else he shouldn’t possibly think.

—

He really didn’t want to be at the lake. Too many bad memories. Too much guilt. Too few enjoyments. And it was cold. Not quite Ferelden winter cold but the wind had a bite and nipped at the tips of his ears. He ticked the reasons off one by one, keeping his worries at bay with complaints until Anora interrupted his thoughts, shoving a fishing rod into his hands. He’d rather try aiming for fish with a bow and arrow. Fishing with a rod was a slow, agonizing way to catch fish, one in which he was left to marinate in his morose musings.

“Already has a worm. Do you prefer to fish off shore or…”

Neither. He didn’t like fishing at all. It was by far one of the most boring and wretched past times he’d ever encountered.

“Shore it is,” she decided for him.

“I don’t like fishing,” he said. But plodded after her anyway.

“Oh, I know. But I do. I find it quite relaxing.”

“Then why not go by yourself? Bringing me along with you seems the opposite of relaxing.”

“I should confess then, I did not bring you along for my benefit.” She cast her line.

“I already mentioned I don’t like fishing. Did you have a lapse in hearing?”

“My hearing is excellent. The benefit is you getting out of bed, getting some sun and fresh air while putting your duties for the day off for a few more hours. Perhaps it would be a good time for you to take your mind off things.”

Her motives were good, he could admit but they were absolute bollocks. The sky was overcast and looked like it would burst into tears at any moment. How was he supposed to get any sun? And if the fresh air was going to smell like fish, especially dead fish, he didn’t want it.

Alistair sighed and attempted to cast his own line. He got it tangled up in the reeds along the shore. Then he cursed and threw the rod on the ground. “Blast! I think I’d do better wrangling fish out of the water with my bare hands.”

Anora sniggered. “What a sight that would be.”

“I’m going to take a walk.”

“No, no!” She grabbed his cloak sleeve. “Stay. If it helps you can talk and I’ll try my very best to listen.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “I—no. I’m good. No need for a talk.”

Not that he didn’t want to talk. Talking would probably do him good. But he couldn’t think of anyone to talk to. Fergus maybe. Though Alistair didn’t feel like he could be honest without diminishing his grief. Ferguson had been through far worse and he didn’t seem to struggle to get himself together. It intimidated him.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She picked up his rod then and fixed his line, casting it for him. She placed it back in his hands. “I’m really sorry for your loss Alistair. However, being so sullen doesn’t suit you or your kingdom. I’m not saying you can’t grieve, just maybe try keeping it contained, hm?”

Alistair closed his eyes. “And how do you propose I just contain my sullenness?”

“Try fishing for starters.”

He wanted to mock her in a tiny man child voice but he refrained. Thankfully he had Morrigan as a traveling companion long enough to train him in the art of biting his tongue. As well as shoving his foot straight into his mouth but that was another story for another day.

He fished silently alongside her wishing desperately to be back with Bryce. The fresh air didn’t feel any different than the drafty castle. The sun was nice at least, when it decided to make an appearance. But the sky was looking more sullen by the minute and the wind was picking up.

“Isn’t this a terrible time to fish?” he asked.

“Any time is a good time to fish,” Anora said.

“I don’t think that’s true. I remember there were certain times fish were more likely to bite.”

“We’re not here for dinner,” Anora snapped.

“So we’re just dipping worms in water for what? Fun? Sounds like torture.” He reeled his line in and studied the sad soggy worm on the hook. “Aw see? Now the poor little worm is a goner. I’ll have to make it a little worm grave.” He removed the worm and set his pole in the crook of some driftwood.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“I won’t stop until you let me go back to my bed.”

“You know, I was quite fond of Lady Cousland. She was much better at fishing than you.”

“She was much better than me at a lot of things.”

“She was at that.” Anora got a bite on her line. She tugged her rod and reeled it in. No trouble at all.

Alistair sat on the driftwood with his chin in his hands. “I don’t mean to be so morose. I just miss her. I miss her terribly.”

Anora unhooked the fish–a cute little perch–and tossed it back into the water. She set her own pole aside and sat next to Alistair.

“I miss her terribly too,” Anora said.

“You do?”

“Yes. Is that really so surprising? I’d miss you too, even though you’re quite the lummox.”

“Aww,” Alistair placed a hand over his heart, “such warm fuzzy feelings, right here.”

“Must you always act like this?”

“Only with you. One day you’ll come to appreciate it. I–I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I’m glad you and Elissa became close after–well after everything. You could have found a clever way to toss us from the throne but you didn’t.”

“Not yet anyway. I could still.”

Alistair allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Treason!”

Anora clamped her hand over his. “You are such a child!”

A sort of chuckle snort escaped from Alistair as Anora placed her hands back in her lap. He noticed she could smile too. “I’d still like to take a walk. You could come with me, if you wanted. I promise I won’t run away or do anything stupid.”

She nodded. “I’d like to keep fishing. But do be back in time for dinner. I can’t keep you out forever.”

Alistair nodded and stood. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Anora was taken aback. “An honest thank you? With no snide remark? I–well you’re welcome then I suppose. Now shoo, enjoy the fresh air.”

Alistair went without further ado. Surprisingly, it did him some good. But when he entered the castle later that day to attend to his duties, his heart seemed heavy again.

–

Bethany wasn’t exactly sure if she should be in the room when Alistair came back. He had been dodging her since the garden. But she was tired and the fire was cozy. She also enjoyed seeing this side of the King and had missed him–no missed him interacting with Bryce. He was a kind and tentative father. Much like how her own had been. She pretended to read a book she had no interest in to provide an illusion of privacy.

“…and the young boy bravely reached out to touch the dragon’s snout. His friends gasped, waiting and watching for him to be scorched by fire. But the dragon closed its eyes and huffed, melting under the touch of the boy.” Alistair let out a big yawn. “I think that’s all I can manage tonight. We’ll have to pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Bethany stole a glance in their direction. Alistair was returning the book to the nightstand. Bryce was fast asleep.

He stretched and she admired his form. Strong arms, wide shoulders, and a slightly rounded belly that she briefly dreamed of laying on. Then her eyes flicked lower and saw he also had quite a lovely bottom, not that she was focusing too much on it. Just appreciative. She told herself to look away and stop thinking such things. He turned and definitely caught her staring. She tore her eyes away and buried her nose in the book. Cheeks flushed.

She pretended not to hear his footsteps coming towards her. The book was really really interesting then. She nearly bore a hole through the book with her immense interest.

He sat across from her.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for all you have been doing to help my son. So, I uh—“ He ran a tired hand through his shoulder length hair, wisps of reddish brown bangs with hints of gray, flopping to each side of his face. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Though I must say, it’s a pretty easy thing to do.”

“I don’t think most people would share your opinion.”

She laughed a little. “It’s a good thing I’m not most people then, isn’t it?”

He gave a half hearted chuckle coupled with a nod.

Then they both stared into the fire. Bethany wanted to say something more. Have an actual conversation but she wasn’t even sure where to start. Her brain kept wanting to think about the way her fingers would feel running through his hair. Through his beard and–

“Can I ask you something?”

Praise the maker. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you ever dream of him?”

She tilted her head, searching her mind for the him he was referring to. She blinked as everything came up blank.

“Your brother, I mean. Of Garret.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up and then that sad sort of feeling pooled in her stomach. She sighed. “Of course I do. They are always happy. And he is always safe. When I wake up, I remember that it’s all a lie and it hurts.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“Yes, in a way.”

“Hm.” He tugged at his beard.

“Have you been dreaming of your wife?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands came to rest in his lap and he fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt.

“Would you tell me about her?”

Alistair glanced up then. Eyes wide like she was asking him to jump off a cliff.

“I–I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about your dream? Do you remember it?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’d love to hear about it if you’re willing to tell me.”

And he did. He told her all about how they had grown old together. How it made him feel. How it had affected his entire day. How it tore him up inside.

“I just–when the person you share everything with, including your deepest secrets and darkest hurts–when they die, who do you turn to? Normally, they’d be your person. But she isn’t here and it’s so incredibly unfair. Which is ridiculous to think, I know. Life isn’t fair and all that.”

Bethany reached out without thinking, covering his large hand with her smaller one and squeezed. “It’s really not. It’s understandable you feel that way. I’m so sorry Alistair. You’re right. It is incredibly unfair. It’s unfair that the world took what you loved most and still moved on, leaving you to pick up pieces of yourself in the throes of responsibility. It must be difficult.”

“It–it is.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, retracting his hand. Then he bolted upright out of his chair. “I’ve taken up too much of your evening, Bethany. Have a good night,” he spit the words out in a hurry as he fled.

“You too, I guess,” she muttered, then doused the fire with a cone of frost.

#dragon age #Bethany x Alistair #bethistair #Bethany Hawke #alistair theirin #holding space #chapter 4 #bear writes #will I ever consistently update anything?#your guess is as good as mine

12 notes · View notes

gotboredwrote · 5 years

Text

Six Questions // TM!JFM

Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.7K Style: One-Shot (prompt: based on this amazing post by the lovely @love-me-a-good-prompt) Warnings: Angst (my first genuine attempt so go easy on me), fluff, mentions of intimate situations (in reference to art) Summary: Y/N works as a muralist at Tim’s museum, and he loves watching her work. After working up the courage to speak with her, they strike up a partnership neither one expected. After days and days of work, one extremely involved mural forces Y/N to stay late, and Tim offers to keep her company. A game of sorts ensues. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I’m really on a Tim kick, huh? Who’s complaining, though, because it ain’t me.

Masterlist

What started as just a job to help kill some free time while finding a job that earned you money had become something you could genuinely say you looked forward to every single day. Originally, the offer from the museum included a grand total of zero dollars, but after completing two larger projects for them, they decided they wanted to keep you. Then the offer became something you would have to have been idiotic to refuse. Not to mention the money, the people you worked with were genuinely happy-go-lucky people, clearly in love with the work they do. It was also nice to see tons of people, big and small, young and old, light up when they saw an exhibit they particularly liked. You got to do this all from the sidelines, not having to deal with any anxiety from meeting people. One day, though, you could feel eyes peering into the back of your head. It almost felt familiar, to a degree, like the eyes had looked at you before. Except this was the first time you really felt it. You were up high on a scaffold, so you carefully turned around to see if what you were feeling was really the case. That’s when you saw him; the auburn-haired boy with a visible scar on his cheek who was destined to become your personal confidant, standing there, shy as a mouse.

You really were not sure what to do. One option was lower the scaffold down to get to the ground, but that would take a minute and the descent would be awkward. Not to mention, he could just walk away at any point, which would have been a waste of time to move halfway to the ground to just have to move back up. Another option was to simply return to your work and act like he was not staring at you. A third option would be to call out to him, see if he responds at all, or if he is simply just caught in thought. You have been there, so you did not have a reason to judge him for it. You decided on your third option, risking embarrassing him and yourself, but not wanting to feel the intense gaze on yourself any longer. You wanted to ask him ‘can I help you with something?’ but something in his gaze made you pity him. It was not a sad expression, but one filled with almost a yearning sensation. The seriousness of his expression changed what your brain allowed your mouth to say without even realizing it until the entire sentence had escaped your lips.

“Are you alright?”

Clearly taken aback by your sudden question, the boy blinked rapidly at you and his cheeks flushed with color. You felt terrible for making that happen, but it was not like you could take it back at this point.

“Oh… y-yeah! Sorry. I… I was just watching you work…” With every word he spoke, realizing how what he said might have come across as stalkerish, he got quieter and quieter. Something you would come to learn was a habit of his. He had an intense sense of doubt whenever he spoke to people, not thinking that his words were worth the time of anyone or anything but his own brain. “I’m not good at art, and it kind of… mesmerizes me when I see people paint. How it works. I’m no good at things that involve the use of my hands. So—” As he continued to talk, he realized the look on your face was one of pure shock and confusion. He assumed that it completely stemmed from the fact that he was rambling on and on about himself, something that you clearly have no reason to care about. Your eyes had gone wide, and your eyebrows furrowed lightly in the middle, raised up high. Your body still stiff as a board turned around, not moving once while he spoke.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I need to shut up. I’ll just go—”

“Wait, please!” You never meant to sound that desperate. “Um… it’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“Watching me work. Kinda makes me feel validated.” You chose your next words carefully, wanting to make sure of two things; one, you wanted to make sure you did not insinuate something that you did not mean, and two, you wanted to ensure that the boy would come back and see you again. “I wouldn’t mind having company the next time you’re free and I happen to be working. If you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, um… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y-yeah!”

Never had someone reacted the way the boy did to your work. Not even your family. They knew you were a fantastic painter, but they were not ones to really express it. When the museum offered your part-time, paid position, it was with a slight bit of enthusiasm, but nothing more. Just business. This boy… clearly different.

The next day, you had come to work early, to make sure you were working when the boy showed up. It is not like the two of you set a time to meet, it was not a date or anything. Heck, you did not even know his name. You just wanted to be thoroughly engrossed in what it was you were doing so you could see the admiration on his face again. You craved that validation after not getting it for years. Then you smelled it. The smell of a burger and fries from the food truck that always liked to park at the museum. It was always so good. How did it get inside, though? Then you heard him.

“I, uh, brought you some lunch, if you want to take a break.”

You whipped around on your scaffolding, him scaring you with his words, and him clearly flustered by the whole situation.

“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you! I just figured… you’ve been here for over five hours and haven’t had anything to eat, so… I hope you like that food truck. Wait. Sorry, I only know you’ve been here that long because I walked in behind you. I just didn’t say anything. God, I’m a wreck, sorry.”

Now you were smiling sweetly, holding back a small laugh that would have made the boys eyes sparkle with joy had he gotten the chance to hear it. You started to lower your scaffolding while he walked a little bit closer, not knowing where your boundaries were. Once the scaffold was all the way down, you hopped lightly to the floor, walking the small distance over to the boy. You reached out to grab your bag of food and smiled lightly at him.

“Honestly, you’re such an angel for bringing me lunch. I completely forgot to pack one today. So, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“N-nothing. My treat.”

“I can’t possibly let you get away with that. I…” You chuckled breathily. “I don’t even know your name!”

“Tim. Tim Murphy. Doctor of paleontology.”

He spoke so fast you hardly made out what he was a doctor of. But it was endearing, to say the least. He sounded bashful, even about an accomplishment as good as his.

“Well, Dr. Murphy, I really appreciate the gesture. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m no doctor. More of a dunce, really. No degree or anything, just living my dream as an artist.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Yes, it is.”

Tim could feel his heart swell. Never in his life, especially not since the incident, had he been this confident around anyone outside of his family. He never even treated the people on his dig team that way. But something about the air around you made it easier for him to breathe. Easier for him to be himself. Your presence was like an ice-cold canteen in the middle of an August day in the Sahara for him. He could not even explain why.

“Te-tell you what. I insist you don’t pay me, but how about you join me for lunch instead of eating while you work? We can go sit in my office. If you’d like, of course.”

“That’s a deal, Murphy.”

Ever since that second day of interacting with you, the two of you were practically inseparable when you were working at the same time. Lunches, and sometimes even dinners were spent together, just talking about nothing or simply enjoying the sounds of museum creaking away or the buzz of bugs if you ate outside. Sometimes Tim’s coworkers would see the two of you together and make some snide comments, but neither of you paid them any mind. You were too wrapped up in the way the other spoke and held themselves to really care. It was blissful, something neither of you had really experienced previously. For Tim, it was a normal day at work, so he expected the same from you. He had promised to make homemade quesadillas and bring them for the two of you to share, and he held up his end of the bargain. He made his way over to the enormous mural you had been saddled with working on and saw that you were feverously painting away as if your life depended on it.

“Lunch is served!”

He called up to you loudly, but not loud enough to disturb the museum-goers. Except that somehow, you never heard him.

“Y/N?”

Still no response, just intense painting. Tim started to almost feel like you were ignoring him, feeling his chest deflate a little bit. Afraid that after all this time, you started despising him and his ways, just like everyone else he encountered and befriended. He made his way over to where you had been propped up on the scaffolding, nowhere near as high as the first day the two of you had met. You had told him one time that you start at the top of your murals always because if paint would ever run down before you had a chance to catch it, you could always paint over it. If paint ran down onto completed work, you would have to do it all over again, and it would be an endless cycle of a waste of time and supplies. He waited until you stepped back for a breather, which took close to four minutes, and then he knocked on the metal scaffolding, as a last resort to catch your attention. When he knocked, he earned himself a startled reaction.

“Wha—! Oh, it’s just you, Tim. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been calling out to you for almost ten minutes, you know.”

“You… you have?”

“Yeah. You’ve just been really wrapped up in whatever part of the mural this is. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah… it’s just that… I don’t think I am going to have time to take a lunch today.” Tim felt the sinking feeling in his chest again, which had gone away when he finally got to look in your eyes. “And I know that today was quesadilla day, and I was really looking forward to it. It’s just… look, I’ll never get this project done on time if I keep taking half hour lunches with you. Believe it or not, I am on a deadline. Please don’t think I’m angry at you if my tone makes it seem that way, I’m just overwhelmed with how big this one is and I’m doing it completely on my own, and having to buy my own materials is barely being covered by what they’re paying me. I want to spend as much time with you as we have been,” and you never even noticed Tim had pushed the ‘down’ button on the scaffold to bring you to his level, “I just need this job more than I need a delicious quesadilla and—”

“Y/N.” He cut you off with the sound of your name, the sternness in his voice, and a hand on your wrist. “Now you’re the one who’s rambling.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You could feel the tears threatening to fall down your face.

“Look. You need to eat and take a break. You’re going to eat lunch with me, and then work through the night if you have to. And guess who will keep you company since they have a set of keys because they’ve stayed so late in the past that the janitors just made him a set of keys?”

“You’d do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve put up with me all this time.”

“I figured you’d be sick of watching someone paint by now. Someone who doesn’t have a bunch of cool stories from adventures they’ve been on. Sick of… me.”

Tim felt that sinking feeling return for the third time, but this time it felt different, somehow. This time it was like a pang of guilt, because he truly did not mean to give off the impression that he was sick of you. Far from it.

“I don’t understand how you could think like that. I could never get sick of seeing which part of your face is going to have the paint splatter on it each day.”

You smiled sweetly and proceeded to invite Tim onto the scaffold to eat with you, that way you could get right back to work afterwards. The two of you had lunch like it was any other day, and you could feel some of the tension leave your shoulders as you ate, Tim’s presence calming you down. Once both of you were finished, Tim lifted his hands in the air beside his head as if to say ‘okay, I did my part, you can keep working’ and you got the message. You cleaned up your plate and immediately went back to working. Once Tim had stood up and started to walk away from the scaffolding, you turned around and yelled over to him.

“Thank you for lunch! And… thanks for keeping me company. See you for dinner?”

“Of course.”

A smile was exchanged, and you moved the scaffold back up to where you had been working while Tim walked away. Despite being completely invested in your work, you could not wait for dinner to come around.

You completely lost yourself in your work again, failing once again to realize Tim’s presence. Heck, you did not even notice that the museum managers had locked the doors when they left, Tim informing them that the two of you would be staying late to meet some deadlines and that he could let you out when you were done. You had managed to get to a spot on the mural where you could have the scaffold at its lowest point, so anyone could take a small step upward and be on it with you. He did not want to scare you because he was afraid you would jump and then streak a color across the mural that was not intentional. So, again, he waited, this time with a bag of warm and fresh Chinese food in hand, until he knew that it would be safe to get your attention. Except that this time it took over ten minutes, and your body language gave off the indication that you were not in the mood to stop. He just stood behind you, watching the intensity on your face. It was laced with something else, though, and he could not place it right away. He moved his eyes back to the portion of the mural you were working on, and after looking at the art itself, he looked to your hand that held the brush. And he knew it was time to intervene, not just because the food was going to get cold, but because he could see the effects of exhaustion taking over. He knew them all too well. He would constantly have to be told by his dig-mates that he needed to take breaks and get some water because he would become so invested in the site he was working on that he would go hours without drinking anything. That is not something anyone should do, which is common knowledge to everyone else, but it was not easy for Tim to pry himself away. So, he knew where you were coming from in terms of loving what you do so much that you never want to stop. He quietly placed the food down next to him, and carefully took a few steps to close the space between the two of you, so as to not alert you to his presence fully. He squatted down and lightly laid his hand on your shoulder in an effort to calmly halt your movements. It worked better than he planned, so he continued his efforts to pry you away from the wall. You had not made a noise, had not turned to look at him, but you knew by the gentle nature of the movements that it was Tim behind you. You confirmed your suspicions when you saw a set of hands reach for your own, the one holding the brush. Scarred and beautiful. One of the hands reached to grab the brush, lightly squeezing the metal part situated between the bristles and the wood handle so he avoided getting paint all over his hand, and to leave room for his other hand to take hold of the one which held the brush. While placing the brush in the warm water you had laid out, his other hand gently wrapped around yours, easing the shaking. But he could still feel you trembling underneath the one hand, so he brought his other hand to clasp around yours and you could feel him start to massage the cramping muscles in your palm. Then he would take each finger one by one and work out the tension. Alternating back and forth between wide-scale massaging and focused attention on a small muscle that was clearly overworked. Eventually the shaking subsided tremendously, and Tim reverted back to wide-scale rubbing on the back of your hand and your palm. He spoke just above a whisper so as not to startle you and to let you know that it is okay to relax a bit.

“You need to take a break. You’re gonna end up breaking your hand if you keep going at this rate. Sit down with me, okay?”

Reluctantly, you let yourself start to lower to the ground, Tim not letting go of your hands once, and still massaging them. The feeling was soothing – so much so that you actually started to feel the exhaustion Tim knew you had to have been feeling. He was not trying to lull you to sleep, it was just beginning to happen naturally. He had not taken his eyes off of you, wanting to make sure that you knew he was there for you to help you through the stress and exhaustion. You were finally feeling like you could relax to the point of tears slipping down your face because you had not felt this calm in weeks. Your newly relaxed natured ushered a question out of your mouth without you even realizing it.

“Wanna play this weird game I saw on the news the other day?”

“Depends on how weird your definition of weird is.”

“Basically, I saw this thing on the news that said there is a game that can bring two people closer than a marriage of fifty years. It’s really simple… maybe, considering the state of being I am currently in, the game would not be the worst idea.”

“How do you play?”

“Well, basically, there is one rule for the game, and it’s 100% honesty. Each person gets to ask the other three questions of their choosing, and the other has to answer in their complete truth. No holding back from either party. It’s a test of someone’s willingness to be vulnerable and open with someone, even if they haven’t known them more than five minutes.”

“Would it keep you from stressing over this job?” You nodded your head slowly, making eye contact with him. “Well, then I’m game.”

The two of you move so you are sitting face to face, and still close enough together so that Tim could still massage your hand, since he can tell what effect it was having on you. The two of you both thought in silence for a moment, before you quietly spoke up, asking your first question.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you on a dig?”

“Oh… that’s easy. Hard to admit, but easy to answer.” You were still just blankly staring at him, and he was determined to get a smile on your face, even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of the most magnificent girl he had ever met. “This was… years ago. One of the first digs I ever went on as an actual PhD board-certified paleontologist, so probably about six years ago or so. I was prepared for everything, right? Like I had changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a tent. I was prepared. Then one day, in a desert that rain hardly ever touches, the sky just opened up. There were mudslides everywhere, but thankfully no equipment or things in tents were ruined. The sites were, though, and I happened to be working on one when it started pouring. And my ‘seat’ became one of those mudslides. I slid down a hill about thirty feet, completely covering my one side.”

He could see the sternness in your eyes die down a little bit, sparkling a little bit brighter than before. He knew the story was working. “So, after I managed to pull myself up from the ground when the rain finally stopped, I made my way over to the shower, honestly a little surprised that no one was using it. I stripped down behind the door, needing to feel like I wasn’t a man made of mud. I started to shower, like I normally would, and didn’t catch the noise of the door hinges moving. I had just finished getting the shampoo out of my hair when I turned around to turn the water off and then I saw her.”

The light in your eyes continued to remain, but the calmness in your face faltered a little bit at the word ‘her.’ You could not explain why, but thankfully Tim did not catch it. It was not like the two of you were dating, and this story took place years ago. You did not have anything to worry about, at least that is what you told yourself.

“One of the only girls on the dig that year had gotten herself into a pretty similar situation as me, and was so determined to wash the mud off herself that she failed to notice the water running. She swung the door open and stared just long enough so I knew who she was and she recognized me, but we both had the same idea right after; shut the door. I leaned forward, trying to grab the door, and she slammed it. Hit me right in the face, hard enough to knock me down to the ground. Had to reshower and everything. I couldn’t even bring myself to forgive her on the grounds of her looks or personality. She was not my type in the slightest.”

You were stifling back a giggle at this point at Tim’s exasperated manner of storytelling. It also had something to do with the fact that he admitted freely that she was not his type, giving you hope for something that you could not explain. He was still massaging your hand, too.

“Well, at least I got you to smile. I’d say that makes the story worth telling. Now it’s my turn. I want to know… What’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever painted and why?”

You had to think about it for a minute, because you had been painting seriously since you were about fourteen. It had been a long time since you considered yourself fully dedicated, and as commission work would come in, requests became more and more intense. Realistic. After about a minute of thinking while feeling Tim’s hands still press on yours, you realized what it was.

“It was a commission… for this guy. He had recorded himself, and he made a rather hefty request of me.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“How did you know this guy?” It almost seemed like Tim was feeling the same way about the word ‘guy’ as you did about the word ‘her,’ but you did not make much out of it.

“Personally, I didn’t. It was an online commission. Basically, he had recorded something and wanted me to watch it. The specific request basically said ‘watch this entire thing and I want you to paint us,’ referring to himself and the girl in the video, ‘in what you consider to be the most erotic moment in the video.’ I had a basic idea of what I was going to be watching, but when I saw that the video was over twenty minutes long, I really didn’t want to continue with the request. But, after I told him that I would be charging him extra because of the absurdity of the request and he didn’t decline the price, I was committed. One of the biggest commissions I have ever gotten to this day, actually more than the first check this museum gave me. But I guess I still have to tell you what it was, huh?” You swallowed, remembering the video more so than the rendition you did. “He… him and the girl… I assume they wanted a painting of them while actually having sex, but he told me to paint what I considered the most erotic. There was a part before they actually hooked up where she was… um… straddling his lap, and he was sitting up, head level with her chest. They were really in the moment, both still wearing their underwear though, if that matters. But at one point she held his face and he looked up at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It was one of those moments where, at least for now, all that mattered in the world was each other, and that was what I ended up painting. So… yeah.”

Tim was looking at you with such an intensity that you could feel it in your chest, how fast your heart was beating. You could not tell if the image of the painting in his head was doing that or what, but it was a look on the boy’s face that you took a mental image of for a sketch later down the road.

“Oh… wow. That’s, um… quite intriguing that you chose that part. I, uh… gosh, it got warm in here now that everyone’s gone, huh? That’s not it should… work…”

“If the idea of my painting is bothering you that much, how do you think I felt watching that video, huh, Murphy?”

That calmed him down, hearing you revert back to your normal self after talking so quietly. It was like you were not tired anymore, lighting up in the presence of the smartest and dorkiest paleontologist the museum could have thrown at you. He loved having this effect on you, because never in his life, or his wildest dreams, could he imagine doing that for someone like you. Someone perfect.

“I think it’s your turn to ask me question two.”

“Ah! Right… let me think. …I almost don’t want to ask this, but before I do, you should know why I’m asking. I think they’re incredible and tell a story unlike any other, and I think they’re beautiful.” As you spoke your preface, you reached up with the hand that has been free this whole time to stop Tim’s motions on your hands to place his in your own and lightly stroke them with your thumbs. Clearly grazing over the pale white lines on them. “What’s the worst thing someone has done to you or said to you regarding your scars?”

You were still holding his hands, and you could feel them tense and get a little sweaty. In fact, you could see that his posture had changed, like his whole body had stiffened. It was not out of fear or remembrance of painful memories. It was disgust, which meant that there was a particular instance that came to mind, and it almost made you want to retract your question. Tim spoke before you could, allowing you to hear the real answer.

“I was having a sleepover with people who I thought were my real friends, yet I woke up to a room that smelled like sharpie.” You shot him a confused look. “I got up to find that no one was in my living room with me, all of their belongings were gone, and I could see a note on the floor where their bodies should have been. It read ‘look in the mirror, freak.’ I went into my bathroom and noticed a couple of black lines on my face and neck. Then I noticed them on my collarbone, my arms, my hands, my legs, and even my feet. They had found a sharpie and marked every single scar that I had while I slept, pointing out every single flaw that I have. Every single one of my insecurities, and called me a freak to top it all off.”

You could see the tears starting to form, and you despised yourself for wanting to ask that question. You hated yourself for a number of reasons; you had made Tim remember something he clearly did not need to, you had almost made him cry, you had made him admit his biggest insecurity, all of it because you wanted to play a stupid game.

“Tim… I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean…”

“But you know why I’m okay? You know why I’m not going to cry?”

You just looked at him, tears threatening to slip from your eyes, now.

“Someone has recently taught me that people like that don’t matter. They taught me to ignore the snickers we heard at work because they’re just jealous. And that same person just told me that they think my scars… are beautiful.”

“…”

“You really think they’re beautiful?”

“Is that your second question, Murphy?”

“No, but I have to know that answer more.”

“I couldn’t lie to you if my life depended on it, so yeah, I do.”

He let a single tear slip from his eye, wiped it away quickly, and proceeded to ask his next question. No preface other than a serious expression painted onto his face.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you will never make it as an artist?”

“Every single day.” No hesitation. No pause. No stopping to think. It was a question that plagued you from the moment you got your first commission, shockingly enough. “Not a single day goes by when I wonder if the commissions will ever stop. Painting for myself is great, don’t get me wrong. But I have no other skills. No backup plan. That’s why I fought so hard to get this job. They have me booked to paint the whole museum at some point, and once the unchanging exhibits are complete, they will give me advance notice about the ones that do so I can come repaint the walls. But that’s the only stability I have. Another museum may come and scout the work and hate it, making sure that I get no other museum recommendations. Plus, not too many people send in personal requests. I have to hope that I get long term contracts, or… I’m just done. Penniless. Homeless.”

Tim was looking at you with a melancholy expression. He had something in his heart he wanted to say, but it was not like the two of you were together. His offer would even be weird for people who had been dating for over a year. He held back, as hard as it was.

“Is my answer okay?”

“Oh… yeah! I mean… in the sense that you told the truth. Clearly. But… can I tell you something? It might be weird.”

“I’m the one that suggested this weird game, so obviously go ahead.”

“If the museum ever lets you go, and no commissions are coming in, and your strapped in more ways than one, come… stay with me. I have enough space. I can help you. The offer will stand, even if you marry someone and have kids with him. My home will always be open to you, okay?”

If the tears were not threatening to spill earlier, they sure were now. All you could do to hold back a choked sob was grab onto his hands and squeeze. A way of saying thank you without having to actually say it. He completely understood. Then it was time to move onto the final question for each of you, and both of you had known what you were going to ask when you first agreed to the game. They were both loaded questions, but for completely different reasons. Based on his reaction to the previous one you asked, you mentally braced yourself for the worst with this third one. He was doing the same.

“Tim… I want you to tell me about Jurassic Park.”

And he did. He told you about the giant t-rex that ate a guy in a latrine. He told you about the fact that his parents were going through a divorce and that was the only reason him and Lex were there. He told you about being constantly rejected in the beginning by a man he looked up to. He told you about Lex’s screams and how they kept him up at night. He told you about being stuck in a functionless car while a t-rex was stomping around it and knocking it around. He told you about falling many feet in a metal car, to be suspended for God knows how long with no help. He told you about how he threw up. He told you about falling through the tree and almost being crushed by the car. He told you about being trapped in a kitchen with velociraptors that were four times his size and eight times his weight. He told you about being electrocuted by a fence and falling almost ten feet. He told you about the rain.

He was sobbing. Hyperventilating. You regretted it completely. You wished you could have taken it back, but there was no turning back. There was no erasing the memories for Tim. Nothing could ever take the trauma away from him. But there was one thing you could do; be there for him in this moment. You reached over and attached your hands to his face, forcing him to look at you. To make him aware that you were there and he was not back there. There were no more living dinosaurs. That he was alive and breathing. That he had you there to help him. You used your thumbs to wipe the streams of tears rolling down his now red cheeks. It was like he had opened a faucet, and he was having trouble breathing. Once he realized that you were wiping his tears, his breathing slowed, and so did the tears. You kept wiping them away, somewhat uselessly since you did not dry your hands off in between. Then your hands stilled, the two of you just watching each other. And you noticed a stray, single tear. The last one. You did not wipe it with your hand, but instead leaned over to him to kiss it away. You tasted the tang of the salt within it, but did not mind one bit because all that mattered was making Tim feel better. To take him away from the place you forced him into. You kept your face pressed against his so he could feel the warmth of your lips and face, but you could feel him pull away from you a little bit. Just enough so he could look you in the eyes. He manages to steal a glance into them, and he realizes that you are crying just as much as he is, you are just a lot better at being quiet about it. It causes more tears to slip from his own eyes, but he could not care less. All he cared about was taking care of the desperation he felt regarding the human contact and love that he had been deprived from for years. In a very unlike Tim move, he crashed his mouth into yours and kissing you with such a fervor that you started to feel lightheaded. Once the two of you pulled away from each other, he could see that he had made your lips swell lightly, making them redder than before, and he could also see the shocked expression adorning your face. He thought you hated him now. He was an emotional nightmare and felt that the right thing to do was kiss you? He could not imagine how this scenario played out well for him. He started to inch his body away from yours more, starting to relentlessly apologize for making you uncomfortable. Except that was not how you felt. Not at all. You wanted him to keep going.

“Please… don’t pull away from me.”

With the speed of a bolt of lightning, his mouth had found yours again, kissing you like there was no tomorrow and these were his last moments with you. While his kiss was passionate, it was safe. Just lips. You wanted more. With all the effort you could muster in that moment, you tried nibbling at his lower lip, wanting his lips to look just like yours by the end of it all. Pulling apart because there was no air left between you two, he pulled his head far enough back where he could look at your entire face, and tilted his head gently to the side like a curious puppy. And it was time for him to ask the final question of the game.

“Do you think you could ever fall in love with someone like me? Someone broken?”

You looked back at him, completely sure of your answer instantly. You just had to be brave and say it.

“I think I already am.”

After having let out all the pent-up emotions and putting on a show for the security guard’s cameras, you went back to working, no longer worried about the deadline, no longer trembling. You stayed seated on the scaffold, working at the bottom of the mural. Tim nestled himself into your side, resting his head in the space of your criss-crossed legs, feeling completely at ease. He leaned the back of his head against your stomach, and felt the muscles in your torso move with your arm as you painted. Eventually, you saw the warm, yellow glow of the sun through the high-up window to your right, and you looked down to see that Tim had fallen asleep, head now facing your stomach, nose pressed right above the hem of your pants. You could feel both of his arms lazily around you, an effort to make himself comfortable since he wanted to make sure his head stayed right where it was. You had stayed up all night, not panicked at all, working on some of the smaller detailing that took longer. You placed your small brush in the water for a moment, though, to look down at the sweet boy in your lap. You did not have the heart to wake him up, considering the museum employees still were not scheduled to arrive for an hour. So, you decided to gently run your hand through his hair, but not hard enough to wake him up, earning yourself a small groan from the boy in his sleep, who then nuzzled his nose more into your stomach. A feeling you could get used to.

Permanent Taglist: n/a

Tim Murphy Taglist: @gardnerlangway @drtimmurphy

// If you want to be added to either taglist mentioned above, or the one for another character I’ve written for, send me an ask here! //

#tim murphy #tim murphy x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joseph mazzello #joseph mazzello x reader #jurassic park #six questions #fanfiction #fanfic #art #artist #artist!reader #palentology #mural #struggling artist

161 notes · View notes

bruhimsicc · 4 years

Text

Food Poisoning or bad luck? My second fic!

I apologize if this is a basic plot, the whole vacation idea. It’s just so fun to write haha.

Trigger warnings of sexual stuff without consent!!

Love you guys🥰 I hope y’all hate Ryan as much as me. And I created him!

The beach air was so refreshing, Cooper almost forgot about how bad his stomach felt. It was hurting. Very bad. And the timing was worse. Ryan and his parents had been sweet enough to invite him to stay with them at the beach for three nights, and it was just the second night. They went to dinner, toasted to spring break with glasses of wine for Ryan’s parents and sprite for the boys, not clueing in to the fact that cooper and Ryan have surely already had their shares of alcohol before and locked eyes with the menu. Cooper got chicken tacos, mostly because that was one of the cheapest things. Leave it to him to worry about money when he’s with the wealthiest family he’s ever personally known.

Dinner was nice, even though Ryan and cooper dreaded being mature and talking about nothing with parents. They just wanted to go mess around in the pool, and do another type of messing around back in their room. But as they walk back from the restaurant, the walk is painful. Cooper feels like he weighs twice his amount, and the sand is hard to trudge through. The sweatshirt he wore made him sweat buckets, even though the beach breeze was chilly. And Ryan’s arm around him was too much, he ducked out of it and pretended to run away, teasing him so he wouldn’t be angry at him for not wanting his touch. The playful steps had his stomach cramping horribly, just small shocks of pain he couldn’t do anything about. Without thinking about making a show, he screwed up his face.

“You good coop?” Mr. Pierce asked. Cooper quickly cleaned up his face and straightened his posture, something about complaining to people about what’s bothering him has never been his strong suit. He was always that kid that would go to school despite feeling awful, not wanting to show any weakness.

“Oh yeah I’m good,” he reassured. He went back to Ryan and made a wish that he’d feel better by the time they got back to the Pierce’s giant beach house. He couldn’t feel awful at a place like that, that was somewhere that everything was supposed to be perfect.

Since it was late, they didn’t go to Pool, much to coopers liking. He usually loves the pool, and night swimming. But his stomach ache has only gotten worse and he can’t stand up straight without getting a cramp bad enough to make his head dizzy. Cooper is always nervous about this type of stuff, whenever they go to a restaurant he always silently hopes he doesn’t get sick from his food. And even now, he’s praying it’s just a stomachache, or maybe he ate too much. I’ll be fine in an hour or two, he soothes himself. The bed they’ve been sharing envelopes him, and cooper doesn’t even care to change out his clothes that smell like outside air. So they chill, lay in bed together and put on ladybird to watch. Ryan always trashes this movie, and cooper doesn’t get why because it’s a masterpiece, absolute art. But it’s evident Ryan isn’t focused on watching a movie tonight, he’s focused on cooper. Ryan pets cooper’s thigh, and his hand, and then back to his thigh, obviously not seeing that the vibe isn’t returned. As much as he tries hard to focus on the movie, and appreciate how artsy their sets are, cooper’s heart pounds because he’s become queasy in the last minute or so. Ryan’s touch is annoying him again, and he’s squirming all around the bed. The nausea isn’t in his stomach, it’s in his chest, and it feels like it’s in his head, all the way to his brain. Cooper sits up for a second to take a deep breath, trying to stop sweating and regain any composure he had before the food in his stomach started bullying him, making him feel hot and dizzy. He immediately lays back down and closes his eyes, but feels Ryan’s eyes on his own.

“What was that, silly?”

“Mm nothing,” he replies. The way he’s feeling is scaring him now. Cooper is an easily embrassed person, and this is hell for him. If he’s sick, all the attention will be on him, and that’s a nightmare. It feels like anxiety and food poisoning and overheating all at once inside him. His hands are sweaty as Ryan grabs one, and he opens his eyes to see him coming in to kiss his cheeks. Cooper exhales quietly. He’s not in the mood, or in the right health to do this. It’s sweet, but he feels horrible. Ryan moves to his warm neck, kissing it extra hard.

“Ryan,” cooper tries to shut the romance down But his voice isn’t more than a whisper right now. The cramping is back, making him more nauseous and his body twitches as it hits. Ryan takes this movement as a tease, kissing more of his body. Cooper appreciates the attention being off his face, and onto his chest, it’s not as hot and suffocating, but he still isn’t in the mood for this. He feels seasick now, having to swallow a few times to help from gagging.

“Ryan c’mon,” he tries to nudge him away, but Ryan’s hot and bothered. His determined. Coopers heart beats too fast, and his palms sweat. This always happens when he feels sick, he gets nervous when he doesn’t feel perfect. The swallowing stops him from saying more, and Ryan goes farther down his body. The deep nausea though, that drives him to stop this. A cold shower alone sounds nice.

“Ryan stop, my stomach hurts,” Cooper whines. At this, Ryan lifts his head. His face lacks any sympathy. He looks fed up, as usual.

“Your head always hurts.”

Cooper opens his eyes at the sharp tone. “I said my stomach hurts, weren’t you listening,” he replies, moving to lay his head into his pillow. Ryan gets off of him, and lays down, far from his boyfriend. He’s pissed.

“Yeah i heard you, you never wanna do anything. There’s always a problem. Your head, your stomach.”

Cooper rolls his eyes, he shouldn’t even have to have a reason. He doesn’t want to, that means no. But now, he feels to gross to argue.

“That’s not true, I just want to watch a movie with you.”

Ryan gives him a sour “whatever.” This is typical, cooper wanting to just relax and Ryan acting like a pubescent hormone generator. He gets pissed, cooper cleans up the mess, and everything is back to normal. But not this time, his stomach is in his throat. As they settle back down and shift their attention to the TV, neither of them is actually watching. Cooper’s stomach is tensing, he thinks it feels like a fever, but in his stomach. He shouldn’t have eaten, he should’ve gotten something like a salad. Of course chicken would make him sick, and of course he would get sick with some of the people who make him most uncomfortable. The thought of eating makes his stomach squeeze, and cooper Tastes the food for the unwanted second time. He sits up, slouching with his face in his hands. Ryan is totally watching him, but cooper needs deep breaths to try and regain his calm stomach. He rubs at his face.

“What’s up with you,” Ryan inquires. There’s no actual care in his voice, just obligation to ask.

Cooper doesn’t respond, just breathes through the deep ache and the queasiness. Without any warning, there’s stomach acid in his mouth, and he swallows it quick enough to tell Ryan, “I have to pee.” The bathroom door closes and coopers head spins. His vision is a black tunnel, and he manages to lean over the toilet right before all of his food rises into his throat, but ignores his mouth, and comes out of his noise. He moans to himself, the burn of the acid was worse coming out of his nose first. But now it’s coming out both. The taste disgusts him, and he hasn’t even gotten to take any breaths yet. Whenever he tries to inhale, his stomach clenches and more puke pours out. He must be coughing pretty loudly, because the door opens abruptly. He hears Ryan’s voice, not sounding any less pissed than before.

“Coop, what, what the hell?” Ryan does a double take. Cooper responds with a burp, and more throw up falls into the water. The nausea has gotten better, but the deep pain in his stomach is much worse. He didn’t think food could hurt his body so much.

“I can’t stay, I’ll puke,” Ryan adds, making cooper feel so, so embarrassed. He’s just adding problems to this trip and making Ryan feel bad while he’s at it. This is so bad, he thinks to himself. Spit drips from his mouth and there’s vomit on his chin, but the puking is done now. His whole body shakes, and his hand feels almost too weak to flush the toilet. Standing up to wash his hands and rinse his mouth isn’t pleasant, because he gets an intense wave of head rush, not like his anemic self isn’t used to it. Cooper desperately hopes Ryan’s parents didn’t hear him, maybe it was a one time thing. He doesn’t need the attention and worry. When he opens the door, Ryan is back on the bed, looking at him expectantly.

“Do my kisses really gross you out that much?”

Cooper’s face falls. He was hoping Ryan would try to not be a smartass about it.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, laying back down, making sure to be far away from his boyfriend who lacks any sympathy skills.

“I told you I felt bad,” he adds. Ryan scoffs.

“I thought you just didn’t want to kiss, you say stuff like that all the time.”

Cooper would love to actually say what’s on his mind. That if he doesn’t want to make out, then they shouldn’t have to. But he’s too tired to get Ryan riled up and start and argument. His eyes fall closed despite the cramps and shivers that won’t let up.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to a weight below his stomach. His face feels hot and his body heavy as he floats on weak knees to the bathroom, to get sick a different way this time. Hands clutch his stomach the whole time, trying to ease the pain. It really hurts, and he’s so embarrassed despite being alone. Everything aches.

Ryan is snoring when he comes back to bed. He wants to wake up his boyfriend and have someone to talk to, even if it would just be complaining, but he knows better.

Cooper is asleep and feverishly dreaming again before he can even think.

The next time he wakes up, it hasn’t even been ten minutes since his last trip to the bathroom. But this time is different, this time vomit pours out of his mouth the second he moved his head, making a mess of his sweatshirt and the pillowcase covered in sweat. It burns his throat, even worse because he’s laying down. A heave forces him upright and shakes the bed, stirring Ryan. Cooper throws a hand over his mouth, and uses the other to shake Ryan’s shoulder, not even bothering to be careful about making him mad.

Ryan groans, “uuggghhh, what.”

“I...I don’t- feel well.” His statement was interrupted with a nauseaous hiccup, letting Ryan know something was up. Not that he cared much, but the smell and cooper’s heaves were enough to make Ryan hop out of bed to get the tiny trash can from the bathroom. His boyfriend lets all the sickness rush out of him. There’s no telling why Ryan felt absolutely nothing in his heart. He just couldn’t bring himself to care that his boyfriend was miserably sick, all because of some food from a sketchy restaurant that a cook most likely half-assed. Cooper’s stomach hurt worse than ever, worse than the last time a meal turned on him. He was 15. At school. It wasn’t a nice time. But this was worse, every breath was aborted before it reached it’s full potential, turning into a cough that there was no air for, and pushing up more food and stomach acid. Ryan turned a light on at that point, and cooper saw his own mess of beige and brown covering the trash can and his sweatshirt. He didn’t want to look back at the pillow, surely splattered with sickness too. Ryan groaned, cooper would’ve thought he was being dramatic if he was in control of his senses, but his abs squeezing painfully was distraction enough. He finally got a moment to breathe, and looked up to see his boyfriend walking out of their room. Maybe he was getting him a glass of water to rinse out his mouth. Cooper is dizzy, head rush attacking him despite not even standing up. Speaking of standing up, that something he needed to do, according to the push below his stomach. He stands on weak knees, trying not to pass out as he walks slowly into the bathroom.

Cooper suffers through it. Again and again and again. He rests his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. He could be delirious, but his face is awfully hot. His forehead crinkles up and a grimace takes over, do you even get fevers with food poisoning? He has no idea. And frankly, he doesn’t even need to know. He feels awful enough.

The effort to wash his hands is threatening, but it reminds him he should put some water in his body. A quick look in the bedroom tells him ryan isn’t back, and there’s no water cup there either. Don’t be selfish cooper. You’re the one who’s sick, you can take care of yourself. He reminds himself of these things as he heads out to the kitchen.

An open floor plan is always nice, but right now it’s a problem starter. From the kitchen, cooper can see his lovely, thoughtful boyfriend curled up on the couch, snoring peacefully. He’s knows it’s stupid to think about. And he knows he’s the one inconveniencing them, but it would feel nice if Ryan cared a little bit. If he ate something that hated him, and was miserable, cooper would hold a bowl for him to throw up in and wipe his face. And he would bring water and change the pillowcase if he was too tired to wake up before he puked. A lump forms in his throat, but there’s no time to wonder if it’s from sadness, or if it’s stomach contents in his throat. A heavy, hot, and sticky wave of the worst nausea he’s ever felt overcomes cooper and before he can remind himself to walk slowly so he doesn’t faint, he’s throwing up over the toilet again. Surprisingly, he hasn’t ran out of food to vomit up yet. Despite already having been sick multiple times, this time is hell. Cooper has never had projectile vomiting before now, and it’s awful. The acidic taste ruins his throat, and chokes him. His nose burns, and the whole world smells like puke to him. Cooper is sitting on the cold floor, not even using the energy to stand, but he’s so weak that before he knows it, his vision becomes a tunnel and his poor brain spins. A weak moan escapes him before his head not so gently hits the bathroom floor, not waking anyone up.

4 notes · View notes