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unholycringebirther · 1 year

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HARPY!CLAUDE MERLE X VIOLINA [FANFICTION]

SUMMARY: While gathering berries, Vio gets lured deeper into the forest, meeting a distant, gruff stranger who is in desperate need for assistance, even if he won’t admit.

WARNING: mentions of blood/injuries, swearing, animal hunting, no beta we die like Ophelia. MINORS DNI

WORDS: 3.9k

A/N: I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE I AM CRINGE BUT—

Okay okay but all jokes aside it’s currently one am where I live and i’ve decided to reveal myself as a simp, I’ll probably regret it tomorrow but whatever, im a huge nerd for Greek mythology so the harpy idea really spoke to me (Sirens are still my favourite so maybe I’ll write for siren!Jules later) and after a few hours I made this monstrosity, enjoy ❤️

As the spring goddess rose from the underworld, the sun followed suit, melting away the harsh coldness of the winter until fresh flowers perked up in their bloom, animals awakening and trees sprouting fresh green leaves.

Demeters tears dried— her beloved daughter returning to her arms once again, ending the starvation of the crops and the fertility of the soil.

The forest surrounding me was relaxed, the nymphs and dryads settling into their trees as the sunset painted a soft golden light over their oaks, it was calm, a comfortable hum of silence.

It was a nice change of pace— the village has been getting rowdy, one of the many hunters had come barreling into the streets, claiming he’d almost caught an unheard of beast.

The man was always one for stories, but the passion in his voice hooked many of the other hunters into believing him, he told us of a beast as dark as the night sky, claws sharper than any werewolf he’d ever seen, piercing eyes as black as coal.

He didn’t catch it, but triumphantly held up a bloodied dagger, claiming he’d landed enough damage to cripple the thing, prompting everybody to start wild searches, wanting a sweet taste of the glory that catching a large, dangerous creature brought.

It was a load of bullshit, I’ll say, he’s always been one to boast despite various failed attempts at catching creatures even as feeble as a jackalope.

The forest was fruitful, in both the berries I was currently gathering and in mythical creatures of all kinds, but despite that I still doubted somebody like him discovered a supposed legend, a man covered in feathers and ash, with wings wider than the stretch of the trees.

For that exact reason, I was warned against coming here, the elders chastising me as I stepped out my front door, basket in hand, my parents following suit with jabs of their own.

But I desperately needed a break, as the sun melted down into the horizon, lanterns flickered on, and no doubt the town was plagued with cheers of celebration as corpses were wheeled in, taverns opening with hunters celebrating their latest bloodshed.

I didn’t want to return just yet, the tranquil nature of the forest drawing me in further, it was alive in a way not many others were, the trees and air shifting in ways human emotion would.

Part of me was a little ashamed, but I wasn’t perceived as a threat, hunters would often get shunned by the forest, roots and branches shifting until they were caught in a dark labyrinth, the nature surrounding me taking a more active role in protecting itself and the wildlife that inhabits it.

But to me, the bark opens itself up, beckoning me deeper instead of pushing me away, I wasn’t here to hunt— the forest had no need to defend itself, and a kindle of pride blossomed in my chest at the idea of having left a good impression on the energy curling around the space.

I glanced to the left, a shadow passing over the deeper part, trees becoming more narrow as the human affect ends where the wilted dirt path does.

The berry bush in-front of me is plucked empty, my basket only half full by the juicy dark beads inside, I didn’t want to leave just yet, the shouts of the villagers already making a headache build in my skull, and I could trust that the forest wouldn’t harm me.

I’ve been told countless times to not wander farther than the shabby dirt trail, but I already ignored the warnings of travelling even this far, and the forest wouldn’t let the feathery beast touch me, if it was even real.

The small rush of rebellion carried me forwards, into the thickened silence of the wild.

I could sense the shift around me as the human touch becomes sparser, the unbothered nature growling wildly, the trees curling above like claws tightening its grip.

Gods, I should’ve came here ages ago, I thought to myself in stunned awe, their was various kinds of bushes, different berries littering each one in plenty, fresh and ripe for picking, Thank you, lady Demeter.

I gathered various kinds until my basket was brimming, and I was surprised the sweet smell wafting around didn’t attract the nose of any critter, but glad nonetheless, this’ll do me and my parents well.

We were far from the richest in the village— we had enough to keep ourselves going, but we didn’t have anything left to tuck away in case of an emergency, and as the years pass and my folks grew older, the likely-hood grew like a thriving vine in the midst of spring.

If we can cut food costs with my foraging, well, a little extra savings never hurt anyone, meat of all kinds were plentiful and quite cheap, in abundance from the animals crawling around, but fruits and berries were spiking high in costs as the energy shifted towards hunting this elusive beast and supplies ran short.

My basket was full, colours mixing and merging together as I try to make room for more, but unfortunately, I’ve reached capacity.

The sun had set, shrouding the trees around me in darkness, there was a slight chill in the air that made me huddle more into myself to avoid the bite of the wind, it picked up surprisingly fast, unnaturally fast.

I wander forwards, I didn’t bother to keep track of where I was heading, the forest would shift me in the right direction, I just had to move and let the gentle caress of the branches lead me to safety.

The trees were a dark oak, the fresh leaves, sprouting to their full hue only days ago with the early spring, they were pushed together closely, concealing anything far from view.

Roots stuck wildly out of the ground, leaves and muddied grass from the morning sprinkle hiding them, and the only reason I didn’t trip over a root when the sound of a low grumble reached my ears was the tree flattening the root in-front of my foot.

I paused, straining my ears to listen out, it was silent, the loud ring in my ears supplying evidence that it was nothing more than a trick of the rushing wind.

A twig cracked, like a heavy weight strained it to snapping, and I knew it wasn’t the breeze playing a trick on me, I didn’t immediately panic, chances were it was a lost hunter, the forest playing a game of cat and mouse until they learned their lesson.

I swore I heard the grumble of a man— soothing most worries about a stray, potentially dangerous creature sniffing around, but I still kept my footsteps light as I followed the sound, peeking past the many trees in a hopeful attempt to remain somewhat hidden incase my suspicions proved wrong.

There was an opening, a small clearing where the tight tree lines swerved, a circular view of the clear night sky, it was beautiful, colourful flowers and moss spreading across the rocks and logs resting on the grass.

The moon reached its highest point, bathing the clearing in a almost mesmerising silver glow, carefully highlighting each petal, every mushroom and each crevices carved onto the fallen log.

And the man covered in coal feathers, laying limply in the centre.

He was laying on his back, propped up by a particularly large rock, his hair was long, dark purple not unlike the berries I carry in my basket, dark charcoal feathers cover his body like clothing with sharp wings cradled closely to his chest.

My eyes trailed up from his chest to his face, grey skin glistening with sweat, black stains on his cheeks alluding towards the feather sticking out of his hair, darker greys and blacks smudged over his eyes like makeup.

His chest was heaving, those surprisingly appealing features twisting in pain, he grunted again, clearly in pain but keeping quiet no the less, his left wing cradled close to him, almost protectively.

I could see the issue almost im immediately, those sharp, dark feathers couldn’t hide the unnatural twist of the shape, I didn’t know a lot about bird physiologically— but I could clearly see the carpal part of the wing bent.

My heart ached sympathetically, no doubt it’d been the work of a hunter, probably out searching for that god damn beast that man supposedly crippled.

I wanted to help, I really did, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I could do, and I’ve been warned time and time again to keep away from unknown beasts, especially injured ones, not only could they hold a bias from the human that’d harmed them in the first place, pain could cause instincts to make the creature go wild.

But no matter what, I couldn’t see that with him, despite his features scrunched up in pain, those coal eyes held intelligence, far past a simple creature, and even some of the meat-heads running around the village.

It drew me in, those dark eyes holding depths I don’t think I’ve ever seen, I was naturally quite curious, but this was different, I wondered, wondered what this man had seen, what caused the exhausted wiseness that plagued his handsome features.

He drew me in like a whirlpool, but I couldn’t give in, despite the stab of need to assist him, I couldn’t risk it.

Stepping back, I intent on slipping back into the forest until I was further hidden by the tall dark trees, the cast of moonlight drawn away from me until I blended in with the cool, black night.

The crack of a stick underneath my shoes booms throughout the silence, and I can see the tenseness that lines the muscles underneath his feathers at the noise, it feels like my heart stops before jumping into my throat.

I can almost hear the nymphs snickering from inside their tree-trunks, the assholes.

“Who’s there?!” He calls out, his voice is rough with pain, like worn black leather, but carries a deep smoothness like espresso, dark as a splatter of ink against parchment paper.

I don’t move a muscle, frozen as a marble statue, whilst I am covered in a blanket of darkness, I can still see him bathed and highlighted in lady Selene’s moonlight, his body is tense and those entrancing eyes darken in something akin to predatory anger.

“I already heard you.” He calls out again, sounding tired and much older than he appears to be, he’s clearly had a long night, not looking too different to my father coming home from an unsuccessful hunt, “Come out, now.”

With a deep inhale, I try to steel myself until I can smother the fear on my face, I’m not sure how well I’m doing but hopefully, it’s enough, running might only make things worse.

Stepping into the clearing, hesitantly, I let the moon brighten my features until he can fully take me in, I’m careful to keep my body open and unthreatening, this doesn’t have to end in a fight, but it might if I trigger any feral survivor instincts.

His eyes scammed up my body, similar in the way I did to him only moments ago, and I have to shove down an inappropriate feeling of warmth that lingers where his eyes trail, definitely isn’t the time for that.

The tense line of his body seems to slacken slightly, the darkness of somebody ready to shed blood fading until he just looks tired, and perhaps even slightly relieved albeit still defensive.

I’m glad he doesn’t want to kill me anymore, but part of me is kind of offended.

“Er, hey there.” I wince slightly as it slips from my mouth, his eyes are unblinking as they stare at me, it feels like he could predict my every move before I’ve even figured them out for myself, “D-Do you, uh, want some help there?”

“No.” His answer is short and curt, and I consider making a break for it, realising he doesn’t seem likely to chase me down and rip my throat out with those sharp claws, but when I linger for a moment, I can vaguely make out the signs of dried blood.

This guy clearly needed help, even if he didn’t want nor think he needed it, and I can’t just leave him here because he chose to wake up stubborn.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” I slowly reach out a hand, approaching slowly, making sure he can see every movement, but it wasn’t enough to stop the way he tensed, those sharp fangs barring slightly.

“I don’t want you fucking help.” he snapped at me, hostility evident in the way his wings tried to spread out, before fluttering and wrapping back around himself, a hiss of pain escaping his lips at the movement, “leave me alone!”

Both concern and irritation rose in me, I scratched the flight instinct, I could leave this man alone despite his insistence, he needed assistance and I didn’t want to even think about what could happen if I chose to leave.

“Listen, guy— what’s your name?” I started, and the blank stare of annoyance he gave me told me he wasn’t planning on telling me anytime soon, and my own ire flares in response.

Fine, we’ll play it like that. I thought to myself as I took a deep, calming breath of the wind, I can be just as stubborn as you are, believe me.

“You can’t fly, your wing is broken and I can see a large cut on the inner base, yes, right there.” I start, slowly inching closer when he doesn’t lunge for me, which is always a good sign, my hand outstretches again, “You’re grounded right now, and you need some help to get back in the air, trust me, the hunters are rowdier than normal currently.”

He raises a thick eyebrow at that, and strangely I find myself liking the curiosity that leaks into those irises.

“So, you can either let me help you, and save yourself a hell of pain,” I pause right in-front of him and gaze deep into his eyes, I’ll allow him a choice, I can’t force my help onto anybody, “or you can sit here and get your bloodied corpse dragged back to my village because you wanted to be tough.”

He grits his teeth, and I can see him chewing the option over in his mind, I can read the exact moment he steels himself and makes his decision, turning his head away from mine in a huff, “..fine.”

With an internal cheer of success, I finally crouch down to survey the damage, with the moon shifting towards the horizon it means I have to be fast before my light source completely dissipates.

I was correct, there is a large cut on the bony base of his wing, blood has dried and crusted around it, stemming the worst of the bleeding, but if I don’t clean it now there is a large chance that it’ll get infected later.

Biting my lip, I try to think of something I could use to clean it, I have nothing on my me but the basket discarded on the ground.

“There’s a stream nearby, I can hear it.” He pipes up, and I’m not quite sure if his tone is actually bored, or if that’s how he sounds, a constant note of monotone, “if we go there— I can clean off in the water.”

I couldn’t hear anything, but I didn’t doubt he could, it wasn’t uncommon for the creatures of this forest possessing qualities humans didn’t such as enhanced senses, and I briefly wonder how he didn’t hear me before the loud snap.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” I rise to my feet, and wince apologetically at him, “sorry, you’ll have to come with me, I don’t have a bucket or anything to carry the water back.”

“It’s fine.” His tone is still curt, all business, and without a second thought I reach out my hand to help him up, but he waves it away with a low grumble, swiftly turning into a huff of exertion as he shakily rises to his own feet.

He clearly had something against accepting help, im surprised I convinced him to even let me clean his wounds.

Despite his less-than expressive face, I could see the discomfort in the stiff way he moves, he was clearly in pain, but refused my attempts to assist him walk better by outstretching an arm.

Its a short walk to the small stream, its almost as tightly clenched as the trees surrounding us, but the man doesn’t hesitate to crumble in-front of it, finally resting his sore body, and reaching for the moving water.

“Hey!” I call out before quickly sliding up next to him, dropping to my knees despite the stain of grass on my white dress, he looks at me, his gaze tempered with annoyance and confusion, “Let me do it for you, I’ll be able to reach better.”

I can tell he wants to protest, to decline me like he did before, but the sting of his wound chips away at his resolve, and when he turns his head away from me and bares the large cut, I know I’ve worn him down.

With a hum of approval, I reach down, ripping a line off the red fabric layered onto my dress, draping it into the water until it collects enough moisture.

It wasn’t a massive deal, my mother was a seamstress, we had an abundance of linen and cotton materials, and she took it upon herself to teach me how to hand-sew almost anything when I was still very small.

I try to be as gentle as possible, but he gasps and jerks when I make contact with the raw parts of the cut, trying desperately to clean up the build of dirt and blood, justifying it to myself that an infection would hurt much much more.

“So,” conversation might he a good means of distraction, there was still a lot to go and I didn’t necessarily want to sit in this tense silence, “will you tell me your name now?”

I could practically hear him gritting his teeth, he stayed silent, surprisingly not making much noise for how much pain I know for a fact he’s in, even before, he’s been awfully silent about his discomfort.

With a sigh, I realise I’m going to be the one doing most of the talking in this one-sided conversation, “well, my name’s Violina, yes, like the instrument.”

I despised my name— I didn’t even know how to play the damn instrument, and I refused to learn out of pure irony, I used to be jealous of the other girls in my village, their parents gifting them gorgeous titles.

He still doesn’t speak a word, so I continue on as I finally push through the worst of the grime, “I don’t know why I was named after a stringed instrument, I don’t even know if either of my parents play the damn thing,”

The dark red and browns clinging to his feathers wash off to leave behind a raw pink line, reaching down, I rip off a larger piece of fabric and wrap if tightly around the line until it was covered,

“…That’s a nice name.” It rumbles out of him, and im taken aback, not just by his sudden vocalisation, but by the compliment itself, and I can feel a flush rise in my cheeks.

“A-Ah, thanks.” I cough, trying to force it back down, standing up, I try to offer him another hand, and this time, he takes it, those sharp claws wrapping around my skin, but somehow, I don’t feel a prick of fear, “Stay off that wing, alright?”

He seemed a tad more relaxed, tension still radiated from his large figure, but most of it seemed to come from the displeasure of jostling his injures and not him perceiving me as a threat.

“I’ll have to clean and wrap it again tomorrow,” I explain, I was no medic but I knew enough to at least be somewhat confident in what I was talking about, “Come back here, same place and time.”

He snarled slightly at the idea, and I raised a confused eyebrow of my own, failing to see how what I said could’ve caused him to raise his hackles, “No.”

“What, why?” I question him immediately, and he stares down at me mistrustfully, his nose scrunched up in obvious displeasure, it seemed to be one of his base emotions next to irritation, “If you want to get better, I need to keep up with the treatment, guy.”

“No.” “You sure have a wide vocabulary, don’t you?”

I was tired, the moon was waning from the sky and I’d been running around almost all night, I couldn’t handle anymore of this, so I didn’t try to stop him when he turned away from me.

His wings curled more comfortably against his back, almost sheathing themselves, they were wide enough to almost completely conceal him from the back, but I could see a hint of his face when he turned back slightly.

“..Thank you, Violina.” he almost choked it out, it was clearly a foreign sentence on his tongue, and judging by the note of loathing I could hear in his voice, he didn’t like it one bit.

That brings a small, lopsided smirk to my face, and I call back in a much brighter, louder voice than his small little mumble of a grumble, “No problem.”

He took off, and I couldn’t help but stand there and watch as the darkness of the wild swallowed him up, the forest bending in his path.

I rub my temples, a headache building from not only the lack of sleep, but the loud shouts of almost everybody in the village, question and demanding to know where I’ve been all night.

It was a relief to finally be let off the hook, after hours of chastising from my parents alone, basking in sweet silence is a luxury I’ll never take for granted.

My eyes close, and I take in a deep breath, my thoughts wandering back to the man I saw in the forest, those dark feathers, those wings, the dark way his eyes drank me in.

Even during my painful lecture, my thoughts seemed to drift to him often, and in the back of my mind, I wondered if he was thinking about me as well.

I heard a rush of wind from outside, loud enough to make me jump out of my skin, knocking me from my thoughts about the purple haired man, and I quickly smooth out my dress before making way to the front door.

I open it, to be greeted by nothing except a empty doorway, I glance around for a stunned moment before a sweet smell wafts up to my nose, and I look down.

Its my basket, still holding all those delicious berries I’d gathered, and accompanying the fresh beads were an abundance of fruit, fresh in a way that implies it had only reached peak ripeness merely hours before, and the white parchment note placed on-top stands out against the bright colours.

You left your basket behind, mon oiseau oublieux.

-Claude Merle

I know my art isn’t amazing— it’s far from it but I just wanted to see my favourite little hoe in some Ancient Greek drip ok sue me, plus a little bonus of Claude about to murder my self-inserts ass for looking (respectfully of course) at his lovebird.

This post is a mess istg

#my dear hatchet man #mdhm #mdhm au #my dear hatchet man au #mdhm claude #claude merle #mdhm game #mdhm fanart #mdhm fanfiction #alan orion #mdhm alan #claude x vio #viviook #mdhm claude x reader #mdhm claude fanart #harpy claude

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strawberrylabs · 1 year

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Hi hi! I would like to request a match up for genshin :> preferably male characters. My prounouns are she/her and I just recently turned 18! I'm a cancer and also an INFP. My height's 173 cm or 5'8 in ft.

Recently, I've been so invested in drawing and reading novels. I'm a student, definitely pursuing art. I'm terribly awkward and much more comfortable with silence since I don't like loud things everyday. Tho my music playlists are either rock, experimental or incredibly soft TT. For an ideal date, I would like to just see the person and observe them. I'm sometimes very clingy skinship wise and childish or very distant but not in a bad way. I like to show affection through actions since I'm very bad at speaking. And I can't think of anything nowww.

That's all, thank you so much :>

Hello! i am sooo so so so so sorry its been literally over a YEAR since you requested <////3

I went on a break and left heaps of requests unanswered </3

But despite the wait, I really hope the matchup lives up to your expectations! thank you so much for your patience!!

Warnings!!: May be spoilers to Genshin Impact! Otherwise uts's pretty chill

I match you with...

Albedo!

I thought of this matchup almost INSTANTLY

You and Albedo met in the knights of Favonius library (trying to find a book on art techniques)

You both went to grab the same one smh

And that’s how your friendship started! And from there a relationship eventually grew

You often go with Albedo up to his cave lab on Dragon Spine

You’re the only reason he may consider getting doors to his lab

Often you two will sit in comfortable silence while he’s working so he can focus, and in the meanwhile you usually read or draw

However if he’s done working the two of you are likely to talk nonstop about whatever comes up, whether that's art, a book you’ve been reading, or one of his experiments!

If one of you aren’t feeling up to talking, the other person will keep going on about something while the other listens

Or if you’re both out of it you just cuddle<3

Klee ADORES you!

You often look after her while Albedo works

However sometimes she’s just a litttllleee too hyper for you and you get drained

But don’t worry, Albedo notices and comes to the rescue

“Klee? Would you like to draw something for (Lee)? Or how about you both draw something for each other? I’ll set a timer and you can both focus on your drawings until it runs out.”

“Okay!! I’m going to draw Dodoco!”

“...Thank you”

“:)”

You know those dates you see on tiktok where you each draw something on a canvas and then swap every 10 minutes?

Yeah

You’d do that

And you know how people annotate a book and give it to someone as a gift?

That too

The two of you are used to staying together in the lab, usually cuddling together to keep warm in the cold

In the Winter you tend to have trouble sleeping in the even more intense cold

Fear not. Albedo will hold you and play with your hair until you fall asleep

Honestly y’all are so used to sleeping together in the lab that you’re just used to sleeping together and probably slowly moved in with each other and before you knew it, you were living together

Overall, it's a very understanding relationship built on a mutual trust and respect

And although he may not say it often, rest assured

“I love you (Lee). More than should be possible.”

I hope you enjoyed! Again im so sorry for the wait!! i cant apologise enough!

-Strawberry🍓

Rules

Masterlist

#albedo x reader #albedo match up #genshin matchups #genshin x reader #x reader

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msmarvelwrites · 4 years

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Season Of The Witch

Summary: Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, honestly i think that’s it. Just soft boy Bucky.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing this one. Little bit of a witchy- halloween vibe for ya guys… Honestly I’m really in love with this idea, so who knows- if you like it I might write a part 2!

Huge Thank you to @cutie1365 for editing this mess! Couldnt have done it without her!

“Okay, okay. What colour am I thinking of now.” Peter squealed, plopping himself down on your bed, staring at you like a kid on christmas.

Being the Avengers personal psychic has its benefits, but this was certainly not one of them. You thought your party-trick of a superpower would have grown old on your friends, and yet it always seemed to draw a crowd of non-believers. You weren't the toughest or the strongest by any means, but you sure knew your way around a person's thoughts, which proved to be an advantage to the team. Mostly you were in charge of recon, but that didn't stop Natasha from dragging you to the gym every weekend and torturing you with super hero level workouts.

“How many more times are we going to do this, Peter?” You sighed, but soon realised he wasnt caving. “Blue. Just like last time it was orange and the time before that thirteen. Can we please stop.”

Peter scanned you over for a moment, before relaxing back on your headboard.

Fine, but only because Mr. Stark said he was ordering Chinese and it's probably here by now. His voice echoed through your mind.

“Actually, I heard Wanda say he’s getting pizza.” You corrected.

“How did you-?” He paused, eyes agape as your words registered. “That is seriously cool, you know that? I mean, I hang from the walls but that- that is cool! I can see why they coined you The Witch now,” Peter playfully shouted. “Can you do that with anyone, at any time?”

You smiled sheepishly, remembering the times your wandering mind had gotten you in some pretty uncomfortable situations. You tried your very best to stay out of your friends heads, but sometimes that was easier said than done. Especially when it came to the former Hydra assassin. His thoughts seemed to creep into your mind, seeping through the cracks unbidden. Sometimes his mind would wander aimlessly, but that wasn't always the case. You knew about Bucky’s dark past, however hearing it in his own cruel words was something else entirely. Though he would never utter the words allowed they were seared into your mind. You had every sense to avoid the man and yet his voice, like gravel and smoke, drew you in, intoxicated on his every word as it clouded around your subconscious.

“Unfortunately” You sighed, easing back into the mattress and unconsciously biting at the corner of your mouth. Your gift didnt make you very popular when you were younger. You were honestly surprised it was so welcomed here. Most people consider you an invasion of privacy... But Peter was different from the highschool kids you grew up with. Maybe it was due to the fact he was different too, but something about the way his mind wandered made you believe that radio-active spider or not, Peter would always be Peter.

“What does Bucky think about?”

That knocked you out of your thoughts. You snapped your head up and looked at Peter, who only seemed to have a curious look in his eyes.

He’s so broody and mysterious. Guy gives me the creeps.

“Bucky is a sweetheart deep down.” You faked a smile, concerned as to why you felt the need to defend him. From an outside perspective, it was possible to fear the former Winter Soldier. However, knowing what you did haunted your nerves.

“I’m sure very, very deep down.” Peter chuckled. “I’m going to go grab some pizza before Sam eats it all. Are you coming?”

You smiled softly, preparing yourself for the dinner with your friends. Though you enjoyed having a sort of family, dinners together would often grow overwhelming in your mind, voices colliding though your head, brewing into a storm in your thoughts.

“I’ll be down in a few.” With that, Peter stumbled out of your room and down the hallway leaving you with your thoughts. You closed your eyes, concentrating on the many different voices faintly echoing around you. You could only make out bits and pieces as they vibrated through the walls and all around you. At first, it was hard to identify whose voice belonged to who, but soon after you moved into the compound it became easy.

Natasha thought in poems. Her brain was always working on the next solution- the next verse. Her mind wandered in and out of trains of thought like a dancer, drifting back and forth with ease. It was always relaxing listening in.

Tony was constantly listening to his music wherever he went. You had an inkling it was because he knew how powerful you were. ‘Like built-in surveillance,’ he’d often say. Though, you’d never deflate his ego in letting him know you could still hear his thoughts clear as day.

But then there was Bucky. It took you a while to understand his thoughts. They always seemed erratic and chased- never one thought all at once, but it soon became clear why. Bucky was constantly correcting himself. When his mind began to tiptoe into the darkest corners, he’d change the conversation, ushering it back to what he thought was right. Listening to his internal debates became a favourite pastime of yours. He often reminisced about his time in the forties. You liked how easy it was, listening to him think. Though you had never said more than five words to him allowed, you were content with this little part of him. Pieces only you both knew. Like the beautiful woman he would lose himself daydreaming about. The way he described her made you feel flush all over. He never thought her name, and yet it stung all the more knowing his heart was stolen. His beautiful ‘ведьма’. Not that you stood a fighting chance. Not to mention the impending age gape you both shared. Often he would find you staring and a string of curses would follow as he realised he’d be caught. You never meant to intrude, but then again, that wasn't entirely true.

With a huff, you swung your legs off the bed letting your feet hit the cold wooden floors, but before you could even open the door, you heard him. His voice was so loud you almost didn't know if he was speaking aloud or not.

Just do it, you punk. Walk up there and ask her. What’s the worst that could happen?.... She could plunge a knife into your back- no…. She wouldn't do that and you know it. If you ask her, she might say yes… Honestly that might he worse than-

You swing the door open, startling Bucky back a few paces as your eyes might his. Instantly his face blooms with pink as his mind races- his thoughts an incoherent mess.

“Hi Bucky.” You spoke only above a whisper.

“Oh jesus! I didn't know you were right there.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck trying to steady his breathing.

“Sorry…” You mumbled, breaking eye contact and suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “I didn mean to scare you-”

“You don’t- I mean, you didn't scare me.” He chuckled, his mind suddenly blank. “It doesn't matter right now because I, uh… I was wondering if you're coming for dinner.”

You nodded your head, “Yeah, on my way now.” You smiled softly.

“Great,” Bucky grinned, running his hand through his cropped hair and stepping aside. “I can walk with you.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you swung the door shut and began walking side by side with Bucky in heavy silence.

“Know what’s for dinner?” Bucky finally spoke.

“Pizza. Your favourite.” You affirmed, meeting his curious eyes. His strides slowed until he was at a full stop.

“I never told you that.” He pried, looking at your in question.

You froze, suddenly aware of what you had just said. There was nothing more you wanted than to sink into the floor and let the earth swallow you whole.

“Uh,” You nervously laughed, “You must have at some point. Yeah, I remember now, it was-”

“How often do you listen?” he interrupted, making your mouth clamp shut.

You thought about lying, though it didn't seem right. You knew all his secrets and all he asked was this one. Surely you could grant him that even if it cost a punch to the ego.

“All the time,” You started, your eyes never leaving the floor. “I don’t mean to. At least that’s the way it started. I really try to put you guys all on ‘mute’ when we're together, but your voice always comes through. I don't know what it is, but I like the way you think.” You admitted, feeling heat rising from your chest.

“You like the way I think?” He pried, taking a few steps closer to you. You could feel the tension buzzing around the hallway, ricocheting off the walls and exploding all around you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed. It's such an invasion of privacy. You must hate me. I promise I won't tell anyone about the things I hear. Especially her.”

“Her?” He chuckled, taking another step toward you leaving only a few tiles between the two of you.

“Ведьма.” You choked out. “You think about her all the time. She sounds beautiful, by the way. I’m sorry, that's overstepping… I just, I’m sorry. Really I’ll just go-”

Before you could turn on your heel and run for the hills, Bucky's hands were around your wrists, holding you still. His eyes were pleading as he opened he opened and shut his mouth trying to find the right words to say.

“For a witch, you sure aren’t very intuitive.” Bucky signed, your eyes finally landing on his. “My beautiful witch, don’t know by now?”

You blinked at him, your mouth suddenly dry and words caught in your throat. Before you could speak, his thoughts broke through the air, tumbling around you.

Are you listening, doll? His voice echoed around you sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded your head, watching as his eyes crinkled up as he a lopsided grin formed on his pink lips.

It’s you. It’s always you. I've tried to stop, trust me. I just can’t seem to shake it.

You almost didn't notice the smile that began to pull at the corners of your mouth as you took in his words. They drifted in the air around you, echoing through your mind as Bucky’s thumbs rubbed circles into your skin.

“Ask me.” You spoke up, a sudden confidence serging through your core. Bucky raised a brow, scanning you over until your words resonated with him.

“Right, of course.” He cleared his throat, letting go of your hands and intertwining his own nervously. “Would you ever consider letting me take you out. To dinner, maybe?”

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from giggling as you listened to his internal monologue of nerves that followed his question.

“Took you long enough.” You chuckled, watching as his smile lit up the room around you. Before you could stop yourself you closed the distance between you, draping your arms around his shoulders and crashing your lips onto his. Bucky froze, but almost as instantly melted into you, his hands finding their home on your hips as he pulled you in. You wanted nothing more than to melt into him but his racing thoughts swirled around you, causing a giggle to fall from your lips.

Holy Shit. Kiss her back, you moron. Oh god she smells so good. What is that? Cinnamon? Citrus? Shit, she's so close to me. Don't panic. Don't panic. Fuck she feels good. Just relax, and- Oh shit. Can you hear me?

You couldn't help but throw your head back, laughter bubbling out of your chest as his thoughts raced through his head.

“I can tell you're going to be a lot of fun, Barnes” You mumbled against his lips.

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

A/n: Nervous Bucky is my favourite can you tell? I loved this one, show some love if you felt the same!

@cutie1365 @whateveriwant

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes reader

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all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years

Text

rest well my songbird

its @softdarlingjaskier‘s birthday!!! and i have some soft eskier for him!!! a little birdie kings of the bog told me that you like jaskier getting his hands massaged so...without further ado...

ship: eskier :) (eskel x jaskier)

warnings: jaskier overworks his hands and eskel takes care of them. lamberts an ass for 1 second in true lambert fashion

words: 1.6k

editing: ye

genre: somfte

Jaskier flexed his hands and winced as he put down his lute. Winters offered him more down time than on the road, so he could spend the winter months composing to his heart's content, working on the longer ballads that he often neglected while tagging along on the Path.

The only problem with composing and songwriting non stop was that it made his hands ache terribly.

Between plucking at his lute and gripping his quill, his hands would usually start to protest a month or so into winter. But, as all good songwriters did, he pushed through the pain, willing to continue composing no matter what. He had a reputation to uphold and Witchers to help, after all. He couldn't afford to slack off.

Eskel did not share his views.

Well, neither did Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Aiden, but Eskel was the most vocal about it, often plucking the quill or lute from his hands after so many hours and demanding that he rest. Right when he was in the middle of a good line too! Jaskier had lost so many good ideas to Eskel’s forced breaks.

This was the first time though that he had chosen to take a break on his own that winter, and Eskel was on him in a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flowing off of him in waves as he approached Jaskier, who had been sitting the farthest away from the fire. It wasn’t his fault that the fire would dry out his lute!

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered as he struggled to close his bottle of ink. He didn't want Eskel to worry, but he realized perhaps a second too late that Eskel could probably smell the pain coming off of him.

“That’s not true,” Eskel said, seeing through the lie immediately. “Usually I have to force you to take a break.”

He didn't say anything else and Jaskier sighed. Eskel was waiting for him to admit that he was in pain, despite the fact that he already knew.

“My hands,” he whispered, forgetting that he was in a room full of Witchers with enhanced hearing. “They’re stiff, and sore, and cramped. More than usual.” He looked up at a blurry Eskel and it took him a moment to realize that he had been almost crying.

“Yeah no shit they hurt!” Lambert shouted from the couch. “If you keep fucking playing with that damn lute of yours theyre gonna fuckin fall off!”

“Lambert,” Aiden said sternly. “Shut up.”

Jaskier laughed and tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, but winced when his fingers cramped up.

Eskel brushed his hands away and gently wiped away Jaskier’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You need to not push yourself so hard, Jaskier,” he whispered, pulling Jaskier’s face against his chest. “You don’t need to spend every single waking second of the winter composing. Winters are supposed to be for relaxing, and you haven't been doing much of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier muttered into Eskel’s shirt. He longed to bring his hands up to hug Eskel and reassure him that this was fine, it just happened every so often, but his hands hurt too much. He didn't want them to cramp so hard that they ended up stuck in one position. That was never pleasant.

“No,” Eskel said firmly. “Don’t apologize.”

He tugged Jaskier closer to him, resting his chin on top of his head so that Jaskier was engulfed in the arms of his Witcher. Jaskier inhaled Eskel’s scent deeply. He smelled like he always did in the winters: of wood and musk, chamomile and fresh bread. It was Jaskier’s favorite smell in the world. It meant that his love was well rested and taken care of, healthy for once after a long year on the Path.

Eskel pulled away after a moment and tugged at Jaskier’s upper arm, encouraging him to stand.

“Come here,” he said, his eyes bright with what could only be an idea. And who was Jaskier to say no to him?

He followed Eskel over to the nest of furs that they kept in front of the fire, for puppy piles usually. Eskel directed him to sit down in the nest and then with a stern look not to move, he darted out of the room.

“What the hell is that sneaky fucker- mmph” Lambert’s insult was cut off by Aiden kissing him on the mouth, likely to get him to shut up.

Geralt sighed and turned a page in his book, but Vesemir, who was sitting on the other side of the fire knitting, regarded them with a fond look before turning to Jaskier.

“I have a salve that you could put on your hands, it’ll help with the cramping,” he said.

“Oh! That’s very kind but-”

Jaskier was cut off by Eskel running back into the room.

“I already got it, Vesemir,” Eskel said, walking back to the nest.

Vesemir smiled knowingly and went back to his knitting.

“C’mere Jaskier,” Eskel said, sitting behind him and tugging one of the furs across Jaskier’s lap. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of Jaskier’s chemise before opening the little tub of salve. “Lean back, relax, you don't have to do any more composing today, or tomorrow, or this whole week. I’m going to take care of you.”

Jaskier was glad that his back was to Eskel because he could feel his cheeks flushing.

Eskel picked up Jaskier’s right hand delicately in his much larger, sword calloused ones. “Let me know if I’m hurting you at any point, okay?”

Jaskier nodded and watched, mesmerized, as Eskel began to rub out the cramps in his hand. He started with his fingers, beginning with his pinky finger, and rubbing out the tensions in each of the joints. It was almost painful at first, but Jaskier soon adjusted to it and found himself craving more.

Once Eskel had worked his way slowly through Jaskier’s fingers, he moved to his palm, taking it in both of his hands and massaging it slowly in small, but firm circles. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Eskel murmured. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let his head drop back against Eskel’s shoulder as he looked out at the room. Lambert and Aiden were bickering over a game of Gwent, passing a bottle of White Gul back and forth between them. Geralt was pretending to read, but every so often his eyes would flick up to the game and he’d mutter sometimes useful hints to Lambert and Aiden.

Jaskier watched them fondly as Eskel moved to his wrist, giving the tendons there extra attention. From there he moved up Jaskier’s forearm to his elbow, massaging his skin carefully.

Jaskier flexed his hand experimentally and was surprised when he discovered that he had definitely more movement than before. But Eskel covered his hand scoldingly.

“No,” he said. “Don't go undoing all of my hard work.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “It just felt so nice and-”

“I’m not done yet,” Eskel said, cutting Jaskier off as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Eskel warmed the salve first in his hands before rubbing it against Jaskier’s skin. And Meliele’s sweet tits, if the massage had been heavenly, this was absolutely divine. Vesemir had been right, the salve was positively wonderful, seemingly wonderful, drawing out the pain from his hands almost instantly. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Eskel laughed lightly, rubbing the salve all over Jaskier’s hands and wrists, even going up his arm a little, before reaching for a few small straight planks of wood and a roll of bandages that he must have grabbed while he was getting the salve.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier protested. “Just what are you doing with that?”

“You don't want the salve getting everywhere,” Eskel explained. “So it’s best to put the bandage on until it soaks into your skin. And the splint will help keep your hands from cramping and getting stuck in an uncomfortable position while they’re bandaged.”

“But what is a musician without his hands!”

“A resting, healing one,” Eskel said, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “I’ll help you with everything, my songbird. I’m here to take care of you.”

Jaskier pouted but held his hand out to Eskel to bandage. “You better mean that.”

“Of course I do,” Eskel said, wrapping Jaskier’s hand and wrist in bandages first before placing the wood underneath it and arranging his fingers over it before wrapping it in even more bandages. The end result was a bit clunky looking and Jaskier wasn’t crazy about the fact that he wasn't going to be able to use his hands at all, but Eskel had promised that he would take care of him and Jaksier knew that he would deliver.

“See?” Eskel said, placing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s bandaged hand. “All better.”

Jaskier smiled at his lover's efforts before leaning back against Eskel’s soft chest as he got started on his other hand. He watched his careful ministrations through half lidded eyes before the heat from the fire and the warmth from the furs lulled him into a half asleep state. The only thing keeping him awake was Eskel’s gentle massaging of his hand.

But eventually, Eskel finished, tying off the bandage with another kiss before wrapping his arms around Jaskier.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered truthfully. He was tired, but at least his hands didn't ache so fiercely anymore.

Eskel pressed another kiss to his hair and laid back, tugging Jaskier until he was resting his head on his chest, and wrapped a fur around the two of them.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the bandages off,” Eskel murmured into his ear. “But until then, rest well my songbird.”

And Jaskier did. He fell asleep to the gentle roar of the crackling fire, to Lambert and Aiden’s drunken bickering, and to Eskel’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

happyyyestttt of birthdayssss to peterrrrrr

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#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #jaskel #jaskel fic #jaskel fanfic #eskel #jaskier #eskel x jaskier #theyre SOMFT #saph scribbles

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 4 years

Text

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 10 of 27: Dating

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHAPTER 9

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR AMAZING FEEDBACK! I AM BEYOND GRATEFUL FOR EVERYONE WHO READS THIS STORY! This project has become so important to me and I have so much fun working on it! Thank you thank you thank you! Also - this chapter is a little shorter and more ‘calm’ at first. But be prepared, it’s still very important to everything that follows it!! <33 Enjoy!

Words: 3.1k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader Warnings: none

Two days after Hogsmeade …

Monday morning. You yawned and it turned into a chuckle when Malfoy mimicked you.

“It’s contagious,” he defended himself quietly to avoid attracting Professor Sprouts attention. He sat next to you, way back in the last row of the classroom. It had been your idea – after finding out that almost none of your friends believed your act, it seemed like a good idea to sit next to each other during classes. Maybe it would help convince them.

With a flick of her wand, Professor Sprout made an assignment appear on the blackboard. Nothing too difficult. You walked to the front to get the small flower you were supposed to work with and Ron glared at you from his seat. You ignored him.

Back at your table, Malfoy and you started working together quietly. When you looked at his notes, you leaned over a little too closely, feeling dizzy from the smell of his cologne. Whenever he reached for something, his hand brushed over yours. His comments were accompanied by smiles and direct eye contact. He played his part so well, you almost believed it. From the corners of your vision, you saw Ron staring.

You acted the same in every class that you shared. During breaks, you stayed together – always a few feet away from the others. You discovered how funny he could be when he gave you live-commentary of a fight happening between a Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

In the evening, you came back to your dorm, feeling unusually content. Not even the letter from the parents on your desk changed that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, your mother had written. I simply don’t understand and I am scared for you. I can’t lose you too.

“Oh, mum,” you whispered, rubbing your neck. Then you sat down and reached for a quill. She deserved the truth. At least, a little of it.

***

One week after Hogsmeade …

Draco was happy.

Well, maybe happy was a little exaggerated but he felt … calmer. He used to spend his free time by himself which gave him plenty of opportunities to think. About the war, his parents, himself – and it nearly killed him. The notebook was an escape, a good way to focus, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how many pages he filled, he still felt himself sliding away from his surroundings. Now he spent that time with you – and things began to change. In those few days he even stopped dreading getting out of bed because Draco had finally something to look forward to again: spending time with you.

Draco considered you his friend. A part of him had trouble with the realization since being around someone like you went against everything his parents taught him but he tried tirelessly to shut it off. No, you were his friend and being around you made him feel almost okay.

“What are you writing?”

The sound of your voice caused Draco to look up from his notebook. The two of you sat in the library. You were across from him, finishing up on some homework. Draco shrugged. What was he supposed to say? I’m writing about you? Certainly not.

“Can I read it at some point?”, you tilted your head in curiosity. You did that a lot, Draco noticed. It reminded him of a puppy.

Am I comparing her to a dog?, he scolded himself in the next second. No, he didn’t mean it like that. He meant to think that he thought it was cute when you did that. You … were cute.

“It’s okay,” you finally said with a smile when you sensed his hesitation. “It’s personal, I get it – or do you keep track of dirty dreams in it?” You teased him.

“Only of the dreams involving you,” he winked at you, causing you to snort. Despite the joke, Draco was relieved you didn’t dig any further.

From where he sat, he had a direct view of the huge door leading inside the library. This was the reason why he saw the Greengrass sisters walking in, their gaze immediately landing upon him. He casually reached over the table and softly began to draw circles on your soft skin with the tip of his finger. He smirked at your shiver.

“Ron?”, you asked, not looking up from your book.

“Astoria,” he replied.

A few minutes later, Astoria and Daphne left again. Draco didn’t pull his hand away.

***

Two weeks after Hogsmeade …

Snowflakes were dancing in the cold winter air as you sat on the bleachers with Malfoy. Down on the Quidditch field, the Slytherins were practicing under the strong rule of Zabini. Games were cancelled but they still needed to stay in shape.

“I never pictured you as an Auror,” Malfoy confessed. He had asked about your future plans just seconds before.

“Why?”, you wanted to know.

He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I always thought you’d become … a healer. Or a teacher maybe.”

His words made you laugh. “Are you serious?”

Malfoy nodded.

“Well, no,” you shrugged. “I wanted to be an Auror since I was little girl. And I’ll make it, believe me.”

He raised his hands in a defensive manner. “I have no doubts about that. It simply surprised me.”

You chuckled another time at the thought of becoming a teacher. It had always been the furthest thing on your mind. You loved Hogwarts, it had been your home for years but you craved to see more from the world. Especially since the war happened. You didn’t want to spend your whole life in this castle.

“What do you want to do?”, you then asked, curious as to what his answer might be. It was hard for you to picture him outside of school.

Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It surprised you. “Really?”, you wondered. “Pureblood families like yours normally have a plan set up for their kids, don’t they?”

“Normally,” he laughed bitterly. “My father wanted me to follow his footsteps and get some high-ranking job in the Ministry. That’s not an option anymore. For obvious reasons.”

He was probably right. The wounds were still too fresh. The chances for a former Death Eater to be employed in the Ministry of Magic were slim.

You stayed on the bleachers for hours. It had only been a little over two weeks since the Halloween party and yet you had become a lot closer to Malfoy than you expected. You felt comfortable talking to him. Both of you had very different childhoods and friends – you came from different worlds. However, it was precisely this fact that made it easy to talk to each other. You were almost certain that he felt the same.

***

Three weeks after Hogsmeade …

Draco watched you flick through the pages of a magazine and for the first time since that night in the storage room, he saw you. And by Merlin, how beautiful you were.

He sat on the couch in the Room of Requirements with you, listening to the flames crackling in the small fireplace in front of him. You were laying down on your back, head propped up against the armrest, a small wrinkle on your forehead as you read the descriptions in the magazine. Your legs were stretched out and on his lap. Draco wondered why – no one would be around to see you anyways.

“Stop staring, Malfoy, it’s creepy,” you giggled.

Draco blinked as he snapped back into reality. “I’m not staring, I’m thinking, Y/L/N.”

“Think without staring at me.”

Easier said than done.

Draco cleared his throat. “What are you looking at anyways?”

“Christmas presents for my parents. But,” you clicked your tongue, “I can’t find anything good.”

Draco grabbed your legs and lifted them slightly while moving over closer to you. “Let me see. I’m awesome at getting gifts.”

***

Four weeks after Hogsmeade …

When December arrived, Hogwarts felt like home again. A cheerful atmosphere filled the castle, accompanied by snowball fights outside and hot chocolates in the common rooms. As if a spell was lifted, something changed within the students and parents alike.

You happily noticed how Ginny needed less and less of her sleeping medicine. The nightmares slowly faded, being replaced by happier memories. The letters from your mother barely mentioned your sister anymore. Instead, she talked about carriage rides in the snow with your father and her plans for Christmas dinner. For the first time in a while, you looked forward to going home.

You wondered if it was the same for Draco. When they put up the Christmas tree in the Great Hall, he got even more quiet than usual. It planted an idea inside your head and on that same day, you wrote a letter to your parents, asking them if he could spend the holidays with them. They agreed. It came to no surprise to you; your mother was eager to meet him and see if her prejudices and fears would be proven right.

“I don’t want to impose,” Draco said with a stern voice when you told him after dinner.

“You’re not! I asked them and they want to meet you. Come on,” you insisted.

He watched you with uncertainty and furrowed brows. “I don’t know. I can’t –”

“What are your plans for Christmas?”, you interrupted him.

Draco looked away at the question; that same expression of bitterness on his face that you’d seen too often for your own liking.

“I thought so,” you said softly. “Please, Draco, come with me.”

He sighed and wiped his hands over his eyes. “Why would they even want to meet me?”

You smiled widely. “You’re my boyfriend.” Never would you have thought it would sound normal to say that.

“Yes, but –”, he lowered his voice, “– but not really.”

True. For a weird reason, it stung a little to be reminded by him. “I am your friend though, aren’t I?”

He blinked at the word ‘friend’ and you wondered if he felt differently about it. Then he nodded.

“Awesome!”, you exclaimed, shooing away your worries. “Then it’s settled. Christmas at my place.”

In that moment, Harry and Ron walked passed you. Ron didn’t even glance at you. How weird, you wondered, this was the first time in days that you thought about him.

***

Five weeks after Hogsmeade …

My dearest Draco,

I am delighted to hear that Y/N’s family invited you for Christmas. They are very kind to do so. Please remember to bring a little housewarming gift. Although it hurts me to be away from you this Christmas, I do believe it’s a better option for you than visiting your grandparents with me. I’m sure the holidays will be spent in a rather somber spirit this year as your father will be unable to join us. I want you to have at least a little fun and am looking forward to your stories.

Lots of love, your Mother

P.S.: I met with Mrs. Greengrass yesterday. She is not upset and gave me her word to wait until you are ready.

Draco shook his head in amusement when he finished reading the letter. Only his mother could wish him a nice time with his (fake) girlfriend and then continue with ‘if you’re done having fun, your fiancée is still available’.

“That’s why pureblood traditions are fucked up,” was something you would say right now. But you weren’t here. You were practicing for the first Quidditch game in the new year and Draco sat in his dorm, waiting for Blaise to get ready.

Reading the letter a second time, he started to wonder. Why would Mrs. Greengrass wait? Why did their family want this union so desperately? The questions were lingering on his mind ever since you brought them up months ago. He failed to come up with an answer to this day.

“Please don’t tell me that’s a letter to Y/N,” Blaise announced when he stepped out of the bathroom.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s from my mother, idiot.”

“Good,” his friend sighed dramatically. “Because I rarely get to see you now that you have her. No need for you to start writing love letters when she’s not around.”

Even though his nagging slightly annoyed Draco, he realized something in this moment: it had worked. The whole PDA and ‘being-more-affective-in-public’- thing worked. It had been almost two weeks since Theo or Blaise (or even Astoria) tried to get him to confess that they were faking it. His friends started to believe them.

“Yeah, whatever,” Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand and put the letter away. “Maybe I just don’t want to see you, Zabini, and it has nothing to do with Y/N.”

Blaise laughed. “No, you love me too much. Now, let’s go. Theo’s waiting for us.”

***

Six weeks after Hogsmeade …

A loud shriek echoed through the classroom and you almost dropped the container of cat teeth on the floor. Parkinson jumped up and down, trying to get a slimy violet mass shaken off her leg. It didn’t budge and made its way up her pants, accompanied by absolutely disgusting slurping and smacking sounds. You tried hard to suppress a laugh but when you saw the way Harry grinned behind her, you couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling.

Professor Slughorn hurried over and quickly cast a spell. The mass fell down to the floor and stopped moving. “Oh well, Ms. Parkinson,” he quickly glanced inside her cauldron. “It’s important to add the cat teeth before the mandrake juice.” Then he knelt down in front of her, inspecting her pants. “It looks like nothing got on your skin. If I am mistaken, please go and see Madame Pomfrey. It can leave nasty burns behind.”

The Slytherin girl nodded, still in shock.

“What happened?”, Draco joined you at your table. He had gone to the backroom, to gather missing ingredients.

“Parkinson got attacked by her potion,” you sneered while counting the cat teeth. “It was hilarious.”

“I bet,” he grinned, before skimming over the instructions again.

“I think I need to go and see Madame Pomfrey,” Parkinson whined behind you. “It got through the fabric of my pants.”

As if, you thought and rolled your eyes.

“Please go,” you heard Slughorn say. “Better not take any chances. Interestingly, this modified form of the potion has been used in the past. They removed foreign magical particles with it, such as certain marks that resulted from dark spells. It is very aggressive though and since then, the healers have invented different potions. However, when it touches your normal skin, it only leaves burns and scars. Please, Ms. Parkinson, please go. Mr. Nott, you can accompany her.”

“Huh,” Draco made next to you. “What did she do wrong again?”

You sighed when you saw that you had miscounted the teeth. Damnit.

“Y/N?”

“What?”, you looked at him.

Draco stared at the liquid inside the cauldron, a blank expression on his face. “What did Pansy do wrong?”

“She put in the mandrake juice before the cat teeth.” You frowned. “Why?”

“No reason.”

***

That same day …

It was late when you returned from Quidditch practice; tired and sweaty. All you craved was a shower and then your bed. Playing that sport in your free time was one thing but practicing under Ginny as Captain? You were glad that you didn’t die yet.

“Y/L/N!”

Someone shouted your name as you walked inside the castle.

“Y/L/N!”

Irritated, you turned around, trying to make out the person that voice belonged to.

“Y/L/N, here!” Theodore Nott sprinted down the stairs, coming from the direction of the Gryffindor common room. “Fuck, we looked everywhere for you!”, he cursed, completely out of breath, when he finally reached you.

“We?”, you asked with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

You then noticed the fear in his eyes. He gripped so tightly onto the stair railings that his knuckles turned white and his whole body was trembling. Panic began to dwell up inside of you. Draco.

“It’s Draco, something happened,” he panted. “You have to come, please!”

Your blood froze. “What’s going on?!”, your voice turned shrill but he ran down the stairs again.

“Come!”, he shouted. “Now!”

The two of you sprinted down stairs and hallways, passing confused classmates on the way. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you repeated the same sentence over and over again in your head: Something happened to Draco. The thought of it was unbearable and it hit you like a brick wall, making it hard to breathe. Please, no. Not him.

When you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Theodore turned to you abruptly. He grabbed you by your shoulders. “Act normal,” he hissed. “Walk slowly. They don’t need to know.”

You nodded absently. Your hands were clam and you tried to calm down your breathing.

“Okay,” he didn’t seem convinced that you understood him. Then he mumbled the password and the door opened.

Under normal circumstances, you would have stopped in the middle of the room, looking around in awe. You’d never been here before; it was a mystery to you. But now, you only briefly glanced at the green and black furniture. There weren’t many students around. The ones that saw you, stared at your red Quidditch robes.

“What the fuck?”, someone said loudly. “What’s she doing here?!”

Nott ignored them, leading you quickly to the stairs that must have led up to the dorms. You noticed the windows on the way up and gasped when you realized that you didn’t look at the fields of Hogwarts. You were under the Black Lake.

“Finally,” Zabini exclaimed. He had waited in front of a door, looking just as shaken up as Nott. “You found her.”

“What’s going on?”, you asked for the third time now. “Where is he?”, your voice trembled a little.

“In here,” Nott pointed at the room. “In the bathroom. He locked himself in.”

“He wouldn’t let us in and asked for you,” Zabini continued with a quiet voice, fidgeting with his hands. “It’s … you’ll see. Just go in and help him.” He paused briefly. “Please.”

You nodded and reached for the door handle. Three deep breaths. One … two … three.

You pushed open the door and stepped in, closing it softly behind you. Looking around, everything looked perfectly ordinary. Three beds, three wardrobes, a table. Your gaze wandered over to the door that lead into the bathroom. Then you heard it – a sob. And another one. Someone was crying. He was crying. Your heart broke at the sound.

“Draco?”

***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! <33 Also: did you notice Y/N stopped calling him “Malfoy” halfway through the chapter and switched to “Draco”?

CHAPTER 11

“Choose Me Instead” Masterlist HP Masterlist

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

At Dawn’s Break III

PB!Dio Brando x Maid!Reader, Jonathan Joestar x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: none! sfw, mention of death, but nothing too graphic. Mostly plot. Not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Technically yandere Dio but its very tame

Notes: Part One- sfw, Part Two- nsfw, Part Four - nsfw

This has been in my drafts for so long I’m so sorry. I do have a friend helping me edit my ao3 stuff so there might be some grammatical differences between that and the stuff posted here but i'll try to keep it as consistent as possible- story-wise its still the same.

In the coming months, word would arrive of your father’s death.

Sad wasn’t the right word for it. The man was old, sick, and frail. He fell ill and never recovered. Things like that happen. It was expected. His passing was quiet, happening in the early hours in the morning. You had grieved his death long before it actually happened. Your love for him was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. He was never a proper parent, the harsh expectations of life were thrown upon you rather young. At nineteen you were left as the sole guardian of your siblings. Some nights you would scream about the unfairness of it all, others you would wallow in your pity. The constant "sorry for your loss"s infuriated you. It would not bring him back. It would not fix this hole you've dug for yourself. It did nothing to justify what you've gone through. The world wasn't going to stop spinning just for you to feel sorry for yourself.

So you returned to work.

Your meetings with Dio grew fewer and further apart. Your conversations were short, ending with arguments. What he could dish out, you threw right back. Often you found yourself bitter and frustrated with him, leaving much space between the two of you. It wasn’t that you loved him any less, but he wasn’t exactly understanding in this matter. Neither of his fathers- adopted or biological- could he stand. Putting it plainly: Dio was awful at comforting people. Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Going to him for comfort was out of the question.

Your life was soon after consumed by the mundane nature of work. The repetition of it you found soothing. It was nice to have a routine. Even if Dio wasn’t there for you, it was. The head maid took notice in your sudden interest in work, and blamed Dio for your lacking efforts. You just nodded and kept your head down.

Mr. Joestar would soon fall ill. Due to his old age, it didn’t come as a surprise to many. Very few questioned it. He was older, but seemingly healthy at the time. He fell sick overnight with the flu, which soon turned to pneumonia. It was not looking like he would recover. His coughing fits could be heard from across the manor. Much of it reminded you of your own father, so you often stayed away, only coming around when it was asked of you.

It makes you wonder if Dio feels the same sense of duty to his father. Probably not. He does not understand family ties in the same way you do. He was very attentive when Mr. Joestar fell ill, often providing medicine for him. If you were called to help, he would go in your place. It feels false, like a mockery of a doting son. Yes- he's providing for his father, but it feels like an alien trying to copy a human. Like a robot trying to replicate human love. It’s not out of any kindness in his heart. What he feels isn’t love. Sometimes you don’t think he’s capable of it. But if he did love something, it was power. He’d never admit it, but it was also you. Having you so consumed with grief enraged him. It was a childish want for attention that he found hard to conceal. He never took out his anger on you, finding himself afraid of turning out to be like his birth father driving his mother into an early grave. Often he thought about how easily he could force your hand, make you chose between him and your family. Deep down he didn’t want to toss out an ultimatum. You had just as much of a bite as him; unstoppable force meets immovable object. In no way he saw that ending well. Others had noticed the growing distance between you. People talked- as they did- rumors spread.

“Y/N.” Jonathan’s voice startles you.

“Mister Joestar, how-”

“Call me Jonathan.”

You cringe at the interruption.

“Jonathan.” You say. “How can I help you?”

“Will you take a walk with me?”

He guides you out to the garden. Winter has left it scraggly and barren, washed out in cold, white light. A few wilting leaves cling to the trees. Only a handful of rooms are lit within the house. It feels personal, being dragged through the place where you spent so many of your nights with your lover. Calling him that feels strange. Lover seems like too innocent of a word.

Over your time at the Joestar estate, there isn’t much you know about Jonathan. Dio talked of him. Often. It was never good, though he had a way of exaggerating things. By now you’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt. Your meetings with the second Joestar son have been few and rather brief. He seems sweet, albeit a bit naive and too engrossed in high society to talk with the likes of you. The girls in the kitchen swoon over him, although he’s sweet on a neighbor girl. Erina- you’ve heard of her. She’s been over for dinner before.

"How are you?" He asks.

"Fine, I suppose." You say, a bit irritated with the small talk. "What is it you need of me?"

"I heard what happened," absentmindedly he picks at his nails, "and I wanted to give my condolences. I imagine this situation is... unpleasant for you."

"I manage." You say. "But I doubt that's what you brought me out here for."

He nods. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask away. I'd be happy to answer."

“You’re close with Dio, aren’t you?” He asks.

“A bit. Why?”

While you’re almost certain he knows, it feels easier to lie. You were not the star-crossed lovers that Jonathan and Erina were, the type of partners that made the girls you work with swoon and wish for such a thing, the type of love people write books about but fail to recreate. Your relationship was more out of a mutual agreement than it was proper love, but you suppose it was there. The two of you were angry, scathing people who were capable of god knows what. Together you could be terrifying.

“You two seem to spend quite a lot of time together.” He says. “Have you noticed anything strange with him?”

“No.” You say. “I haven't noticed anything like that."

"He's awfully attentive with father..."

"It's bizarre." You say. He laughs.

"I'm heading to London in a few days- to the university. Father's medicine hasn't been working, and I want it to be examined." From his coat pocket he produces a small green bottle. it's familiar. Dio has one quite like it.

"Do you need anything while you're away?" You ask, wishing to get back to your work. There was laundry that needed to be done.

"No," he says, turning to you, "thank you for your time. I should get going."

Before you can leave, he stops you.

"I know it's no business of mine, but my brother is bad news. You're a sweet girl and I don't want anything to happen to you. Dio is capable of things you couldn't even imagine."

"You're right. It is no business of yours."

He gives you a quick goodbye before leaving you alone in the garden.

Over time, Dio has grown more serious about keeping you close. He has a malicious, possessive streak to him. Your recent distance has only brought that out more. There is no talk of marriage- his adoptive father would never approve- but he talks of the future. Often. For you, the future meant work. To some extent, you could live with that. You never knew what it meant for him. He jokes of world domination.

You’re not quite sure you want to rule the world, but you do want to get out of London.

You stop just under the apple tree. It’s sickly and sad looking. The last of the fruit has fallen off and rotted. A few wilting leaves cling onto the branches. Jonathan gives you a quick goodbye, before returning to the house.

The door to his room is open. A lantern is lit, though the curtains are drawn shut. There’s no need to knock, you’re the only person who will walk in.

“Sit with me, pet.” Dio says.

Maybe the nickname has grown on you. It no longer draws out the same reaction of disgust and discomfort. Time has softened your hard outer shell. He opens his arms and instinctively you go into them. His chest feels unnaturally cold, but being so close to him makes you feel safe. The smell of his cologne is familiar and comforting, you find yourself leaning in closer. You allow yourself this one moment of weakness. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“I don’t have long,” you say, “I must get back.”

He pulls you closer. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Jonathan came and talked with me earlier.” You say.

You could almost swear you heard his heart skip a beat. His grip around you loosens, allowing you to shift to face him. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” He says. “I figured he would.”

“Why?”

You almost ask what he’s done.

Accusing him of something would only make him shut down. You already have a guess. The entire conversation leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a constant unease and discomfort, more than it is outright pain. He's scheming- as he does- but more importantly, he hasn't told you about it.

“My brother doesn't believe in my ways.” He says. "I would never do anything to hurt father. It's no fault of mine that he won't recover."

"Then tell me what was in the bottle." You say. "As of right now, Jonathan is on his way to get that 'medicine' tested."

"I never gave any of it to him."

Jonathan won't see it that way. The authorities surely won't be as kind as his brother. And if he gets caught- what then?

"So you give it to someone else- so some unassuming person is killing him."

Dio doesn’t respond. Do you really expect more of him? He’s proven to be capable of many things. You’ve long since learned he wants to be the sole heir to the Joestar estate. It was a given. Power is something he craves. As much as he jokes about world domination, there's always a serious tone behind them. In the beginning, it just seemed like his nature; he was always collected and intense. Some truth must have been behind them. He makes no attempt to hide that. But this...

Murder is a bit too cold-blooded for your tastes. Morally you don’t have the high ground. You don’t find yourself above much, but you'd like to think you're above murder. If its what you need to do to survive, you believe you'd give it a pass, but as the time comes you're less sure of it. Mr. Joestar gave Dio an opportunity that doesn’t even come once in a lifetime for many. It feels like a slap in the face, just adding insult to injury. This feels like betrayal in the purest sense of the word. While you aren’t close to his father, you have a bit of respect for the man. His death would not cause you the same grief as your own father’s, but you would be sad.

But he is old, and not all old people recover from illness.

Most of the estate would go to Jonathan upon his father’s death. Really, this seems short-sighted. As the younger son, Dio isn’t entitled to all that much. But getting rid of his brother might be easier said than done. Part of you is angry for how little he’s thought this through. Truly, you expected more from him. With as much as he schemes, you had expected a better plan.

Your reaction isn’t quite what he expected. Anything but blind love and acceptance is seen as betrayal to him. To you, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.

If he fails- if- there is no recovering from this. If he is caught, many signs point to you as an accomplice.

Silently he exits, leaving you alone in his dark room.

#jjba #jojo part 1 #phantom blood #jojo's bizarre adventure #dio brando #dio #dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #yandere dio brando #i guess???#yandare dio brando x reader #cw yandere #ik i abandoned this for a full month #but #its back #fem!reader

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theoreticslut · 3 years

Text

Snowed In

pairing: fred weasley x reader

requested: yes - 4, 21, 43, 47, 71, 76, 81, & 95 from holiday prompt list

Baking desserts, ice skating, getting snowed in, sharing a blanket, “you look really cute in that sweater,” “keep me warm,” “can we cuddle?”, & “stop eating the cookies!”

word count: 4.5k (5.3k w/ bonus ending)

warnings: fluff, some suggestive comments, mentions of seeing a bum??

A/N: Oh my gosh, okay. I really liked writing this even though it took me forever to get done. I really hope you all still like it. It’s been kinda hard to write anything involving snow and the holidays because the holiday cheer just wasn’t there for me this year and we’re having a very puny winter at the moment so I’m a bit upset with it. Anyways, the story is cute and I really hope you guys think so too! Let me know as always what you think & reblogs are very much appreciated Xx

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You sigh as you stare out at the soft gray sky. You know it’s supposed to snow later on tonight, but the only tell of it is the light covering of clouds that’s making it feel dreary. Other than that it’s as calm and peaceful as can be.

Currently you’re curled up on the weasley’s couch as most of the family is out visiting a distant relative. You’ve been friends with Fred and George since the beginning of your guys first year, and often got invited over for extended periods of time during breaks, especially since you met Ginny and she claimed you as a sister.

It was normal for you to make yourself comfortable at the house even if no one was around. That’s how often and how welcomed you were there.

Fortunately, you weren’t completely alone as Fred had stayed behind. He was currently napping up in his room, or so you were last aware. You had been doing various activities for the last few hours. You went from doing some class work, to reading a fictional muggle book that you had bought on one of your trips to the bookstore in hogsmeade with hermione, to writing in your journal.

You were getting a bit bored, but you had no idea what to do to help it. You’d love to go ice skating, but you didn’t really feel like going alone and you didn’t think Fred would enjoy it. Normally, you and Ginny would go together. You had no idea when she’d be back though.

“Hey, princess. What’re you doing?” Fred asks, yawning as he walks into the living room.

“Not much. Have a nice nap?”

He yawns again, smiling lazily as he sits down in the chair next to the couch.

“Seems it.” You chuckle, shaking your head at the sleepy red-head.

He smiles, stretching out his muscles as you discreetly watch him. You’d be lying if you said the older of your two best friends didn’t stir up butterflies in your stomach. You’re not sure when exactly it happened, but being around him made you nervous.

“Sorry to leave you all alone. Must have been pretty boring down here.”

“I’ve managed. I’ve only just started to get bored, actually. You have some decent timing.” You state, smiling lightly.

“It’s almost as if I know when you’re getting bored then, huh?” He jokes, causing you to roll your eyes at his idiocy.

“Oh please, Fred. As if you’re that in tune to anyone but George.” You scoff, not believing one bit that he could ever read you that well.

“You’d be surprised, princess, at how in tune am I to others.”

You look up at him as his words surprise you. He’s smirking and watching you intently, almost as if he’s trying to see your reaction.

His intensity shocks you as he’s never once given you this much direct attention with such smugness. You wonder if he knows what he does to you.

“Is that right?”

“It is. Now, did you have anything you wanted to do?”

You look at him confused, drawing a chuckle from him. At this you only look at him more confused as he smiles, shaking his head.

“You said you were getting bored, didn’t you?”

“Oh!” You chuckle.

“Guess I forgot. Didn’t you know that bantering with you is entertaining enough?” You tease.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he throws a pillow at you. This is how it’s always been and you wouldn’t change a thing. You loved how easy and comfortable spending time with either of the twins was. Sure there were awkward moments occasionally, but there’s not a single relationship on the planet that hasn’t had a few awkward moments here and there. All three of you just seemed to fit, like three pieces of a puzzle made for each other.

“Seriously though, y/n. Did you have any ideas on what to do? It’s so quiet around here it’s actually making me uncomfortable.”

You smile, shrugging as you look out the window again.

“I mean, ice skating sounds fun, but usually Ginny and I go together.”

“Okay. Well let’s go.” He states.

“Yeah?”

“I know how to ice skate too. It’s not just Ginny, you know.” He chuckles, watching you.

You watch him in confusion. You’ve been friends with him for years and you’ve never once heard him mention ice skating.

“Really? You’ve never once gone with us. Or even mentioned it for that matter.” You state, quirking a brow at him.

“I mean, it’s been a few years but I’m sure I still remember how.”

~.~

“I thought you said you remembered how to skate, Freddie.” You chuckle, watching as the lanky red-head slips over and over, not been able to find his balance from the second he stepped onto the ice.

“Shove off, y/l/n. Woah!”

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips as he nearly falls, his arms swinging all over as he attempts to steady himself.

He sends you a small glare, trying to pout in frustration, but as soon as he sees your smile he can’t help but smile himself.

“How long has it been exactly since you’ve lasted skated, Fred?” You ask as you skate backwards in front of him.

“Uh, well, I don’t know. Awhile.”

“Uh, huh. I think you need to learn how to again.” You simply state, teasing him just a little.

“Well if you’re so good at it, why don’t you teach me?” He grumbles.

“Do you want me to teach you?” You ask, eyebrows raising in question as you smirk lightly.

“I mean, you’re not going to get pouty on me are you? If you can’t get it in the first few tries.”

“I don’t get pouty. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He huffs, catching his balance for a second. Granted he’s bent right over forward, knees bent and arms out in front of him, but he’s balanced.

“Yeah, huh. Sure you don’t, Freddie.” You chuckle, skating around him.

“Just teach me, please. I used to be pretty decent.”

You smile, skating back over to him to help him stand up at the very least. If he was actually going to be able to skate any by the end of the day still remained a question.

~.~

“Come on, y/n! Let’s goooo, it’s cold!” Fred urges, pulling you behind him as the two of you run back to the burrow.

You had both been having a lot of fun skating that you ignored the snow that started falling until it started picking up more and more. After about half an hour Fred managed to get the hang of ice skating again, which honestly impressed you. You didn’t think he’d get it, if he ever knew how to in the first place.

Since you both were having fun, you didn’t want to stop. After awhile though, the wind started to pick up, turning both of your guys’ cheeks and noses red. It had only started snowing about ten minutes ago, but it was quickly accumulating. Only then, when the both of you stopped to change shoes again, did you realize just how cold the both of you were.

It probably didn’t help that you both had to sit in the snow to change shoes and that Fred just had to throw snowballs at you....which you had to throw back.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Fred.” You giggle. “I’m sorry you have the legs of a giant and I don’t.”

“If that’s the case,“ he stops abruptly, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder “-then I guess I’ll just have to carry you.”

“Fred!”

You can’t help but laugh, both shocked and amused at him carrying you. This isn’t the first time that this has happened, Merlin knows the twins have carried you over their shoulders more than enough times while running from Filch or Mrs.Norris after setting up a prank, but it still took you by surprise each time.

“Freddie, put me down!” You laugh, swatting at his back.

“Not until we’re inside where it’s warm. I’m freezing!”

“But Freddie I feel like I’m going to fall off!”

“Well just hold on then.”

You pout, not loving that he won’t put you down. Nonetheless, you awkwardly wrap your arms around his waist so you don’t fall.

Once you’re finally inside and back on your own two feet you sigh, not able to help the small giggle that leaves your body.

“You’re mad, you know that? You could have just given me a piggy back ride instead of toss me over your shoulder like some rag doll.”

“Hey, at least you were wearing pants this time, princess.” He chuckles, your cheeks immediately flushing as he sends a small wink your way.

----------

“Y/n, I swear to Merlin!” George huffs as he notices you falling behind even though he grabbed your hand and has been pulling you along behind him.

“Little legs, George! Little legs!”

He huffs, grabbing you around the waist and tossing you over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

You shriek as he does so, shocked and out of breath from running.

For a minute or two it’s fine, but you can feel your skirt start to scrunch up at your waist as he runs. That’s when you feel the cool air hitting the tops of your thighs.

“George! My skirt!” You gasp, trying to reach to pull down the fabric before either of them see more of you than you want them to.

“Wha-oh!”

George blushes as he notices your ass completely on view for anyone and everyone as your skirt had ridden up.

“Come on you two-ooh! Godric, y/n.” Fred exclaims as he abruptly covers his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge what he’d just seen.

There’s no denying it though as he can’t help but get a second glance before his brother has set you down. He��s always liked your bottom, but now he has an idea of what covers it day to day. He blushes just thinking about how great your ass looked adorned in black silk with lace detailing.

“We don’t need to talk about this.” You huff, straightening out your skirt before jumping at the sound of Filch a hallway away.

“Let’s go!”

Before either boy can really process the fact they just saw your underwear, the three of you are running back towards the common room again.

It wasn’t until the three of you were safe on the sofa, having caught your breath for a minute or so when the two of them started making comments about your panties.

----------

“I said we’re not to talk about it anymore, Fred.” You flush, annoyed at the redhead, but not angry.

“I’m not talking about it! Just making a statement...although I do wonder what you’re wearing now.”

He smirks which only earns him a smack in the chest from you while blushing wildly.

“I’m joking, princess! I swear!”

“For your sake, Weasley, you better be.”

“So aggressive.” He chuckles, pulling his boots off as you take off your jacket.

“Well, what do you want to do now?”

You shrug, frowning as you look out the window to see the snow only seeming to pick up more.

You really hope that the rest of the Weasley’s get back safe as they had taken the car.

You shiver slightly as the snow that had gotten stuck to your clothes melts, thoroughly wetting the fabric and letting the cold seep into your bones.

“Why don’t we bake some cookies? It might help us warm up and I’m sure your siblings will be happy whenever they return.”

“Who cares about my siblings, y/n. We-“ he points between the both of you- “can enjoy the cookies.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head at the redhead. Of course he’d want to eat them all.

“We’ll be saving some for everyone, Fred.”

“Do we have to though?”

“Yes, Fred. Now I need to change before we start baking. I’m wet and cold because someone had to throw snowballs at me.”

You hear him chuckle as you send a glare over your shoulder, making your way up to ginny’s bedroom to change your clothes. You slip out of your jeans and into a pair of leggings, sliding on the first sweater you pulled out of your bag. You didn’t really care what it was, as long as it was warm.

Before heading back down you dig out your slippers and slide them onto your feet, hoping to Merlin that all of it will warm you up.

“Alright, Freddie. Let’s make some cookies, yeah?”

He smiles as you walk back into the kitchen, watching as you tie back your hair. He smiles even more when he catches what sweater you’re wearing.

“That sweater comfy, princess?”

“Yeah. Warm too.” You answer absentmindedly, already moving around the kitchen to gather ingredients.

“Yeah? I’ve been looking for it.”

He smirks as you send him a confused look, watching you as you look down at the shirt.

You smile lightly as you realize it’s one of his, the large ‘F’ in the middle unmistakable.

“You said you didn’t want it back if I remember correctly.”

“That’s right. It looks better on you anyways.”

“Of course it looks better on me, Fred. I’m cuter than you.”

You can’t help but smile and giggle as he laughs, throwing the hand towel at you.

“You know it’s true.”

“What have George and I done to you, princess? You used to be so quiet when we first met.” Fred chuckles, leaning against the counter beside you.

“You’ve made me feel comfortable.” You shrug, smiling lightly as you look away from your best friend. “Now let’s make some cookies!”

~.~

“Fred! Stop eating the cookies!” You sigh, swatting his hand as he reaches for another one.

“But they’re so good! Better than mum’s if I’m honest.”

You smile, shaking your head at him but still sighing as he takes another cookie.

It’s nearing 7 in the evening and you’ve yet to see or hear from any of the other Weasley siblings. You really hoped they were okay.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just worried about your family. It’s getting kinda late and the snow is really coming down. I just hope they’re safe.”

“And would you please stop eating the cookies?” You ask exasperatedly.

“Fine. We’ll just have to make more sometime then.” Fred pouts, moving around the counter to stand next to you.

“I’m sure they’re fine, y/n. It’s nice to know you worry about us, but everyone is with mum and dad. They’re fine.”

Just as he finishes talking you both hear a knocking at the window, both of you moving forward to the small window behind the sink.

“Oh, finally.” You sigh, finding an owl with a letter tied to its ankle.

You push open the window, taking in how fast the snow has piled up on the ground below, before letting the owl inside,

“Poor thing. Must be freezing.” You tut as you close the window back up, the wind howling in and sending a shiver through your body again.

You take the letter from the bird’s ankle, gently petting its head and sending Fred to get some treats for it as you read the letter.

“Here you are.” Fred smiles, feeding the bird.

“Looks like everyone is stuck at your Aunt’s, Freddie. They said the snow started even earlier than it did here and it’s yet to stop. Your mum wishes us a good night, tells us to be safe and to behave ourselves. They’re hoping to be back tomorrow, but it might even be the day after.”

Fred nods, his attention still on the beautiful owl but he had heard what you said.

“So we’re alone for the night, huh? Wonder what we can do just the two of us.”

“Watch a movie? Play a game of wizards chess?” You suggest, even though you’re sure he had something else in mind.

It’s not like you wouldn’t be down for that, it’s just that you and Fred were friends. Sure you and the twins make flirty comments to each other, you and Fred especially, and you did like him, but you weren’t dating.

“That’s not quite what I was thinking.” He chuckles, finally turning to face you.

“I know what you were thinking, Freddie. You’re always thinking of it no matter who’s around.”

“Not true! You make it sound like that’s all I ever think about.” He playfully pouts.

“Isn’t it?”

“No. I think about other things.”

“Like what? Pranks?”

He pouts at you, but he’s not really upset as a second later he’s breaking out into a grin as you giggle.

“Sometimes, but I also think things like how you look cute in that sweater. Or even how we should maybe make some more cookies now, so we can finish eating the ones we already made?”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves your body. You’ve know this boy for how many years now and he’s barely changed. He will forever be flirty and love his sweets even if he claims not to.

“How about we actually try to find something for dinner instead of just cookies?”

“Alright. I guess we can do that. I’m not really sure how to cook much though, so I hope you know more than I do.”

“I’ve got it, Freddie. Just tell me what you want.”

~.~

“Godric, you’re so annoying!” You laugh, shoving Fred in the arm as he laughs at a dumb joke he made.

“But you love it!”

“Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?!” He gasps, pulling a frown as you roll your eyes at him and chuckle for at least the hundredth time this evening.

You shiver suddenly as a chill runs through the house while you’re cooking. Fred can’t help but notice it and frowns for real.

“Are you cold, princess?”

“A little bit. Nothing a blanket can’t help when I get the chance.”

“How about you go take a warm shower and then come down to eat. I'm sure I can figure out how to finish cooking this. And I’ll make us some hot chocolate to warm up with. Lucky for you that’s one thing I know how to make well.” Fred chuckles, smiling in pride.

“Lucky for me.” You smile.

“Thank you, Fred. I’ll be right back down. Try not to set the house on fire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on and warm up. The house will be here when you get done.”

You chuckle, running upstairs and to the bathroom, starting the water to let it warm up as you undress.

~.~

Smiling, you walk down the stairs to see everything intact. That and it actually smells quite delightful, what with the scent of dinner and the hot chocolate Fred made up.

“I’m impressed, Fred.”

“Fred?” you call not seeing him.

“Right here, y/n. Feeling any warmer?”

You nod, smiling at him as he comes out from the living room.

“A little bit.”

“Good. I see you kept on my sweater.” He smiles, eyes glancing over your attire.

“What can I say, it’s warm. What are you doing?”

You can’t help but look at him confused as he takes the two plates of food he had on the table into the living room.

“Well, you still look cute in it. And I thought we could watch something on that muggle tv dad got! Come here.”

You follow after him into the living room and can't help the smile that breaks out on your face or the chuckle that escape you as he motions for you to sit down. You honestly never knew what this boy would think up.

"Sit down!" he chuckles, dancing in place and smiling at you like a child.

You do as he asks, taking a seat on the couch, smiling as he hands you a plate.

"Thank you, freddie."

"Hang on! Arms up, princess."

"Wha-? Freddie!"

Giggling, you sit back and lift up your arms, leaving your lap free. He smiles as he grabs a blanket from one of the chairs and lays it over you.

"We gotta keep you warm, princess. It's nippy out there and you don't need to be getting sick."

"You're such a bloody idiot, fred." you chuckle, shaking your head at the redhead as he sits down next to you, stretching the blanket out over his legs as well.

"You love it though." he winks, smiling.

"Yeah, I do." you sigh, bumping shoulders with him as you both start to eat, a show playing on the tv that arthur had brought home over the summer.

~.~

You're not exactly sure what time it is anymore, but it must be late. You and Fred had finished eating long ago, your plates still sitting on the sidetable. After finishing the dinner the two of you made together, you sat talking and watching tv for who knows how long.

As always, fred kept making you laugh, cracking jokes at the shows you were watching if not trying to do impersonations of the characters. In a way you're kind of glad the rest of the weasley's got stuck at their aunt's, becuase it's not often you and fred get to hang out like this alone. You were almost always joined by either George or him and Lee, if you weren't joined by the group - the trio, ginny, lee, and george.

It was nice getting to spend time with just him. Neither of you were putting up the other acts you sometimes do around your friends. It was just you two - no need for any sort of façade.

You have to admit though that you were getting awfully tired. There was no way of knowing just how long you and fred have been sitting here together unless you could look at a clock, which unfortunately, neither of you could see.

"are you getting tired, princess?"

you nod, drawing a small chuckle from fred as he watches you try to curl up into a ball. For all the times you've been over at the burrow and have fallen asleep around him, or all the times you spent the evening hanging out in their room or in the commonroom together only to fall asleep there, he's never been able to get over how adorable you are when sleepy.

"Why don't you go up to bed then?"

"I don't wanna sleep alone...." You mumble, a light blush rising to your cheeks.

Since hogwarts, it's been extraordinarily hard for you to sleep in a room alone. You're always sharing a room with fellow classmates, which was annoying at first given how much noise they make sometimes, but after a few months its become so natural and it's now weird to not sleep without them in the room.

Then whenever you're here at the burrow, you're usually sharing a room with ginny so you still have someone else in the room. It's become nearly impossible for you to sleep without someone in the room.

"You what?"

"I don't want to sleep alone, fred. It's too quiet without someone else in the room."

He chuckles, completely understanding where you're coming from. Having shared a room with george his entire life, the few times he's had to sleep alone have been really odd and uncomfortable.

"Do you wanna stay down here with me then?"

"If it'd be alright?"

"Of course it's alright, y/n. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. Now, get comfy and go to sleep."

You chuckle lightly, a smile and faint blush littering your face as you curl up under the blanket even more. You've fallen asleep near fred many times before, but the knowledge that it's just the two of you in the entire house makes it feel a bit different. Suddenly you're relying soley on him for comfort in the not-big-but-not-really-small house.

"Hey, fred?"

"What, princess?"

"Can we cuddle?"

He smiles, opening his arms up for you to crawl into. He knows you're a cuddler, as if finding you cuddling pillows or even one of your friends - usually ginny, hermione, or luna, sometimes george - isn't enough to tell him that. He's always wondered what it'd feel like to cuddle you.

That's part of the reason he's become so touchy with you the last few years. He figured that slinging his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, bumping shoulders with you, and just touching you - whether it be your hands, waist, back, cheek, nose, etc. - would make you feel more comfortable with him. Which it did. He can't say it hasn't worked...it just hasn't encouraged you to cuddle him. Not until now.

"A-Are you going to be comfortable sitting like that?"

"Yeah? Unless you think something else would be more comfortable."

"Well, if you didn't mind...I was wondering if you might stretch out yourself? You know lay down and get comfortable? Then I can?"

He smiles as you blush, not quite meeting his eyes. He honestly loves this. He knows you get cute, even cuter, when sleepy, but he's never realized how shy you get too. You're usually so full of fire and will quip back and forth with him for hours, but sleepy? It's as if you're a completely different person.

"I could do that, I suppose. Careful now." He smiles as he swings his legs up onto the couch so he can stretch himself out.

Carefully he gets himself stretched out and comfortable, motioning to you to do the same. You smile lightly as you carefully wedge yourself between his body and the back of the couch, laying on your side with a leg and an arm wrapping around fred's frame. You can feel him let out a content sigh as you bury your face into his chest.

"Better now?"

You nod, yawning as you cover the two of you with the blanket, pulling it up to your neck before cuddling down into fred and the couch.

"Godric woman are you cold." he hisses as he goes to wrap his arms around you.

"Am i?"

"I feel like I'm holding onto a block of ice." he chuckles, earning an eyeroll from you even though your eyes are closed.

"Oh shut it, fred. If i'm so cold, why don't you keep me warm?" you suggest, a yawn spilling out of your lips right after.

"I can do that, I suppose." He smiles, pushing some hair out of your face as he takes in how beautiful you are right now.

After tonight he's positive he'll have to find excuses to cuddle with you. This is something he can't do just once. The way you fit against his body and how soft your skin and hair feel against him? There's no way he could ever get enough of it. He can't imagine wanting to cuddle with anyone else, either. it's got to be you or no one.

"Good night, princess." he mumbles, fingers absentmindedly running through the strands of your hair.

"G'night freddie." you yawn, beyond content with the situation.

Perhaps getting snowed in with your best friend was a blessing to build an even stronger relationship with him, whether it remain platonic or potentially develop into something romantic.

✨BONUS✨

"Ah, yes! Home sweet home!"

"Oh how I've missed the house. I don't think I ever want to leave it again."

"Ooh, cookies!"

You groan as a mix of loud voices reach your ears. You're not sure what time it is, but you do know you don't want to be awake yet.

"Where's Fred and Y/n?" a feminine, higher pitched voice asks.

"Found them." you hear someone answer, sounding awfully smug.

"where?" the same feminine voice asks, seeming to get closer before breaking out into a squeal.

"Awww, they're so cute! You think they're still sleeping?"

"It certainly looks it, doesn't it, ginny?"

You let out an agitated sigh. do they seriously not know how to quiet down? You don't yet bother opening your eyes as you reply to the two, maybe three, people you've come to register as Fred's siblings.

"I would be if all of you weren't so bloody loud."

Below you, you can feel fred chuckle, his chest rumbling and shaking, before he's wrapping his arms around you tighter.

"You two have a fun night together?" george asks, lifting both of your guys' legs to sit at the end of the couch.

"George, I swear to merlin if you don't let me go back to sleep you're going to regret it."

"Hey, Where did everone g-oh." Ron says, apparently having joined the four of you in the livingroom.

"Bloody hell, would you all leave? I don't wanna be up yet."

You sigh gently as Fred cups a hand around your cheek, his thumb gently brushing over it as his other hand plays with your hair.

"You two are so cute together!" ginny squeals and you can only imagine her trying not to jump up and down.

"Who is cute together?" you hear molly ask as her and Arthur apparently come inside the house.

You frown, burying your face back into fred's chest, knowing now that you'll have to get up and go your separate ways if you wanted to keep sleeping.

"Y/n and fred."

"Do you think she'll yell at us?" you ask fred as you hear her and ginny talking in the kitchen.

"I doubt it. I mean we didn't do anything, just fell asleep together."

"Yeah. Yeah, guess you're right."

"You really are not ready to be up yet are you?" He chuckles, noticing how you’ve yet to actually open your eyes.

You shake your head, once again drawing a chuckle from his chest which brings a small smile to your face.

He is absolutely adoring this right now. Not only has he slept the best he has in at least a few months having been cuddled up with you, but his chest is so full of happiness having you so close to him. He honestly doesn’t ever want to let you go.

“Awwwe, you two are really cute like that. I should get a picture. Arthur, where’s the camera?”

“Mum!” Fred groans, as you chuckle, a blush rising to your cheeks. Lucky for you, your face is still buried in his chest.

Not realizing it, you look up at him and smile just as Molly takes a picture of you two, unknowingly capturing your soon to be favourite picture.

“Good morning, Mrs. Weasley.” You greet, finally waking up the tiniest bit.

“Good morning, dear. How were you two last night? No problems with the snow I hope.”

“None at all. I think we handled ourselves pretty well. There should be some cookies in the kitchen, granted that someone didn’t eat them all already.”

“I was laying here with you all night! I couldn’t have eaten them, promise.”

“I was talking about Ron actually you git. Always so defensive.” You giggle as he smiles at you, a small chuckle leaving his lips as well.

“Wonderful, dear. I’m glad you two were okay. Now how about you two go upstairs? I’m sure everyone else is going back to bed too.”

You nod, letting out a sigh as you rest your head against Fred’s chest, attempting to stretch out before untangling yourself from his limbs.

“Don’t wanna move, huh, princess?”

“Not really. You’re surprisingly a great cuddler.”

“Maybe we could just move this upstairs? We’d have a bit more space and I doubt mum would say anything if we were to just go back to sleep.”

“Yeah? I think I’d like that, Freddie.”

“Alright, well let’s go then. If I go too long without holding you, I might just die.”

“Godric you’re a piece of work, Weasley.”

“You love it though.”

“That I do, Freddie.” You smile, happy that he pulls you into his side the second you’re both standing.

You’ve never felt safer anywhere else than in Fred’s arms, and if you were honest you never wanted to leave them. Having the night to yourselves and getting snowed in was probably the best thing that could have happened for the two of you. If that hadn’t had happened, neither of you would know just how amazing it is to be cuddled up with each other.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fluff #hp imagine #hp fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #requested #holiday prompts

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bleachbleachbleach · 3 years

Text

Fic: Away, Away

This was written for Day 13 of @hitsuhina-week! If you prefer, you can also read this on AO3. Which is my preference, because Tumblr keeps eating my spacing whether I use Rich Text or HTML so it looks absurd on here. >.>

Aftermath / Going on a Trip Together Hinamori Momo + Hitsugaya Toushirou Pre-Series

This will be the last time.

(Whisper it, so he won't hear.)

Every spring, Junrinan finds its way to the western mountains. (The souls of Rukongai wander.) There is no grand procession: They disperse across the vast range, often alone and sometimes in twos. They are always careful not to cause disruption, because while one soul in a forest full of spirits generally isn't worth the effort, seven is a meal.

They are three.

Soon, they will be two. Hinamori can't stop whispering her new name, hi na mo ri. It's early to be out here, but the snows were mild this year and new growth is already peeking from beneath the thick, rich leaf rot. She feels an affinity with this year's tender saplings, a feeling that grows hotter with every whispered repetition of her name. Her grandmother had given it to her, showed her how to write it. She'd studied her name harder than she had the exam.

Hinamori has an acceptance letter. In April, she is leaving.

Hinamori nearly walks straight into a nettle spirit--the hair-eating kind--draped across the game path plain as day.

"Do you wanna be bald?" Toushirou grouses as he yanks her back just in time. "I guess it fits. You're acting like a blind old man."

Hinamori blinks, brushes imagined hair from her face. It's the fifth time she's tried to walk straight through a spirit in as many days.

"Studying is bad for your eyes," says Toushirou. He doesn't care for moony Hinamori. Momo had paid a lot more attention to what was in front of her. But she's Hinamori now. At least, that's the only name she'll write, dragging her thin stick through the dirt outside the house. So that's what he calls her.

Toushirou squeezes through a bumble of pot-bellied mushroom spirits and Hinamori follows him, stepping carefully into his tracks.

"You'll need to keep reading even when I'm not around. It'll go if you don't practice," she says.

Toushirou makes a noncommittal sound.

"I'll send you letters full of kanji and quiz you on them when I visit." I'll learn how to write them pretty, she promises, just like Baachan does.

"Will you write me back?" she asks.

"Probably not."

This hurts her. But Toushirou plans to go the rest of his life without writing a single thing. It's not personal.

"Why would I need to tell you what happens in Junrinan?" he says. "You already know."

And if I forget?

Life in Junrinan doesn't change. That's what Toushirou was promised. The winters are quiet and slow, and in spring they go to the mountains. Summers are for farming, and autumns for harvest. Then winters are quiet and slow again.

Spring passes with bracken and angelica in hand. It is counted in the spirals of ferns as their number grows in the baskets. Some are dried; some are steeped. Mostly, they are sold. Many of the men in Junrinan spend springtime waking before dawn to sprint to the mountain, forage the lowlands, and return to the village for evening revelries, but Toushirou and Hinamori and their grandmother have always spent the whole of the season between the trees. The mountains prefer it when you stay.

This will be true no matter how long Hinamori is gone.

April 12th through July 20th, then our first break, she says, scratching numbers in the dirt. But Junrinan doesn't have dates the way the Academy does. She draws the way the trees will change. The change happens in a long straight line, and beyond July 20th there is an emptiness rather than a repetition. How do you draw an unwritten future?

Hinamori writes her name again.

In the spring, everything is full: Toushirou enjoys the wet green of it, the late snows and vernal flooding. The water flows down from the mountains ice cold and the forests are loud and thick with spirits.

The spirits have no names that are written and no faces that have ever stayed the same, unremembered but immemorial. They are loud. Most of them respect the borders of his body. They brush against his legs with thick wet fur or scrape his cheek with leathery wings. They coil around his throat, treating him like a tree or rock. Some of them are trees and rocks. They are the mountains and forest, just like the wandering souls of Junrinan. They all belong here, more or less.

Toushirou can see most of them. When the blurry ones pass through you, it's feverishly unpleasant for the split-second it happens and then is nothing at all. The blurry ones, Toushirou figures, aren't actually in this forest. They are like shadows at sunset, cast long and far from their bodies. Their true bodies roam a different world entirely.

That's what Hinamori wants to do.

Hinamori used to clamor for shinigami stories any time one of them passed through town. She'd been told one time that all travelers carried stories and now expected it.

The shinigami never expected her. Unless commerce was involved they didn't tend to acknowledge souls, or even look at them. So they always seemed surprised by Hinamori, like it hadn't occurred to them that they'd meet a real, full person out here. Which is fair enough, Toushirou grudgingly allows--there are plenty of souls in Junrinan so old and staid they cannot move, nor speak. (Don't touch them. It's unlucky.)

We don't talk about those.

The shinigami talk story: The story of black dye. The story of a tall bathhouse. The story of grilled meat on sticks. The story of the time they saw a noble. The story of a big fish. The story of a bigger fish. The story of the bullet train. The story of my sister, who isn't very interesting but is the only thing that comes to mind right now sorry. The story of 19th seats should be paid more. The story of the soul who wanted a story.

Almost none of the stories are about death.

"Little girls shouldn't go into those mountains," one shinigami once said, which is as close as a story ever came to it. "Nasty stuff in there. They're called Hollows, you know. Real bad guys."

The shinigami patted the sword at his hip. He'd just told Hinamori a story about the third son of a lesser noble whom everyone loved and thought deserved better than the shadows of his elder brothers. And how preposterous is it, really, that he should have to prove himself when his brothers never did? Pushed out here into the boonies, seeking honor and fame. He really feels for the guy. Don't you? Don't you?

"You seem to know a lot about 'this guy,'" Toushirou offered.

"I'm a master storyteller," said the shinigami.

I've killed a Hollow before, you know, boasted the master storyteller. He'd led a unit of twelve men into those mountains out there, which were so quiet you could hear your own heart beating. When you can hear your terror--that's when you're on the cusp of valor. His eyes lit up. I was the one who cut the mask, he said.

Twelve is obviously far too many (seven is a meal), and those mountains have never been quiet. Toushirou didn't think he'd really been.

In the spring, though, there's a dark scar where once there'd been a copse of trees. Shattered branches and burned ground. His grandmother says it smells like Hollow.

"They see things differently," his grandmother half-explains, of the shinigami and their Hollows and the silence of their mountains. Of course this would seem a different place to them.

"They're idiots," says Toushirou, though suddenly he's not sure. The scar is hair-raising, and his stomach roils. Maybe they really shouldn't be out in the woods.

"The shinigami know more than you," says Hinamori, taking his hand in hers. She grips it tightly, reassuring, or maybe annoyed. Both. She has a lot of school spirit for someone who hasn't even been yet.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even after they've returned to the cover of the live trees, kitsune fire nestled in the brambles at their feet.

Toushirou makes the mistake of noticing a spirit that tends to linger just out of sight. It feeds on your instinct to look, and it grows higher and higher the more you crane your neck, so sure you'll be able to sneak a glimpse of it. By the time you realize the trick, you've always been had. It's very annoying.

This will be the last time.

(Scream it.)

"It's so dark out here," says Hinamori, in spite of the kitsune and all the rest. Lots of spirits glow. She is still holding his hand.

Toushirou thinks of the small lamp Hinamori had bought to study by, the wild shadows it cast on the interior walls and the way it had made all hours bright. He thinks of all the hours she hadn't slept. All because some shinigami had told her a story about a school.

Anything would seem dark by comparison. He can't remember the last time she hadn't had her lamp on when he went to bed.

Hinamori is going to snap the bones in his hand. He yelps. Tears prick in his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't let go, and then she doesn't let go.

"It's so quiet," she says faintly. Her free hand wavers over her heart protectively.

It's so dark. It's so quiet. Quiet enough to hear your terror.

Except it's not. It's not dark.

It's not quiet.

The forest is full, air thick with chirrups and buzzing, screeching, hooting, chittering. Bodies clack and bones shudder. Reeds whistle and something large makes a whomping, resonating tone. Foxfire hisses as it makes sparks, throws phosphorous motes that dance high above. A heartbeat glow marches up the ridged spine of a lizard spirit. The forest is as it has always been.

Toushirou's eyes widen.

"You can't hear them anymore."

To Hinamori, it is all darkness and silence.

She sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees as though to hide from the quiet. From the black. She drops his hand.

"Momo--"

She shakes her head. She opens her hands to the sky like she's waiting for a bird to land. For a split second, a small warm flame billows from her palms.

Then the entire forest catches.

The thought had been innocent enough--to be her own light in the darkness, conquer her fear. But the forest only hears the conquering. It's the kitsune who don't take kindly to Hinamori's light. Their fire screeches up and outward and then all the spirits are in frenzy. A meal! scream some; and others, a threat! A danger to be expunged. A strange thing not of this forest, these mountains.

Outsider! the world around them hisses. Away.

away, away

Hinamori screams as the flames leap forward--the claws, the vines, the terrors and all in between. She throws herself in front of Toushirou.

Toushirou can't find his voice at all. The wide whites of his eyes feel the propulsive gust of the forest coming down on them. On Hinamori. No! he can't shout, cold fear coiling over his frozen legs and pricking at his shoulder blades. Something serpentine rushes past him and he's on the ground. His head smacks hard against a writhing tree root and he tastes bile, feels nothing.

Hears everything.

away

When he wakes, snow is falling, wet and sloppy. Kitsune are nibbling at the singed edges of a hanafuda. Hinamori is in her grandmother's arms. She's crying.

Before Hinamori started studying, with her bright lamp and her long nights and her feverish poetry scratched into the ground, before the hunger came, she'd woken one morning to a futon streaked with her blood. Her grandmother said that this was womanhood.

"The tea will stop the bleeding," she assured a tearful Hinamori as they scrubbed at her futon, pinking the waters. Toushirou beat at the stain with his feet, splashing everywhere.

"You don't have to touch it," Hinamori had said quietly, her eyes fixed on the water. "It's my mess."

"Baachan said I have to help," Toushirou objected. "Besides, am I supposed to just sit here and watch you bleed?"

Just one last time.

Hinamori isn't hurt, but she is in pain. The forest doesn't want her anymore. (She is leaving.)

"The forest sees them differently," his grandmother says, the other half of her earlier explanation. "Them," meaning shinigami. "Them," meaning Hinamori, now.

Shinigami see and are seen differently. They belong differently. Toushirou had only ever distinguished them by their black clothes, and sometimes their attitude. But his grandmother talks about reiryoku, about reiatsu, about the realms the shinigami travel through and the spirits they are blind to. The spirits that belong to different worlds than theirs, even when they're side by side. Some worlds are bound to one another, tied by fate and duty; others are repelled.

As Hinamori's reiatsu blossomed with her womanhood, slowly folding outward past her skin, beyond her body, her worlds were chosen for her. Like the bleeding, there's a tea to help this, too, but it's not the same.

There is no going back.

"What're you looking at," Toushirou scowls at her. He's not sure what to do with her pain. There's nothing he can do for her pain. But she's looking at him differently, a little less like Hinamori and a little more like the rest of Junrinan does, and that scares him.

She asks him if he'd felt anything. Something cold.

She's asked him before. Every day since the incident, she's asked him.

His answer is always the same. No. Just fear.

He should be helping his grandmother. They're here in the forest for a reason, and that hasn't changed; they have foraging to do. But he doesn't want to leave Hinamori alone.

"Don't be afraid of it, Shiro-chan," says Hinamori. Hinamori, who's now afraid of the dark.

Hinamori, who is leaving.

She doesn't have a choice. When her power comes into her she knows there is only one place she can go. It's a place she has always wanted to go. (She has always wanted to go places.) But now she has to.

She smiles.

If she is going to go, she's going to fly. She will love, and yearn, and cry. She will give all of herself to the future before her, even when it means that precious things can be only memory. If there is something Hinamori leaves in him when she goes, it's flight.

Someday, Toushirou will remember to remember that.

"Will you write me?" she asks.

(You will be written.)

She returns for the summer, then is gone again. Winter, then gone again. But she doesn't come home for the spring. They'll be going to the realm of the living. They will fight Hollows, just like the Gotei 13. She explains the meaning and stroke order of the characters, go tei, though she doesn't explain what the Gotei 13 actually is. That part must already seem obvious to her. Shinigami stuff. That's all Toushirou will ever need to know. Seems pretentious.

When Junrinan returns to the mountains this year, Toushirou and his grandmother stay behind. "It's dangerous," she says. She squeezes his shoulders.

It's dangerous now.

There is no going back.

Junrinan may not change, but life does, and by the second summer, Hinamori has mostly forgotten the shapes of the forest spirits. Toushirou is forgetting them, too.

The difference is, Hinamori has found replacements. She talks about incantations and sword stances, friendships and histories. She has been to the realm of the living. It's only been a year, and already they have nothing in common but their memories, ever-receding.

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. She doesn't say why.

Toushirou dreams of a chill ripping through him. He dreams of a place where there are no mountains as far as the eye can see.

He wakes to Hinamori.

#hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushirou #hitsuhina week #bleach fic #IT'S FOR THE CULTURE #I wanted to play with the idea of the districts of Rukongai having their own cultures and practices apart from what we know of the Seireitei #I thought it would be interesting to imagine that it's because these things are not legible/perceivable to our shinigami narrators #because their existence is tied more closely to other worlds and realms #So just like there are things that humans can't see wandering their world there are things that shinigami can't see either #👻👻👻👻👻👻#yes this is the angery fic that hates me but its deadline is today so now it is done!

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julieloveupstead · 3 years

Text

"It Was So Close" - Upstead 8x07

Description: They came so close to losing the most important person in their lives in an instant, but after all, they are police officers and that's their job risk, right?

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Hailey was still asleep when Jay left her suite. They were going to start working separately that day. Jay, Adam, Kevin, and Kim were working on the Becerra brothers of the Latin Players, who Ruzek had been working on for the past few days, and Hailey had some paperwork due that had her at her desk all morning. She didn't know why, but she had the radio on on their shared frequency and was listening to something she didn't even know what exactly. Maybe she wanted to kill the boredom and the silence in the room or she wanted to make sure that the work the team was working on went according to the plan and that nothing unexpected happened, although she did not expect anything special to happen. She was almost finished with her report when Kim's voice came over the radio

- 5021, Eddie, 10-1, 10-1! Shots fired at police. We're at 4200 South Justine.

- Sergeant! - she called out and immediately a grey head emerged from her office.

- We have undercover officers firing shots. - Kim could still be heard.

- Let's go - decided the boss. Hailey took her jacket and ran to the car. When she heard her friend's words her heart stopped and the darkest thoughts came into her head and she didn't know how to throw them out. After all, Jay was surely fine, right? Shit what if he's lying there right now with a hole in his caltrop and oh god what if he's bleeding out right now and I'm not there with him? No, no, no, no. I'll never forgive myself for not being there, and I suggested to Jay that he wanted me to go with them, but he told me to get some sleep. Oh my God, what if this morning was our last? I'll never see his green eyes again, his wonderfully gallant smile that is reserved just for me and that makes my knees soften and butterflies dance in my stomach. Oh god, oh god, Hailey get a grip on yourself damn it nothing happened because if something bad happened Kim or Kevin would report it, right?

There was a war going on in Hailey's head, and her heart was rumbling in persi, and squeezing unpleasantly in her stomach. She was trembling all over her body and could barely keep herself from crying, but she knew that with Voight around, she couldn't afford to.

For Hailey, it took forever to get to the scene of the shooting, and when Voight finally parked, she took off running, praying that Jay would be okay and that she could scold him for freaking me out again.

- Jay! - shouted Hailey as soon as she saw Kim, who was waiting for backup. Apparently they had arrived first, which probably meant that nothing bad had happened, but as she got closer she saw a black cloth and a piece of shoe sticking out from under it. She froze at the sight and couldn't even move or breathe. She didn't hear someone say her name, she didn't feel Kim touch her arm. All that mattered was that she was late. That she wasn't where she needed to be, that she had let him down. She had promised Jay that she would always cover his back, that she would always be there for him. She was mad at herself for daring to tell him so late that he had long been more than a partner and friend to her. She regretted that they had so little time to themselves. She hadn't had time to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to become his wife and grow old with him. Yes they had only been together for a month and hadn't really talked seriously about the next steps in their relationship, but it was so obvious to her that he was the one for her that she hadn't considered that something like that would happen. Or should she? She dropped to her knees a few inches from where the body was and, with trembling hands, reached to hide the bag, but then, as if from an abyss, a voice emerged that always brought her out of the dusk. She closed her eyes and let out a few tears that came unexpectedly, she wanted so badly to remember that sound.

- Hailey - she heard someone calling her more clearly now, but she still didn't open her eyes. She was afraid that if she opened them she would not see the most calming and amazing green of Jay's eyes in front of her. - 'Hailey, open your eyes, please,' she heard someone whisper, and someone's hands drawing unknown patterns on her shoulders. Just because she smelled a familiar scent she slowly opened her eyes. At first she thought it was a dream, but then when she studied with her eyes the whole face looking at her with worry, and steam escaped from his mouth, she believed that she was not dreaming that there was a whole and healthy Jay kneeling before her. Then all her senses seemed to awaken from their winter sleep and she realized what she had done, what a circus she had put on. Because of her, it was probably now anyone's guess that she and Jay were together. Damn.

When her breathing normalized and her thoughts returned to normal, she wordlessly got up from her knees and moved away from Jay, who now really looked worried and she knew he wanted to talk, but her survival instinct told her to put on the mask of a professional cop and go back to work as if nothing had happened. Because, after all, nothing had happened. Jay was alive and that was the most important thing, and they could talk later when they got back to her apartment after work. She let Jay know that she was okay and that they would talk later, and then she walked off in the direction of the arriving officers.

There was no time to talk for most of the day, about what had happened that morning. Hailey buried deep in her memory what had happened and did her best not to over-intellectualize the stares her colleagues were sending her, especially not to give into Jay's constantly sending her stares. She tried to work and act like she did on any normal work day, which was to say, professional and cold-blooded, as if it wasn't happening. She worked and functioned better that way. The only upside was that she wasn't avoiding Jay she just knew that command wasn't the place to talk, last time they broke that promise and she's pretty sure Kev suspected something. She'd promised herself she'd never let that happen again, and oh this morning it all came to a head, and now she was sure everyone knew about them. Damn. She could have acted more professionally, but emotions got the better of her.

On the other hand, no surprise there, right? Jay had already escaped death almost twice in front of her eyes, until now she sometimes wakes up at night with the sight of a bloody and unconscious Jay in that damn basement. More her reaction shouldn't surprise anyone and it doesn't have to mean anything right away. I'm sure I'm just exaggerating all these looks. She kept repeating to herself. Her head was starting to hurt from all this, so she got up from the desk she was sitting at and headed towards the breakroom with the intention of making herself some coffee.

Adam and Kim went to talk to Adam's CI, Kev disappeared as I suspect to call Vanessa who got a job in the drug department. Voight, on the other hand, went to see Deputy Inspector Samantha Miller, so it was just Jay and her left in the break room.

- Hey - she heard Jay's voice behind her who she didn't even know was standing behind her, she was still consumed with thoughts from the whole day and which she was trying so hard to keep out of her mind. She turned with a small tired smile towards the man. Jay also had a similar smile on his face, but she could also see that he looked worried and as she guessed probably because of her. This guy was unsmiling. He had barely escaped with his life recently, and he would always worry more about her than himself. Sometimes she felt guilty about it, because she didn't want to cause him even more problems, and now since they were together she felt overwhelmed by it, because no one in her life and the early one where parents in any normal family should do it and the later one when she grew up no one cared about her like he did. At every step he proved how much she meant to him. She almost felt like a princess with him. And maybe that's why losing him scared her so much back then.

- Hey, you want some coffee? - I asked, trying to sound as natural as possible, but it only took a glance at Jay to know that he didn't believe her one bit, but he slowly nodded.

Jay sat down on the couch waiting for Hailey to make them coffee in peace. He wanted to give her a moment to sort out her thoughts, he didn't want to rush her, his goal all along had been to reaffirm that she could always count on him, that he would always be there for her, despite everything. This was, after all, how their thing had started and how it would be until the end, because this was how they functioned. So without rushing, he waited patiently for Hailey to open her heart and soul to him. He did not care if it could be today, tomorrow, next week, next month or even next year, for him the most important thing was that in the end he would entrust her demons to him. And even the smallest secret from her childhood, or what she felt, would fill him with unbelievable love and pride, that she was able to trust him.

And so they sat in the kitchen, in the department and sipped their coffee unhurriedly. Jay often tried not to look at his girlfriend, but sometimes he couldn't help thinking what a damn lucky guy he was to have such an amazing woman by his side. When he heard the shots his first thought was Hailey and the guilt he felt for letting her down again, for breaking the promise he'd made to her a year ago and he'd repeated that promise last week, that he'd always come back to her. He couldn't do that to her, not when his biggest dream had come true. She was the only thing that had kept him alive for four years now almost. When he heard her calling him there that morning he felt so relieved that they still had time and a chance for everything that awaited them on their journey together. What bothered him, however, was the state Hailey was in and he knew full well it was all his fault. This overbearing little person must have been terrified and it reawakened old memories that they both wanted to forget.

- When I heard over the radio that there had been gunshots... - Hailey spoke so quietly, but Jay would have heard her even at the end of the world. He gave all his attention to his girlfriend, he would always want her to know that she was the most important thing to him, so he sat quietly letting her calmly express her emotions, he didn't rush her. - And then when she saw the two bags.... - he didn't need to see her face to know that there were tears in her beautiful ocean blue eyes. Jay stood up and slowly walked over to her. He set his cup down on the table and knelt by the woman of his life.

- Hey, Hailey will you look at me? - he asked himself just as quietly. His heart was breaking into a million little pieces when he saw how scared she was. He slowly wiped away the tears running down her cheeks with his thumb, then took her hand with his and squeezed it tightly. He wanted her to know that he was here, that he would not leave her. He did everything slowly and calmly, he didn't want her to cringe inside, to suffer. He dreamed of taking away all her pain, fear and anxiety and all the weight she carried on her back. - I'm sorry I scared you, I'm sorry it all came back again, I'm sorry you had to go through this again. - With every word, he looked centrally into her eyes. - I can't even imagine what you went through today. I'm so damn sorry, Sunshine.

- It's okay, Jay, it's our job, right? - she said trying to sound more confident, but Jay knew her too well. The green-eyed man merely nodded, knowing that slowly Hailey was trying to end the conversation, and he didn't want to pressure her or force her into anything knowing that then she would shut down completely. That's why he sent her a small reassuring smile, he hoped she could read from his gaze, his face, everything he wasn't able to convey with speech. He stood up and hugged the girl sitting in the chair and kissed her head.

Back then, Jay didn't know that he would soon feel a substitute for what Hailey probably felt every time she saw him in a more dangerous situation. Now he was more determined to be more careful, because the kind of fear and helplessness he'd felt out there under the warehouse when they'd managed to catch those responsible for that morning's shooting and when it got hot and he didn't have a good place to shoot he didn't wish on anyone.

Today was so close to both of them losing what is most important to them, but all the more reason for both of them to be determined to keep fighting and never stop.

#upstead #upstead fic #upstead fanfiction #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #chicago pd 8x07

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

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Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them.

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back.

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently.

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head’s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted.

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose.

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe.

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst

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thewatermelloncat · 3 years

Text

Backstage (Rosénali CH 5)

CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4

Summary: With rehearsals for the school production underway, family matters come into play. Maybe Denali says something that she shouldn’t.

Boarding School AU

Kinda Pastel/Punk AU

Author’s Note: Be on the look out for links to extra stories within the chapters.

Warnings: None

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

Circus.

That was the word on everyone’s mind after the theme for the school production had been announced.

The few short weeks before term break had been chaotic, masses of auditions and call backs following only days after the release of the script. And then it had all faded into nothing as the break rolled around and people moved off home to spend time with their families. Though the nerves of what part they would get still stuck with them.

There was only so much playing video games could do to distract Denali from worrying over her future placement in the cast. And having not gone home for the break, Rosé threw herself into picking up extra shifts at the diner. Trying to avoid the lonely hallways of the empty school where her mind would quickly play over all the things she could have done better in her audition.

Still, they found solace in texting each other most days. Sometimes sending a distress signal through the line when they got too in their head about their auditions, in turn for the other would reassure them that it would all be fine in the end. And that was enough to tie them through until the last day of term break.

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

Denali and Mik’s room is a mess of unorganised clothes and partially empty suitcases as the two of them are helped by Rosé in unpacking.

“Denali, you have too many pairs of socks” Rosé states as she shoves a draw full of them closed.

“It’s getting close to winter, what happens if I need to double up?” Denali defends before the door to the room is thrown open.

“Casting list is up!” Liv bursts into the room.

Almost immediately Denali and Mik who had been crouched by their suitcases are on their feet.

“Have you looked yet?” Denali asks.

“No, came to get you guys first.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mik prompts before abandoning task and rushing them out the door.

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

The whole surrounding is crowded, a mix of people jumping in excitement and a few pissed off faces. Gradually the four of them make their way closer to the sheet hung on the noticeboard.

“I got it!” Denali exclaims as she jumps back to the group through the crowd in victory. Having ducked under a few arms to see the sheet: finding her name listed as part of the main dance troupe and next to the roller-skate solo.

“Gorge, of course you got the solo” Mik says. “You’re basically the only one who can stand up in skates.”

“No one would even come close to you” Liv agrees as she follows Mik further through the crowd.

Rosé smiles at Denali from next to her but doesn’t make to follow the other two.

“What’s wrong? You not wanna know what you got?” Denali asks her.

“Nervous” is all Rosé says.

“Come on” Denali nods her head to the papers on the board and takes Rosé by the hand. “I’ll check with you.”

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

Denali doesn’t let go of Rosé’s hand as they search for her name. After a few tense seconds Rosé sighs in relief and takes a small step back. Soon afterward Denali finds her name listed next to the lead role as the ringleader.

“Congratulations” Denali squeezes her hand and smiles up at her.

Rosé breathes deeply before she smiles and squeezes Denali’s hand back.

“That’s two years in a row, girl!” Mik exclaims after finding Rosé’s name.

“What about you?” Rosé asks.

“I don’t know, I haven’t found it yet” Mik says.

“Hold on, I’ll help” Denali says, letting go of Rosé’s hand and joining Mik in regaining her search.

While scouring the list of names, Denali overhears Rosé talking to Olivia.

“Hey, I’m sorry” Rosé says as she steps closer to her. “I know you really wanted that part.”

“Everyone wanted that part” Liv reminds her. “But congratulations, you deserve it. Your audition was killer.”

Rosé smirks as she leans down closer to her ear. “You can always pull some showgirl shit and throw some marbles – you’re pretty much my understudy.”

Liv laughs and for a moment the jealousy she feels disappears. “I’ll just show you up on stage.”

“Bring it” Rosé nudges her with an elbow. “I love some competition.”

Liv opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by Mik’s exclamation.

“Yes! I get to be a clown!”

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

“I’m so glad I don’t have to memorise any lines” Denali says picking up the script from Rosé’s desk.

“Haha” Rosé drones sarcastically, half asleep from on top of her bed.

Denali flips through a couple of pages. “How far have you gotten?”

Rosé hums as she tries to properly calculate the percentage but gives up and instead answers, “most of it.”

“I confess, I had my doubts… But this is a triumph. Well done ma’am” Denali prompts her with a line from the script. Playing up a proper voice, teasingly.

“Shut up” Rosé groans throwing a pair of balled up socks at her shoulder. “Wake me up in half an hour if my alarm doesn’t go off” she says hitting a button on her phone before rolling over to face the wall.

Denali smiles as she picks up the socks that had fallen to the floor. She knows better than to throw them back at Rosé, lest she wake her up more when she needs to sleep.

The school had thrown them all into rehearsals as soon as the casting list had been put up, and they’d been thrown in hard. None harder than Rosé in her leading role. Add onto her hectic school schedule with night shifts at the diner, and she’s been nearly falling asleep in every one of her classes for the last week. Still, she manages to make it work though Denali has no idea how she does it.

Almost within seconds Rosé’s breathing evens out as sleep takes her, and Denali quietly stands from the chair to put the socks back on her set of draws. Internally wincing as the chair creaks when she sits back down in it but Rosé doesn’t even stir.

Denali smiles again, this time at the peacefulness of the room. Much the opposite of her own now days with Mik having been put in charge of the make up for the production. Since then, she’s taken to hanging out in Rosé’s room more often now that her own was littered with eyeshadow pallets and make up brushes on almost every surface.

With nothing much to occupy her time, she picks up the script again and reads through it. Skimming over the notes Rosé has written in neat cursive in the margins, and feeling a swelling of pride at the stage directions for her dance numbers.

Her finger traces over Mik’s sole line she has in the script – one that she always jokes that she’ll forget – when the buzzing of an alarm goes off.

“Hey, no!” she warns pointedly, seeing Rosé’s arm move out blindly to whack snooze.

“Five more minutes” Rosé groans into her pillow.

“No” Denali says as she moves over to the bed. “Anything longer than 30 minutes just makes it worse.”

She shakes once at Rosé’s shoulder, earning an exaggerated groan, but it works as Rosé pushes herself up with a yawn. As she stretches out her arms Denali turns around to grab her hairbrush to throw to her.

Rosé misses catching it but it falls on her lap before she picks it up, flashing Denali half a smile as she untangles her hair.

“How late are you working tonight?”

Rosé scrunches her nose in a contemplative manner. “Got a double shift, so probably get back at 1:00 or 2:00.”

“Shit, Rosie” Denali sighs.

Rosé hums dismissively as she puts down her hairbrush and moves over to pack her uniform. “But then I don’t work again until the weekend, so…” she trails off as she zips up her bag and grabs her shoes from the floor.

“Hey, uh… they’re giving the tickets out to us tomorrow” Denali hesitantly changes the subject to one she’d been thinking over for a while. “Are you going to invite your parents?”

Rosé freezes as she sits on her bed, her expression going blank as her shoes drop to the floor. “Haven’t thought about it” she says a few seconds later, moving to shove her feet into her shoes like she hadn’t frozen in the first place.

“Do you think you will?”

This time it takes even longer for Rosé to reply, and she tightens her shoelaces a little too aggressively. “I don’t know.”

Denali picks up on the hint but for a reason beyond her, she ignores it. “I think it would be nice for them to see what you’re doing.”

Though the words were spoken innocently, they still sting slightly at something inside Rosé and she holds her breath for a second, waiting to ride the feeling out.

“I’ll think about it” rosé dismisses a little irritably as she stands and shoulders her bag, before making the excuse. “I have to go.”

And she does. Leaving Denali standing in an empty room trying to forget how the door had slammed on her way out.

CH6

#rpdr #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr 13 #rosé #denali #olivia lux #gottmik #boarding school au #punk!rosé #pastel!denali #rosénali #rosenali

21 notes · View notes

abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Note

prompt idea for sam/steve/bucky

sharing clothes :)

All Caps, my love (this was so fun to work on because it really highlighted how differently I write them when Steve is involved)

Set in the same universe as You Don't Have to Read My Mind (to know what I have in mind) which means Nico and Hattie make a return and silver fox Commander Rogers is around

Read on AO3!

The Other Be Other

It was Nico who noticed it first, so he didn’t say jack to anyone. Well, not right away. It took him three days to break and scoot his desk chair into Hattie’s cubicle. “Hey, did you see Barnes the other day?” he asked.

Hattie’s eyelids actually fluttered. “Fuck, he looked so good,” she said. “And smelt good too.”

Nico scrunched up his nose. “He smelled like fried fish. Anyway, did you see that shirt he was wearing?”

He let Hattie think. Let her mentally redress him. “It was that blue fishing shirt, wasn’t it? Over a white t-shit. He had it open.”

“Yeah. It was a blue shirt with darker blue sharks on it,” Nico said.

“You pay a lot of attention to him. Hey, if you’re into Barnes, I’m not backing down. You’ll have to fight me for him,” she teased.

Nico blushed furiously and then willed it away because he didn’t want to explain why he was blushing or let Hattie think he was blushing because he had a crush on Barnes. “No, that’s not what I meant. Wilson was wearing the same shirt two weeks ago when he came in to file the newest report on Walker.”

Now Hattie scrunched up her nose. “Fuck that guy,” she said and Nico almost laughed.

“I would’ve thought he was your type.”

“As if,” she said. “So what? Barnes and Wilson have the same shirt.” Nico cut her an unimpressed look. “You think Barnes and Wilson are wearing the same shirt,” she clarified.

“Listen, everyone already knows Barnes wears Wilson’s Air Force hoodie,” Nico said.

“Someone said it was the new Falcon’s.”

“It’s not Joaquin’s,” Nico said quickly. Too quickly. Horrifyingly quickly.

“Oh my God, do you like the new Falcon?” Hattie asked.

“We’re not talking about the new Falcon,” Nico said. “We’re talking about Wilson and Barnes.”

“Barnes and Wilson,” Hattie corrected.

“Wilson is Captain America. He comes first.”

“You think so?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Nico blushed so hard he thought he might actually spring a fever.

* * *

“Why are you wearing that, Barnes?” Sam asked from the driver’s side of the car.

“What, you don’t like it?” Bucky asked, tossing his duffel bag into the backseat and climbing into the passenger side. “You left it in the dryer. It was the first thing I grabbed.”

“Grab your own clothes,” Sam said.

“Damn, you’re about to have Steve go down on you, can you lighten up?” Bucky snorted. “You’re high strung.” He leaned over to kiss Sam sweetly and then tried not to laugh when Sam turned it all sorts of filthy. “Save it for Steve, tiger,” he teased. “He whined all night last night about missing you and you not bein’ around to get on the phone with him.”

“He’s been up there for a week,” Sam said as he rolled his eyes. Sam had also kind of been kicking himself for managing to miss the call last night, though. It was probably why he was so grouchy this morning. “Four more hours,” he added.

“I have to swing by HQ and drop off our reports for this mission,” Bucky reminded him.

“Right, you have to do that. I’ll drop your ass off and go get my man.”

“Hey, he was mine first,” Bucky said.

“So I’ve got time to make up for.”

Bucky shoved Sam’s shoulder and got a reaming about car safety even though they were barely on the road yet.

* * *

It happened again a week later. Wilson and Barnes had been in and out of the office, always so, so, so loud. There was always an argument to be had, always a fight to pick with Fury, always something embarrassing to say about Commander Rogers. Nico couldn’t figure out why they spent so much time around the office. Rogers worked in a whole different building and Fury wanted nothing to do with either of them, as far as he could tell.

But there they were at 11 AM, complaining that it wasn’t lunch yet. At 3 in the afternoon, tempting people to leave early. At 9, right after official-opening, with coffee for everyone but Fury, who wasn’t around to see their joke anyway.

There was Sam at two in the afternoon, wearing a leather jacket that was so out of place in the middle of DC in the dead of summer in the heat of the afternoon. Nico could sweat just looking out the window. But, Sam looked really, really good in the jacket, so Nico couldn’t fault him for suffering through the heat to wear it.

Damn, maybe it was a Falcon thing with him.

And maybe Nico did watch Sam a little closely. Maybe he kept his eyes on Sam’s back while he leaned on a cubicle wall that was not strong enough to support him and all that muscle. Maybe he stared at his smooth skin and the way the jacket pulled over his shoulders and--

There was stitching around the arm of the jacket. Nico blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, but there was definitely blue thread holding the arm of the jacket to the rest of it.

And actually now that he was looking at the jacket and not Sam Wilson, he recognized the pattern on it, the weird ribbing down the sides, the golden buckles on the back to adjust the waist. He’d seen that jacket before. On the news. Several months ago, he’d had to pour over news footage of a Serpent Society...attack? fight? because Barnes had been part of it and his dumb report had said, I know there’s video footage of this. That’s my statement. So Nico had needed to put together a fucking highlights reel of Barnes’ action to file the report.

He’d gotten in trouble for it too.

He pulled the file up on his computer and watched the footage for a second to make sure it was the same jacket. And it was, except Barnes had ripped the sleeve off of his to show his metal arm. The left arm. The arm resewn onto this jacket.

The video suddenly cut into sound, making Nico jump. Sam Wilson looked over at him, at the footage on the computer and Barnes flipping over cars to avoid gunfire in that jacket. He reached over to shut the player off on Nico’s computer. “You work too hard, kid,” he said. “Barnes is never gonna give you a day off if you don’t take it.”

“Ha, how’d you know he’s always stuck...I mean, assigned Sergeant Barnes’ reports?” Hattie asked.

Sam shot Nico a knowing look and Nico panicked, thinking Sam knew that Nico knew about more than the $100 on his desk and a missing file. But that was impossible. It was just because of the note and bribery.

Bribery from Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Jesus, what was his life?

* * *

“This was a eight hundred dollar jacket,” Steve scolded. The irritation on his face, coupled with his silver hair and those damn broad shoulders, was doing all sorts of things to Sam that Sam didn’t want to analyze too deeply. He mostly wanted to sit back and snicker at Bucky getting in trouble.

“I’m just gonna rip that arm off again,” Bucky said boredly, one leg tucked under him on the couch where he was lounging, the other thrown over Steve’s back. “Why blue thread?” he asked eventually.

“To shame you into not doing this shit again,” Sam said.

“Color theory,” Steve answered.

“There’s no color theory to using royal blue thread in a black jacket. It’s not even navy,” Bucky said.

“You wanna do it?” Steve asked.

“Obviously not. Can name a lot of other things I do want to do though.”

Steve threw the jacket at Bucky’s face instead of answering. Sam jumped up to snag it before Bucky could toss it across the room.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky lilted up at him, turning bright blue eyes towards him from the arm of the couch. Sam reached out to stroke his thumb over Bucky’s jaw and then down his arched neck.

“Gonna wear it ‘til it stops smelling like the two of you,” he said. And then gasped and dropped the jacket as Steve was suddenly right on top of him, pressing him to the wall and kissing down his neck.

“Damn, I’ve gotta tear more shit up more often if this is what it gets me,” Bucky hummed and did something with a zipper and his metal hand that Sam could guess at but did not want to tear his eyes away from Steve to confirm.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Hattie breathed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

To read the reports from the heroes was one thing. Nico had read about so many bones sticking through skin that the image had started to lose its gruesomeness. He’d never been in a firefight and he’d only been a baby during the Battle of New York and during the Triskelion event in DC a few years after. Sure, he’d been around for the Blip, had struggled through five years without half the population, and then struggled through the next years after everyone reappeared, but that wasn’t the same kind of trauma as this. And he’d still only been a kid. He didn’t know what was going on then.

Now, watching from every screen in the room and occasionally out the window, he knew he was watching something terrible. He didn’t personally know any of the heroes, but it felt like watching friends being beaten and knocked down.

“Was that Hawkeye?” someone asked.

“No, that was a girl.”

“Who’s wearing Captain Marvel’s star?”

“Oh God, Spiderman just fell.”

“Wait, the new Falcon caught him.”

“Is the Hulk still fighting that thing in the ground?”

“Yeah, Thor’s still knocked out too.”

“Where’s Captain America?”

Nico pinched his arm until Hattie reached for his hand to stop him. Suddenly, a flash of red, white, and blue crashed onto a roof, drawing the attention of whatever mystic hell demon was leading the fire and brimstone charge on downtown DC.

“Oh, shit, hell yeah, Sam Wilson!” someone cheered and then everyone groaned when some lizard-like-thing knocked Sam flying with a spiked tail to the midsection.

“Wait,” Hattie said, mostly to Nico. “That’s not Sam.”

And, yeah, that was an understatement. It wasn’t his outfit and even the cowl couldn’t hide that it was a white guy under all those stars and stripes.

“Fuck, is Walker really gonna try it?” Hattie asked.

“It’s not Walker,” Nico said. “Walker doesn’t have access to the Falcon wings. Or the original Cap suit.”

Not-Wilson, Not-Walker, Not-Captain-America struggled to his feet, holding his arm around his ribs, to face the demon thing. A news drone flew closer so the coverage could pick up on the creature rasping and snarling out words.

“Captain America, you’re the one we’re looking for,” it growled.

“Yeah,” Not-Cap said, nodding his head tiredly. “That’s what I heard.”

“Oh my God,” Hattie breathed again.

“It’s Barnes,” Nico confirmed. Wearing a sleeve and glove, clean shaven, in the red, white, and blue. In the wings.

“Is he...is he acting like...bait or something? If that thing wants Cap…”

Nico shook his head. “No, not bait. He’s a red herring. He’s distracting it for Sam.”

“We want a pure soul. A fine example to be made.” The creature’s voice suddenly changed, along with its face, talons growing from its hands, a tail curling against the roof they were on. “The righteous ones make the best sounds when we flay them.”

Barnes grimaced. “You’re gonna be really disappointed in the sounds mine makes then,” he said. In a blink, he had a gun drawn from an invisible holster and shot the creature. It howled and writhed and smoke rose from boiling lesions on its body. Something splashed back on the drone and almost immediately, the drone went out of service.

On another screen, another news source, another camera, the lizard that had attacked Barnes earlier scrambled across the roof towards him again and Bucky went flying back, literally. The wings lifted him into the air, but not quickly enough. The lizard leapt up too, caught claws in Bucky’s leg and scored gashes down his thigh and calf as it fell away and then tried to climb back up. Bucky shot at it with the same gun he’d shot the demon with but it had less effect. He kicked at the lizard’s head with his good leg and urged the wings to take him higher. Again, the lizard scored down his leg and Bucky was obviously in pain as he tried to kick it free again. Eventually he must have hit a soft spot and the thing fell off, taking chunks of uniform and God knows what else with it.

This camera was too far away to pick up any words, but Nico saw Bucky’s hand go to his ear, to a comm. Then he was flying back down to the same roof. Another drone swooped in and everyone moved to the screen broadcasting that channel.

“Humans are messy creatures,” Barnes said to the struggling figure on the roof. It shifted again, acid and fluids and skin staying behind on the roof as it turned into something with feathers. “I don’t think you’ll be impressed with many of our souls. They’re all fucked up in one way or another.” He blinked tears and sweat out of his eyes and Nico wondered how badly he wanted to take the cowl off. He hated having his face covered. It was one thing he did manage to write in his reports.

“You’re a liar,” the creature said.

“You’re not the first to call me that,” Barnes agreed. “Definitely the ugliest though.”

“You’re a child playing dress up. You’re not Captain America.”

“Nah, they gave the job to the more good looking guy,” Bucky agreed and took the gun out again.

Nico wasn’t sure if he took a step to get closer or if his messed up leg finally gave out, but in the split second that he had to readjust, another animal demon, something catlike and long, lunged at him, at his arm, and sent him sprawling onto the roof.

“Bucky!” someone in the room cried as the demon towered over him, lifted itself on oily wings, talons like swords pointed to Bucky’s body as he tried to crawl away on a bad leg and bad arm.

And then something even darker crashed into the demon mid-air. The Winter Soldier? That wasn’t possible. Bucky was on the ground. But there was that silver arm, the heavy black tactical gear, holsters in every size and shape. That fucking mask that Nico wanted to burn himself the longer he read Bucky’s reports.

“That’s Sam!” Hattie shouted and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her other hand tightened in Nico’s and they both stepped closer to each other. Sam grappled with the demon in flight. He was far nimbler on the wings, more dexterous and faster. He had something silver in his hand, a blade of some kind. Occasionally it glowed and it was the only way Nico could tell the demon and Sam apart, to find an end to the black wings and find Sam’s stealth wings, to make sure Sam was still in one piece.

The blade glowed as it made contact with the demon’s midsection and Sam wrenched it all the way up its body. Ichor and acid spilled onto the roof and now Nico’s hand tightened in Hattie’s as the news drone panned down quickly to watch the blood fall. To watch Joaquin pull Bucky out of the way, using the Falcon wings as covering as he did so.

The drone refocused on Sam, who had the stealth wings driven into either side of the demon’s neck, another weapon in his hand, something beaming and sharp. Redwing appeared directly in front of the drone before Sam made contact with the demon. The body fell out of frame in a split second and then Redwing was gone too.

Sam just about crashed down to the roof. There was blood running the length of his face and a swollen eye, scratches down his weapons arm. The kevlar was torn apart, but he seemed to be in one piece. He ripped the mask off of his face, jaw and mouth protected, no broken bones or loose hinges, yanked away the silver cast he’d had on his left arm, and there were no injuries on that side either.

Demonic creatures squealed and writhed where they’d been, decaying into blood and ash and stone. One was too close to Joaquin and Bucky, but it stopped too, claws just short of Joaquin’s jetpack.

Sam was running over to them before the wings could even retract fully. He skidded to his knees by Bucky’s body, lifted him up, held him close with an arm around his back, the other hand going to the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky reached for Sam’s arm with his human hand, covered in blood, bones sticking out of his forearm, elbow smashed visibly. Still, he put his hand on Sam’s arm, tried to squeeze it.

Sam brought their foreheads together.

* * *

“Stop moving,” Steve said. Normally, he would have snapped it. Reminiscent of a thousand bad nights in their apartment in the thirties. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll upset your lungs. Stop moving, Stevie, those knuckles are never gonna heal. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll press your cold toes against my leg again.

He reached over for the water cup Bucky wanted and helped him drink it slowly. When Bucky started to cough, Sam jolted awake on his other side. “What’s happening?” he asked, blinking blearily and scratching at the gauze over his eye.

“Bucky never learned how to swallow,” Steve said.

All three of them took in a breath to make a joke but none of them actually said it outloud. It felt too wrong. The air was still too raw. Everything about them was still raw.

Raw. Flayed.

Steve turned and retched into the sink on the other side of the room. A moment later, Sam’s hand found his back and gently rubbed between his shoulder blades. He was using the left hand, Steve figured. There were no bandages rubbing on Steve’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said for the millionth time in the twenty hours since the fight. “I should have never sent you out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “There were a dozen other heroes out there. Most of them kids. We weren’t gonna sit around and do nothing.”

“I told you to make the sacrifice play. I told you to fight through it.” When Sam dropped something over his shoulders, something warm and smelling of disinfectant but also Sam’s cologne, he curled his fingers in it and hide his face against it.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ve never been hurt before,” Bucky agreed. “Get over here, you dope,” he said and patted the bed with his metal arm.

Steve and Sam went back to the bed. There was enough room for Steve to sit with one leg kicked down the bed and the other resting over the edge, on the floor. Sam carefully sat on his lap like Steve had been the one in the fight. Like Steve might be hurt. Steve hugged his arms around Sam’s midsection and rested his cheek on the back of Sam’s shoulder, wrapped Sam’s blanket around him too.

“You know,” Sam said and then had to reach for the water himself. Sulfur was hell on the throat as it turned out. “You looked damn good in that outfit, Barnes,” he tried again. “But don’t go getting any ideas about changing your name.”

Bucky laughed, soft and a little pained, metal arm going around his ribs again. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I’m banging fifty percent of all Captains America. If I took on the mantle, I’d skew my own numbers.”

Steve tsked on his other side and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair gently. “Behave, Barnes.”

“I’m sure there’s some sort of toy out there that’s supposed to emulate the Winter Soldier,” Sam said. “You could probably technicality your way out of it. Plus your own fingers,” he pointed out. “Then you’d be up to sixty percent.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed and turned his eyes Heavenward. “Neither one of you would’ve done the job for what that thing wanted,” he said.

“Wow, Rogers, was that a joke about our near-death experience?” Bucky asked. But he couldn’t keep the faux outrage up. He grinned and reached for Steve’s hand against Sam’s thigh.

Steve kissed Sam’s shoulder and then brought Bucky’s knuckles to his mouth. “I’m so fucking happy you’re both okay,” he whispered softly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened.”

“Nothing did, Steve,” Sam said, turning to catch Steve’s lips on his. “You had a solid plan and we executed it like you said we would. We’re a good team.” He kissed him again and then reached over to rub his thumb along Bucky’s wrist so he didn’t feel too left out.

“Besides, if anything did happen, you’d become the first American to have to go to hell to get his lovers out. It’s normally a Greek thing, I think,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated and so, so, so lucky in love.

* * *

“Do you think...they’re in trouble?” Hattie ventured, staring at the locked office door that they’d all been barred from coming near when Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers had walked in two hours earlier.

It had been three weeks since the Spawning, as people around the office, and literally no one else, was calling it. In that time, Nico had seen neither hide nor hair of any of them, or even really Fury. All of their projects had been granted stays of deadline and Nico had even been invited into a committee to sort through the reports of the Spawning. Mostly because Wilson and Barnes were both involved and that was basically only his M.O. now.

He hadn’t seen Fury call Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers in. Granted, they weren’t in their normal office space. The committee had actually been moved to Commander Rogers’ building. He’d been the commanding officer of the mission to take down the Spawning, so it was just easier to stay at his beck-and-call.

“It’s not Rogers’ office, is it?” Hattie asked.

Nico flipped another pencil into the ceiling. “No. His is a big corner office with all the windows.”

Hattie stood on her chair and yanked three pencils down. “So whose office is that?” she asked.

“Hat, I moved over here at the same time you did,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I know you’re cozy with Torres and he knows shit like that.”

“I am not!” Nico insisted like he always had to when the subject came up. “Besides, he’s Air Force, not Shield. Sam gave him the wings. He’s a freelancer.”

“Too bad. There’s no money in freelancing. You’ll have to be the bread-winner.”

Nico dragged his hands over his face. A pencil fell from the ceiling and hit him in the head. “Maybe it’s an empty office. A meeting room. Maybe they’re having a National Icons Meeting.”

“Maybe. I have to pee. Text me if anything happens?”

Nico gave her a half-hearted salute and slouched down in his chair. Of course, almost immediately the door opened and Steve Rogers stepped out.

Nico was so entirely fucked once again.

Because Steve Rogers was disheveled. Unkempt. Messy. Taken apart. Wrecked. In a very good way.

Nico brought his hand over his face but kept looking through his fingers.

Steve Rogers’ hair was sticking up every which way and there were at least three hickies on his neck. And one on his shoulder, which Nico could see because he was in that damn shark shirt, unbuttoned and half off his shoulder. There was a whole entire bite mark around his collarbone.

Steve Rogers looked around the hallway and glanced over the office and didn’t see Nico apparently. He tugged the shirt on straight and buttoned most of the buttons, except for two that Nico was pretty sure were missing at the top. And then, and then, he put on the jacket with the ribbing and the buckles and the dumb blue thread.

Steve Rogers ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Just in time for the office door to open again and to have Bucky Barnes, with a lot of skin showing, appear and say loudly, “You took Sam’s underwear,” and haul him back into the room with the metal arm. Nico heard the door lock.

He slowly crawled out of the office, ran into Hattie in the next hall.

“Hey, did anything happen?” she asked, drying her hands on her pants.

“Nope,” Nico squeaked unconvincingly. “Just got sent home for the day.”

“Sweet,” she said. “Wanna go get some lunch?”

Nico nodded silently even though he wasn’t sure if he should try eating. He really needed to ask for that transfer.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #all caps #writing

13 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Text

October 1st (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: He waits until the last moment and it’s too late.

Notes: i wrote a love letter to my friend but im never gonna send it so im profiting off my misery. gender neutral as usual

Word Count: 1.9k

Sad, sick people have a tendency of gravitating towards each other, whether or not they're aware of the illness of the other person. You know this quite well – in your rather sick childhood, where your mind was plagued with thoughts of self hatred, most of the friends you made were just about as sad as you. Looking back, it is a rather horrifying thought considering you were only twelve and so ready to die. Your mother said you were exaggerating, and that makes sense. Things were dramatized back then. But there's a flicker of truth in there, a small part within the soul that truly believed they should be dead. There's no sicker thought than that.

This trait, that part of yourself, carried through into adulthood. Unfortunate, really – that means it isn't just teenage drama, it isn't just your peers or your family. It's you. You look at yourself in the mirror and realize with tired, drooping eyes that it was always you. There's a quote – something along the lines of, "some people grow sad very young, and I know this, for I am one."

Elliot is sort of like that, too. Well, the two of you get on fine – in both life and within your friendship – and you don't really need to talk about it. You're both well aware of the others' problems, but it doesn't need to be mentioned. All you do is sit in cafe's together so neither of you are approached by creepy people and smoke together at his apartment. It doesn't need to be more than that.

Despite that barrier in your head, he's still your best friend. Maybe because he's one of your only friends, the other being an internet friend who you visit every now and then. Oh well. You lead a pretty sedentary lifestyle – you don't need a lot of friends. Just one to hang around.

Still, he does get around sometimes. He gets up out of nowhere, you ask where he's off to, and he says out. Most of the time he doesn't let you come, but this time he has and he's just wandering around. Looking at people and rationalizing their presence, watching the birds on benches, staring at shopfronts. For a moment you think to ask why he'd take such excursions in such cold weather, but with a glance to his peaced out face you know he doesn't have an answer.

You suppose that's just fine – there's something about fall that has you enjoying time outdoors. The piles of golden and red leaves pushed up against the sides of the streets, the coffee signs in front of every cafe, each with their own drawings of steaming coffee, and of course the scents in the air. It's not a particularly nice part of the city, but it has a fair share of restaurants and most smell of apple cider and cinnamon. The taste of pumpkin is also there; probably because you're sitting next to a Starbucks.

People pass by you donned in fuzzy jackets and long scarves. You look a bit like them; you're not a fan of the cold, so you have mittens, a hat, boots, and a scarf. Elliot on the other hand is much the same, as usual, and you don't expect him to ever stray from that routine. You like his routine. It's familiar.

"I'm leaving soon," you finally blurt out, a topic barely in your conscious mind but ravaging your subconscious. It's both good and bad news, considering the trip is for getting a doctorate, but it's clear he doesn't feel the same way. His eyes widen and he looks to you almost incredulously.

"Where?" He asks.

"Berlin. They've got this program for foreign students. I'll finally be able to get my doctorate in linguistics," you say, nodding to yourself. "I, um... I don't know if I'll be back."

"Why not?" He asks in a softer, rougher voice.

"It's an expensive move, you know? And there aren't that many jobs for linguists here.. at least, there's more in Europe," you half mumble, staring at your fidgeting fingers.

He gets up and leaves. Without another word except an astounded stare out into space, he stands and leaves you on the bench. You almost go after him, but he's got that look about him, and you know he's a little lost in thought. It'll be fine – you won't leave for a little while (not until October, actually), which gives you some real time with Elliot, if that's what he wants. As hard as it is for people to read him, you have a knack for it. That's probably why he spends any time at all with you.

You're going to miss him quite a lot. Lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling in your sleep clothes, the clock well past midnight, you wonder if he'll miss you too. He hasn't talked to you since you told him, which you did a good week or so ago now. Guilt settles deep in your chest – he's a man of routine and you're seriously breaking it. Fortunately, it's not really your problem. You have your own life and it doesn't revolve around what makes him comfortable.

You still feel bad about it, though.

About two weeks before you're set to leave he finally texts you, telling you to come visit him, and though he doesn't say it you know he means one last time. You get it right before you're about to get in the bath, and instantly you reach for the drain, unplugging it to let it drain while you redress yourself. Something nice – not your sweatpants, no matter how warm they are in the late September chill.

Outside rain falls in great sheets, battering down on the already dead leaves and the many, many busy people. Most everyone you pass by is dressed in black – black coats, black pants, black umbrellas. It's like they're mourning a death, though the only death you can think of is that of summer. You don't have an umbrella in your bag, but there's enough people on the streets with umbrellas and enough overhangs that you manage to stay mostly-dry, till the crowd thins out around Elliot's apartment and you get drenched. Droplets of water run down your fully-soaked hair, falling cold on your eyelashes and turning your nose a blushing pink.

Excitement pounds through your heart at the prospect of seeing your friend again. People at your workplace are nice, but no one is quite as intricate or interesting like he is. Every person is special, as are you, but you find yourself looking for the same traits in all your friends. A sort of quiet person with far too much beneath the surface. That's the only way you know how to describe what exactly Elliot is – well, he's kind. Soft-spoken, usually. Lost in his thoughts. Distant. Compassionate, and surprisingly, warm. You don't hug him much but he's warm, and for some reason you never expect it.

He lights the joint, taking a few puffs to ensure it's working before handing it to you, leaning over the small couch so you can reach. Smoke clouds itself in your lungs, forming pockets of dry, happy thoughts in your head. It all comes out with your exhale, like the freeze of hot breath in winter and the fog of dry ice.

"I love you," you say. Blurting is becoming a bad habit for you, but that's okay. You won't see him for a long time, and you need to get it out, no matter how surprised Elliot looks. He always looks a little surprised. "You know that, right?"

He laughs – he actually laughs. A smile spreads across his usually dull cheeks, and a blush crosses him, pink around his grin and pronounced in his ears and the tip of his rounded nose. You can't help it so you smile with him, absorbing the entirety of his fluster. He's always so closed off. Maybe you help him out of that hole, but it's mostly wishful thinking that drives your thought process towards that.

A cloud of smoke releases itself from Elliot's mouth. He doesn't say anything in relation to your announcement, but you don't particularly expect him to. He's a little odd when it comes to affection. You don't mind it in the least, too caught up in memorizing his little movements and his breathy sighs to bother with the tough things.

So that's it. You spend one more afternoon-into-evening with him, and you don't see him again, not at the airport, not over text or Skype. There was a chance of that – you knew that, but it still disappoints and saddens you to watch the ground disappear, the last memory of your Elliot from several days ago. It feels as though it's already fading despite the fact that you remember every detail of your time with him. How could you forget?

Fidgeting with your bag on the plane, you close your eyes and wonder what things will be like when you get back, if you ever do. Your bag is a little like his jacket – a comfort, with fringes that are easy to fidget with, as much as it might annoy the person sitting next to you. Anxiously you dig your hand into your bag, looking for your anxiety meds, only for your fingers to brush against paper.

You don't have paper in your bag.

Pinching it between your fingers, you pull the paper out, revealing an envelope with your name on it. With shaking hands you tear open the glue, unfolding a note scrawled onto leaf paper. There aren't any lines for guiding, but the words are perfectly spaced.

(Y/N),

I'm not sure if I'll ever send this to you. Maybe not – everything is so unsure right now. My constants in this hectic state of the world are few and most are not good. My job, my scars, my anxiety, they never go away but neither do you. It may seem inconsequential to you – you're likable and you have other friends, but I don't. Not really. I have you, though, and it often feels like that's enough.

I always wanted a forever person; someone there throughout all life for better or worse. A bit like tonight – it ended with a bar fight, but somehow I enjoyed it. I looked to you and you were grinning and bashing a guy's head in, and somehow that made me smile. It's always better with you. I don't talk about that enough.

You're the good in the world. I find it hard to believe, much less articulate, how good you are. How kind. Understanding. Creative, open, pure in the best way. You make me want to become a better person, and isn't that what humans strive for? A connection with someone who makes you believe the world is capable of good, someone that makes you believe you'll be alright – so long as you stick by their side.

I don't write these kinds of things. You know that – I don't like bringing my deeper emotions to light. But you're safe and I trust you; I just hope you understand how special you are to me. You deserve so much good and I wish I could give that to you. I can't give you what I want to give you, but I will always be your friend, no matter what.

Elliot

He wrote this a while ago. That bar fight was a year or so ago – is that how long he's been keeping this letter back? Is this why he asked you to come over? ... Is this his attempt to get you to stay?

The plane's already over the ocean. You can't even see the shore anymore.

You realize just a little too late that he's the good in the world.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot #rami malek #rami malek character #mr robot #elliot alderson x male reader #elliot alderson x female reader

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tahitianmangoes · 3 years

Text

Absolution - Chapter 2

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary: Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment Micah didn’t know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other. NSF W | Not canon compliant Also on AO3 Chapter One

Chapter Two - You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail.

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater.

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either. Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose.

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter.

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see?

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask.

***

"Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire. "One of the girls said she saw your friend Miss Gillis around Valentine..." "Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well.

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name.

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her." Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why.

A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure.

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid.

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him.

He wasn’t afraid of Dutch, more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch.

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days.

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed. “Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.” “Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading.

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.” Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient.

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch? Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how everyone’s money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where.

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits the way Micah saw it. But it was all part of the dance.

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, “thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

****

Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty.

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all…

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?” “Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. Why was he like this?

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking. Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning.

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.” Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.” Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?” “No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal.

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.” Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?” Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur.

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some stupid part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle.

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…” Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire.

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way.

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality. It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different.

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk. Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs.

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body. Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so so badly.

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss.

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls.

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release.

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled.

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot.

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

****

Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said. Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued. “I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?” “Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply. “Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.” “Lenny?” Micah repeated.

Micah didn’t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other.

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny.

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - ”you worry too much, kid.”

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail.

****

Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there.

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later… There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting. Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where.

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again. There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. “Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch! He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”

He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help.

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before? Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other?

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building. “You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone. Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.” “Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful.... “You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all. “Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling. Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night. Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.” “A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly. “You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.” Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous prick almost all of the time.

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come. Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it. Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!” But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman. “Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.” “You have really lost it this time!” Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest. Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape. There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not. Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.” Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver. “Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.” Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully. Arthur grunted but didn’t reply. “That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.” “What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now. “Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself. “Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened... “You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…” “You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted. “You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly. Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain. “Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.” “You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye. “No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him. Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them. “Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.”

Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: “you must be hungry, boy. Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around.

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse.

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be.

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone.

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door…

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s.

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah. Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes. Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?” “Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah. “Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend.

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively. Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.” Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that.

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow. “It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now. Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry.

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said. “That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.” Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit. “Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.” “Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.” “I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?” Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.” “Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head. “I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.” Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it.

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”

#morbell #rdr2 #micah bell #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #writing

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palettepainter · 3 years

Text

Overworked

Wanted to do a quick story with Taiho since he’s the least developed of the Higari siblings.

Taiho is the worry wort of the family, he does all the paperwork for the family business so that causes him to stress a lot. Thankfully big brother Higari is there to lend him a hand, and tell him when to go take a nap you dumb idiot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taiho murmed in his sleep at the unpleasant feeling of something hard and cold jabbing his cheek.

He tired to turn away, rolling his head in the opposite direction, but that only got whoever was poking him to shake his shoulder. He grumbled and tried to shake them off with a roll of his shoulder

“Taiho. Tai. Wake up!”

Taiho finally stirred awake and, with effort, sat up at his desk, one hand brushing his fringe out of his eyes “Mmnnnrr?”

Higari, his older brother, stood at the end of his desk - and though his fringe hid most of his face, it was clear in his crossed arms and tone he wasn’t impressed with the state he found him in “You’ve been overworking again haven’t you?” He said while glancing towards the messy pile of paper on his brothers desk

Taiho blinked slowly, like a bear waking from winter “Whuzzah?” Taiho observed his desk for a long moment, looking at all the bills and paper forms scattered across it. He waved his hand “No no, I’m fine! Really, this doesn’t happen as often as think Higari”

Higari rose a bold brow and then pointed to Taiho’s face, where a piece of paper was stuck to his cheek “You’ve drooled all over your work”

Taiho hummed and then lifted a hand to his cheek. So he had - an old payment form from a car repair they’d done last week was glued to his face “Uh..” he sheepishly pulled it away, quickly placing it down onto his desk and trying to ignore Higari’s piercing stare

Higari sighed “Go to bed Taiho”

“Higari I’m fine, really“ Taiho attempted to bargain, but he should have know that Higari would not be deterred so easily. Higari rose his brow higher, and tapped his foot - Taiho gulped “S-Seriously, I’m fine!“ Clusmily, Taiho scrapped his arm over his desk in an attempt to shove all his paperwork to one side, but that only made him knock over a pen pot and then his half empty cup of tea, which had gone disgustingly cold hours ago. Higari watched as Taiho then scrambled to pick up the mug and pens “I just- We’re a little behind on paperwork, that’s all! I-I mean-” he did a rolling motion with his hand “With Chikara and Suru actually doind the repairs and Hono with his demolition job, a-and Ma takin’ care of the house-”

Higari sighed and shook his head “Alright, do me a favour” Higari held both of his arms out infront of him “Hold out your arms like this”

Taiho hesitated, sensing an ulterior motive “U-Uhm, I don’t really w-”

“Do it” Higari repeated strenly

Taiho made a noise of discomfort, looking almost embarrassed as he shyly raised his arms out like Higari had shown. His arms where shaky

Higari once again, sighed “You can’t keep workin’ Taiho ya need rest”

Instantly Taiho drew his arms back to him and turned in his chair away from Higari, who didn’t falter despite his brothers whinny, childish behaviour. “I’m fine” Taiho gritted, cheeks turning pink at the fretting “Theres just been more..paperowrk then usual this month” he tried to defuse the situation, shrug off the problem, his attempts where futile as - with stupid ease - Higari yanked Taiho’s chair away from the desk with one hand, drawing a startled yelp from his brother who’s hands grabbed onto the arms of his seat to prevent him from falling out

“Yer a real stubborn piece a work ya know that?“ Higari said while making his way towards the desk, scooping up handfulls of the scattered forms and placing them into a pile. Taiho went to stand “Ah, Higari, you don’t have to-”

“Sit down, or I’ll make you“ Higari half warned, still cleaning up the paper.

Taiho knew better then to test Higari’s patience, and without a word, promptly sat his rump back into his chair, lips pressed together into a thin line

Higari turned to him briefly, then looked back to his mine field of a desk, one corner of his mouth turned up into a grin at how easy Taiho had been put back in his place. Once you could see the desk again and the paper and pens had been put back in their rightful places, Higari looked back to Taiho, who was slouching and rubbing his neck, looking guilty.

Higari’s tone was softer when he spoke “You know you can’t keep doin’ this to yourself right? Yer not gonna be able to help if you’re contantly burnin’ yourself out. Ya gotta remember to takes breaks every now and again”

“I know..“ Taiho replied quietly, looking far more interested in the floor “It’s just...I dunno“ he shrugged lazily, hands pulling back through his hair “Chikara and Suru are so busy with doing the actual repairin’ and such, and with Hono and his job I-..I-I’m the only one who can really do this stuff“ Higari, sensing Taiho had more to say, simply kept quite and offered Taiho the chance to continue. Which he did: “And if it’s not done, we don’t get the payment through or- o-or the right parts ordered, or the machine part delivered back to the right person! A-And- And then EVERYTHING becomes a mess!“ He threw his arms out for exaggeration, Higari leaned back to avoid getting smacked

“A-And...and...“ Taiho deflated, letting out a long sigh that ended in a groan, his hands cushioned against his face as he rubbed them over his fave, muffling another long groan.

“Hey..“ it was Higari’s turn to talk as he reached forward to put a hand on Taiho’s shoulder. Taiho didn’t pull his face away from his hands, but did peak out to his brother through the gaps between his fingers “Don’t get yourself worked up over what if’s and maybes. You’re smarter then that, heck, you’re probably the smartest kid outta the family!“ Here did Taiho pull his face up from his hands, up close Higari could now see clearly the dark circles under his eyes and how his beard look more scruffier then usual “The town is pretty small, everybody more or less knows each other and their neighbours - has anyone ever gotten mad over a mistake before?“

“No..” Taiho answered, scratching his neck

“Then why would anyone start now? The communicty knows you, Chi and Suru are all runnin’ the business by yourselves, you guys are all good but yer still three people“ Taiho glanced to him and then looked away again, obviously still ashamed at getting so burried under his work load. Higari was unsure what to do, but had an idea pretty quickly “Sides, if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll give em something to really kick up a fuss about”

Worry suddenly overcame Taiho’s face, Higari couldn’t help but snicker “Please..d-don’t do that” Taiho said with a wave off his hand, unsure if Higari had been joking or not.

“Hey, you guys are still my little brother and sisters.“ Higari held a hand proudly to his chest “Only I get to yell at you“

“I’m not that little anyone“ Taiho joked lightly, the tiniest of smiles coming to his face as e gestured to, even sitting down, the height difference between the two. Higari gave a dry laugh, rolling his eyes playfully - the short jokes where an easy pick he thought, but he’d let his family and Ecto get away with them.

“Har har, yeah yeah, you’re a goddamn beanpole“ At the drop of the silly nickname, Taiho let out a light chuckle, which Higari was hoping for “But that’s what big brothers do...and they also tell their little brothers to go sleep“

“Ah..I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten“ Taiho admitted, peering behind him towards the doorway and then back to his desk, hesitant to leave work unfinished. Higari peered back towards the pile of paperwork, compared to the world load he’d had and seen Ecto do, Taiho’s work load looked like a walk in the park.

“Okay, look-“ Higari pulled Taiho from his chair with strength only Chikara could rival, hoisting Taiho to his feet as he pulled the chair back round to the desk “I’ll finish up your work, and you go and rest. I’ve done this kinda paperwork a hundred times over at UA, so just and goes and rest up for a few hours“

“W-What?“ Taiho blinked down at him “No no! That’s MY work, you don’t have to-“

“Tai, I really don’t mind“ Higari jumped up onto the set, already grabbing at a pen and the first piece of paper of the pile he’d made “You’d offer the same if our roles where reversed, and this way you don’t have to worry about working when you get up“

Taiho looked ready to argue back, so while popping the lid of his pen Higari used his ace card “Ooor I could tell Ma you’ve been over-workin’ again - your choice”

The smugness in Higari’s smirk was grossily obvious as Taiho seemed to freeze up at the mention of their mother. His mother would have his head if she found out he’d gotten in such a state over work, she’d probably ban him from being near a work desk for a week till he was well rested

“U-Uh- N-No no!“ Taiho cracked a nervous chuckle under the pressure “T-Theres no need to get Ma involved“

That’s what I thought, Higari thought, but chose not to voice it. Instead he jabbed a thumb over to the small office sofa “If ya want you can always snooze ‘ere, you ain’t even gotta leave the room if you’re that nervous too”

Taiho eyed the sofa, and then the hallway, before he shuffled over to the red furniture piece on the other side of the room. Taiho laid down, hands on his chest, feet slightly hanging over one arm with his head propped up with one pillow . “Are you SURE you’re okay to do it?” Taiho asked again, sitting up as if preparing to stand up again

“With the amounta paperwork I’ve gotta work through and send off at UA, this stuff I could do with an arm tied behind my back“ Higari finished over the first piece of paper, typed some things up onto the computer screen, then reached for another form “Now stop worryin’ you muttonhead. One nap won’t ki-“

Higari stopped mid sentence at the sound of light snoring

He looked over to the sofa with a hum, and then snickered. Taiho was fast asleep, mouth open in snores, one arm and leg drapped off the sofa with the other leg hanging off the armrest. His hair was sprawled like strings of hay over the cushion behind him, and a small string of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Everyone now and then he’d mutter something incoherent in his sleep, or make a weird expression, but he was thoroughly and utterly fast asleep

With Taiho at last alseep, Higari turned back round to the paperwork

..after he took a very quick picture of course

#MHA #MHA OC #powerloaders family #Powerloader #Higari #Taiho #Story

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