#now i can stop feeling chilly just looking at her hanging out in the garden

[canirove]

In The Name of Love | Chapter 20

Author's note: Sorry to everyone who got mad at Val (and me 😅) after reading the previous chapter 🫣 But you have to read this one and what is coming! This story is 35 chapters long (34+epilogue), and we still have good and cute things happening, and maybe another drama 🫣 But it will be worth it, I promise! 🤞🏻 I also struggled a lot writing this chapter and I've edited many times these past few months and even yesterday because I wasn't happy with it, so I hope it doesn't disappoint 🫣

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Masterlist

He is kissing me. Ferran is kissing me again, and I'm not freaking out or stopping him. I'm letting myself go, I'm…

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" a woman says after bumping against us. "Are you ok?"

"I'm… I…" I say, looking from Ferran to her and back at him. "I need to get out of here" I blurt out.

"Val, wait" he says, trying to hold my hand.

"I… I have to go" I say, taking a step back and not letting him touch me. 

"Val…"

"Please, Ferran. Let me go."

"At least tell me where you are going."

"Outside. I feel too hot and a bit dizzy, I need some fresh air."

"If you aren't feeling well I am going with you."

"No!" I say, raising my voice and making some of the people around us look at me. "I want to be alone. I need to be alone."

"Val, I'm sorry. I just… I…"

But I don't hear anything else he says. I'm already walking away, bumping into people who are dancing, pushing them while trying to find one of the doors, the music getting louder and louder, my heart beating faster and faster. I can't believe I let Ferran kiss me again. That I… that I…

"Valeria, stop!" 

"Marc?" I say when I look up at the owner of the hand that is grabbing my arm.

"I've been calling after you. What happened?"

"I need to get out of here."

"Valeria, are you ok? You look…"

"Now!"

"Ok, ok. Come with me."

"I want to be alone, Marc. Why can't you understand it?" I cry, freeing myself from his grip and starting to walk away. Though I don't know where I am going.

"Valeria, this way."

"Don't touch me!"

"I won't touch you" Marc says, lifting his hands. "But let me walk you outside."

"And then you will leave me alone" I say, wiping away my tears.

"And then I will leave you alone" he repeats. "Now come with me."

"Finally" I whisper when we make it outside, taking deep breaths as I stand in the middle of the garden. It is a chilly night and I could definitely use a jacket, but I don't care. 

"Valeria, are you going to tell me what happened?" Marc asks me.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"I saw you arguing with Ferran. Is everything ok? Did he do something?"

"Marc, I want to be alone."

"I can't do that when you are like this, Valeria."

"Yes, you can!" I say, turning around to look at him. "And stop calling me Valeria!"

"But… but that is your name" he says with a confused look.

"And I don't like people calling me like that! It's Val! Val! Only my teachers and my mum call me Valeria. Them and you for whatever the reason." 

"I… I didn't know you didn't like it."

"Of course you didn't!" I say, raising my voice. "Because you knew nothing about me and still don't!"

"Valeria… I mean, Val. Calm down, please."

"I don't want to calm down!"

"You are making a scene, Valeria. And this is my wedding."

"And this is my wedding" I say, making fun of him. "It is always you, Marc. You, you, you."

"What… what are you talking about?"

"You don't care about anyone but you! We were together for a fucking decade and you never gave a shit about me!"

"Valeria…"

"It was always let's hang out with your friends from uni, let's go on holidays to the places you like, let's watch the movies you enjoy, let's move to the flat you prefer… You never asked me what I wanted to do, what I liked, what I needed, how I felt! You probably don't know my favourite colour or my favourite food" I laugh.

"Pink and… pasta?" he says.

"Pink and pasta? Are you fucking kidding me, Marc?"

"I… I don't know."

"Exactly, you don't know! Because you only care about yourself! You are a selfish prick!"

"Valeria, there is no need to insult me."

"Don't call me Valeria!" I yell. 

"I'm sorry, I…”

"I am so glad I broke up with you, Marc. So glad! Getting rid of you has been the best decision of my life, because it finally made me free! Free to be who I really am and to meet someone who truly sees me. Someone who listens to me when I'm  rambling about something I like but also when I'm feeling vulnerable, who makes me feel like I can trust him and open up to him. Someone who makes me laugh, who comforts me when I'm feeling down and gives me the push I need to keep improving and do better, to not give up, to follow my dreams. Someone who makes me feel things I thought impossible  because he has bothered to learn how a woman's body works, who cares about me in a way no one has ever done before. Someone who actually loves me for who I am."

"Someone like Ferran" Marc says.

"Ferran? I’m not talking about Ferran" I snort.

"What? Then who are you talking about?"

"I… I…" I've fucked up. The alcohol in my system has made me talk too much. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"She's talking about the guy she's leaving me for."

"Ferran" I gasp when I see him standing behind Marc.

"What… You… I'm lost."

"Val and I broke up this summer because she met someone else. Because she fell in love with someone else, the person she was talking about" Ferran explains.

"Then why are you here together?" Marc asks him, looking more and more confused by the second.

"Because they aren't ready to be official yet and she didn't want to come alone. Because she didn't want your wife to make fun of her and bully her like she's been doing for years."

"Isabel isn't like that."

"She is a bitch, Marc. She's always been" I say. "But you've never noticed because, again, you never gave a shit about me."

"I loved you, Valeria."

"You have no idea about how truly loving someone feels like, Marc."

"And you do?" he chuckles. "With this guy you are dating now?"

"I do."

"Then why were you kissing your ex, uh? If you love him so much, why were you kissing Ferran?"

"That’s my fault" he says. "You saw us arguing because I kissed her without her consent. Because I still have feelings for her, because I still love her, because I wish it was me the one her heart belonged to" Ferran says, his eyes fixed on me while saying all that. 

"Oh, Marc, there you are!" Isabel says, walking towards us. "What is going on? Why are you three out here? And why are you crying?"

"Oh, I'm not crying" I say, quickly wiping away a tear. "I drank more than I'm used to and… well, you know. I'm not the biggest fan of puking."

"You are disgusting, Valeria."

"Likewise" I smile.

"Marc! She just insulted me!" Isabel cries.

"And so did you, Isabel" he says.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let's go inside."

"What? She insulted me! Aren't you going to do anything?"

"Yes, go inside. It is our wedding day, remember? Let's go" Marc says, grabbing Isabel by the arm and dragging her back into the party while she keeps protesting.

"Looks like he finally grew some balls" Ferran chuckles.

"Better late than never" I sigh. "Ferran, I…" I say after a few seconds in the most awkward silence ever. "What you said…"

"What I said is what I feel, yes. I've fallen in love with you, Val. But I didn't mean to, I promise."

"I don't think that's how falling in love works. Meaning to do it and it happening, you know?"

"Yeah, true" he says with a sad smile. "What I wanted to say is that… It just happened. When Pedri first showed me photos of you and then introduced us, I thought you were really hot, but just that. And then as I got to know you… you know" he shrugs. "But I promise you I've never wanted anything bad to happen between you and him. When I've kissed you it's been because I've lost control, because I'm weak. Not because I want to start drama and make you break up. That's never been my intention. Ever. You two love each other, and I love you both, and even if sometimes seeing you together hurts… I want you to be happy."

"We have to tell Pedri, tho. I can't lie to him, I have to tell him what happened tonight. What I.. us did."

"He… he knows."

"What?"

"Not about today's kiss, of course. But he knows about my feelings for you."

"He knows?"

"Yes."

"Since when?" I ask, raising my voice more and more with each question.

"He always suspected something was going on, and after kissing you at the school I told him everything."

"He's known since then? I can't fucking believe it!" I laugh. 

"We thought that not telling you was the best" Ferran shrugs.

"Well, you thought wrong."

"Val… Val, hey, where are you going?"

"To bed" I say as I walk away. "My head is killing me."

"Do you want me to accompany you?"

"I want to be alone."

"Val…"

"Alone, Ferran. Can't you men understand that word today or what?" 

"I'm sorry, I just… Ok. Good night" he says after I give him my most murderous look, my head literally feeling like it is about to explode. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"To your place?"

"Yes."

Those are the only words Ferran and I share during our drive back home. And before that, the few more we shared weren't the friendliest.

The moment I got back into my room after our argument I went straight to bed. I just wanted to sleep and forget about everything that had happened. About what I had done, about Pedri lying to me.  

And I managed to do it, because when I woke up, Ferran was snoring next to me and I didn't remember hearing him walk in.

After getting changed I left the room to have breakfast. Some of the other guests gave me pitiful looks, probably because they knew my footballer boyfriend and I had had an argument during my ex boyfriend's wedding. But I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone, and I managed to do it since everyone else I knew was still sleeping.

On my way back to my room I got a few more pitiful looks, but no one bothered me. 

"Val."

"Ferran" I say, closing the room's door behind me.

"I thought you had left."

"Without my things?"

"Yeah… You are right" he says, running a hand through his wet hair. He had just come out from the shower and was only wearing a towel around his hips.

"Can you please put some clothes on? I want to leave, and the sooner the better."

"Yes, of course. But I would like to eat something first if that's ok."

"Yeah, yeah. Just be quick, please. I need to get out of this place."

"I will be, I promise" he says before running into the bathroom.

Once he left to have breakfast and I was alone again, I broke down. 

I can't remember the last time I cried like that, my whole body shaking with each sob, my throat hurting that much. But I needed to let it all out. My anger, my guilt... Everything.

When Ferran came back I was a human ball laying in our bed, too tired to move or do anything else.

"Val! Val, are you ok? Val, what happened? Please talk to me! Val!" 

"I want to go home" I murmur.

"Val, you can't go anywhere like this."

"Home" I repeat.

"If they see you like this…"

"I don't give a fuck about them! I just want to go home!" I say, starting to cry again.

"Ok, fine… Let me finish packing everything and take it to the car. It will give you some time to wash your face and… you know."

"Whatever" I reply.

And now here we are. Parking in front of my place while I try not to cry again, surprised that I still have some tears left. 

"Val…" Ferran says, stopping the car. "I'm sorry."

But I ignore him. I just open the door and move to the boot to pick up my things.

"Val, are you seriously going to give me the silent treatment? Ok, fine" he chuckles when I don't reply. "I'm gonna tell Pedri about everything that has happened. So don't get mad at me if he texts you before you say something to him like the last time. And you aren't talking to me. Got it" he sighs. "Just take care, Val."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Val… He's here. Again. And he says he isn't going anywhere until you talk to him."

"Then I hope he's waiting in a comfortable chair."

"Val…" Silvia sighs, closing the door of my room and sitting in the bed next to me. "Don't be like this. You need to talk about what happened and fix things." 

"What if this can't be fixed? What if talking only makes things worse? Just look at the way I snapped at you, Silvia."

"Everything can be fixed. It won't be nice, but it can. So c'mon, Val" she says, grabbing my arm and lifting me up. "Time to make up with your boyfriend."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Hello, Val" Pedri says.

"Hi."

"Don't you want to sit down?"

"No" I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Is this gonna be your attitude?" he asks after a few seconds in silence.

"I don't know what you mean" I shrug.

"It's been days since the wedding, Val. Days I've spent calling you and texting you, you always ignoring me. And now that I'm here to talk in person and fix things, this is how you behave?"

"What did you expect, that I would jump into your arms as if nothing had happened?"

"No, but…"

"Pedri, I'm angry at me and with you. This is me being angry. Because in case you've forgotten, I kissed your best friend and you've been lying to me for months! Months!"

"I know."

"Do you? Really?"

"Yes, I do, Val" he says, meeting my eyes again. "But we thought it was the right thing to do. We thought that if we didn't tell you anything, it wouldn't make things awkward between the three of us and that it would be easier for Ferran to move on. We thought that if we acted normal and as if nothing wasn't happening, it would just go away. And then I…"

“Then you what?”

“I didn’t want you to know because I was afraid you would leave me.”

“What? I laugh.

“When I first told Ferran about you, he asked me if he could hit on you if things didn’t work out between us. He was just teasing me and being annoying, but after he met you in person I saw the way he looked at you and I knew… I knew he liked you.”

“And that’s why you always were so uncomfortable when he was around.”

“Yeah…” he sighs. “And then, when the accident at the Camp Nou happened and everyone thought you were dating, I got so insecure… Because everyone was saying that you looked perfect together. Fans were supporting your relationship since the beginning, something we both know won’t happen to us the day we make it official. And your mum was desperate to meet him, already planning the wedding in her head. Then he kissed you, he told me that he had fallen in love with you and I… I feared that you would see everything that people were talking about and realize that being with me wasn't worth it, that it was too much and that with him things would be easier. I thought that after the kiss, if you found out he had feelings for you, you would realize he was better than me and break up with me to be with him.”

“So you didn’t tell me because you were insecure about my feelings for you? Really, Pedro?”

“Yes” he sighs again. “I know it is stupid, but… I don’t know. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

"Well, you thought wrong, because it only made things worse. If you had told me about how you felt since the beginning, the three of us could have talked about it and avoided going through all this mess. But you didn’t, and that only made Ferran fall harder for me, making him find the guts to kiss me. And then, when I noticed that something was different with him, it made things awkward between us because I didn't know how to behave around him, hurting our friendship. And all that led us to him kissing me again, to me letting him do it and kissing him back. I kissed him, Pedri."

"Yes, you did. But I know it meant nothing to you, that you were drunk and instantly regretted it."

"But it still happened!" I say, not being able to contain my tears anymore. "Didn't it bother you? Like, at all? You just told me you felt insecure because of him!”

“When Ferran told me I did get angry and we argued, but I'm not insecure anymore. Because I know that you love me, Val. That you want to be with me and have no feelings for him, that the kiss was just a mistake.”

“A mistake, yes. One I can't forgive myself for. One that makes me be angry at myself for doing it and at you for not telling me about Ferran's feelings. A mistake that is hurting him, and us, and everything is wrong, and a mess and…"

"Val, hey…"

"No! Don't touch me!" I say, taking a step back when he tries to hug me. 

"Val…"

"I… I need time."

"What?"

"I need time, Pedri. Time to let go of this anger and forgive myself and you too."

"Are you… Are you breaking up with me?"

"I just need time."

"You didn't answer me, Val."

"I… No, I'm not breaking up with you. I love you. And because I do, I need to fix this. But on my own."

"Ok" he whispers.

"Pedri, listen" I say, closing the space between us and cupping his face to make him look at me, his sad eyes breaking my heart. "I love you."

"I love you too. I do, Val. And I'm sorry I fucked up, I just… I didn't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you."

"And you won't" I say, wiping away a tear from his cheek. "But right now we need some time on our own to focus on ourselves. Both of us. You are about to start the new season and I the new year at the school. That's what matters now. And when we are ready, we will see each other again."

"I hope so."

"We will, Pedri. I promise you."

"I love you, Val" he whispers, resting his forehead on mine.

"I love you too" I whisper back, hoping this is the right choice and that I am not making the biggest mistake of my life.

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

[detroitbecomeyandere]

Hey There Little Red Riding Hood.

Werewolf Gavin x Little Red Reader.

You wrap the fresh bread in soft cloth and place it gently in your basket along with a bottle of mead, herbs and vegetables from your garden and some dried and fresh meat. The weather was starting to turn chilly and as the only other member of your family it was your responsibility to look after your aging grandmother in times like these, she was still the same fiery woman who has raised you after your parents died. But just because she thinks she's a woman in her fifties doesn't mean her body agrees, the seventy year old had pain in her joints and hands whenever the weather turned cold and could hardly cook for herself. Glancing out your window you see the sun was starting to set but there should be more than enough time to get to grandmother's before dark. Slinging your red cloak around your shoulders and locking your home you set off into the woods.

You know this path so well you could walk it blindfolded, the scenery is so familiar it almost felt more like home than your actual house. The leaves have begun their change and the whole forest just feels warmer despite the nip in the air, perhaps you'd stay with grandmother this winter to enjoy the snow covered woods. You pull your hood to keep the cold from making your ears chapped and start to hum to yourself completely unaware of the hungry eyes following you.

Gavin follows you closely never losing sight of you, everything about you is devine and he had thought so from the moment he saw you. He was a recluse and lives deep in the woods by himself never wanting contact with the village closest to him but every now and again he needed to trade pelts for other goods to keep him going. That's when he saw you, your big soft eyes that reminded him of a doe, your soft laughter when your friend made a joke, your scent almost made his heart leap from his chest. He knew then that you were his but he didn't approach you to worried he'd lose control so close to the full moon and harm you, he'd go to you when the time was right and until then he'd have to be content.

That was three years ago now, he always told himself that tomorrow would be the day, tomorrow would come and he'd find himself on the outskirts of the village watching you from the trees unable to approach you. So here he was again, following you to your grandmother's. Tonight was harder than ever before with the full moon tomorrow, every instinct in him screaming to throw you down and claim you as his. Gavin was about to give up the walk with you and head back home to deal with his urges there when a sudden wind blew by and he caught you on the wind, you were fertile right now. And like that every rational thought flew from his mind as his inner beast started to take over, the last bit of his humanity hanging on wouldn't let him take you on the forest floor, your first time needed to be special. So he gave your unsuspecting figure a final glance before dashing head.

Unaware of the danger you walk to the door of the home and knock, the walk had taken longer than expected due to some trees down in the path and it was dark by now. You'd have to ask some men in the village if they could clear it for you when you get back. Knocking again you hear a soft "come in" come from the back of the house, stepping inside you notice that the fire was nearly out so after latching the door you set you basket down and work to build the fire.

"Sorry I'm late grandmother, some trees were down and it was kind of a hassle climbing over them." You hear a small hum in acknowledgement and continue, "I'm going to see if Luther can clear it when I get back, I'll ask if he can bring some to you too. Grandmother have you eaten yet? I can make you something to eat, I've brought bread and meat."

In your rambling you don't notice the figure approaching you and your hood blinds your peripheral, a large hand lands on your shoulder and you are pulled from the hearth and spun around.

Gavin hears your heart speed up as you come to the realization that this was not your grandmother, you start to scream and push his arm away but he wraps his other arm around your waist pulling you into him and forces his tongue down your throat. With strength that impresses you the stranger lifts you with the one arm and sits you down on the nearby table. When you start to run out of air he pulls away and sweeps everything off the table and onto the floor. In the warm light of the fire you see the man and vaguely recognize him, he takes advantage of your shock and forces another kiss on you this one a little more tender than before. The man forces your back onto the wood beneath you and starts to bunch your skirts up to your knees and just like that your fight is reignited and you pound against his chest.

When he pulls away a string of saliva connects the two of you, one of his hands catches your's when you try to scratch his face. His other hand holds your face as his thumb sweeps across your bottom lip and mumbles to himself "What soft lips you have, the better to kiss."

"Stop please.. where is my grandmother. You didn't hurt her did you!"

He buries his nose into your neck and inhales "How kind you are, here you are pinned underneath a beast and all you can think about is your sweet old granny." His teeth graze your skin as he grinds his manhood onto your clothed cunt, "Don't worry sweet one, she's safe." He pulls away from your neck and pins your hips down to the table, taking your skirt between his teeth he pulls it to your waist and glances up at you. "I really wanted to wait, but you are just so tempting. You should really stay out of the woods so close to a full moon sweetling. But I know you'll forgive me for being selfish just this once."

And with that he disappears between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your slit groaning as your taste fills his senses. You tasted sweeter than any berries in this forest. You grasp his hair and try to yank him off you but he ignores your pulling and instead wraps his lips around your clit and starts to swirl his tongue around it. Your spine arches as a jolt of pleasure shocks you, you've never felt anything like this and your body welcomed it relaxing into his grip. Gavin hears your heart go steady and he knows he has you, he prods your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing it into you. He growls into you when he feels your walls clamp down onto him and he goes feral on you, sloppy eating you out while his thumb makes tight circles on your clit. Switching again he sucks on your bud and replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, he scissors them inside you trying to prepare you his knot.

You pull him closer to you as the pleasure starts to build to an almost unbearable tightness in your stomach. Every gasp and moan pushes Gavin into a more animalistic state. Just as the knot is about to snap he pulls away from you, you don't get the time to mourn the loss before he is pushing his swollen cock into you. The small amount of prep before did nothing to ease the burn as his cock pushed into you, your eyes water and hiss in pain when he gives you no time to adjust to him. Gavin shuts his eyes as he finally fucks you, none of his fantasies came even close to the way you feel around him.

A whimper brings him back to reality and he opens his now yellow eyes and sees tears streaming down your cheeks and your brow drawn together in pain. He stops his thrusting to cup your face in his callused hand and forces you to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry sweetling, I can't help myself. You're just everything a big bad wolf could want." He presses soft kisses to your lips and gives you a moment to calm down. Once he feels you relax around him he looks back at you, "What big eyes you have, the kind that drive me mad. Keep them on mine." His thumb swipes another tear away as he pulls out until only his tip is inside you, Gavin rolls his hips and sheathes himself fully again. His eyes stay locked onto your own as he repeats the motion several time slowly working you open and once you roll your hips back into his he picks up the pace, letting the animal inside him take over again.

The man above you terrified and excited you at the same time, your mind knew this wasn't something you wanted and yet your body succumbed so quickly, you didn't know which was the right feeling to have and all you did know was that you wanted more of him in the moment. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you, the trapper growled again as the angle let him in deeper and through his parted lips you saw his teeth were becoming pointed before your eyes. The surge of fear only heightens your pleasure as you feel the knot start to build again rapidly.

Gavin smells you fear and it pushes him more into animal than human as he starts to pound into you, trying to force his knot into you before it swells completely. The only thing running through his mind is "breed", the werewolf in him completely taking over as his nails grew into claws and his fangs fully formed.

At the feeling of something bumping against your opening you raise your head a little and see a knot on his cock, transfixed you watch as it grows and as it starts to work it's way inside you. The added stretch burns a little but it's soon forgotten when you see it fully disappear inside you and suddenly you feel so full that you are pushed off the edge and your vision goes white. You grasp his forearms to try and ground yourself as you cum and your eyes flutter closed as you let the sensation wash over you.

He growls as you cum around him, your walls squeeze in a vice like grip. His claws dig into the cape beneath you and he rips holes into it when he feels his knot catch on your walls locking the two of you together. He continues to rut into you trying to forced himself as deep inside as possible, once his cock head kisses your womb he cums. Gavin shoots thick ropes of cum directly into your womb and he howls as he finally becomes one with you. After painting your insides white Gavin looks back to you, your eyes are glazed as you look up at him, your skin flushed and covered in sweat. Leaning down he captures your lips again, this time you return the kiss and drop your legs from his hips as your body goes limp. Soon enough all the pleasure leaves you and your mind starts to clear and the fear from before returns.

You try to pull away from the kiss but Gavin follows your lips so you try to wiggle your hips out from under him hoping to pull yourself off of him and get out from under the man. But when you do you feel him locked inside you and he growls into your lips before pulling away slightly with a dark chuckle, "I know you must be eager for more sweetling, but you need to stay still. I can't guarantee that I won't try to fuck my knot deeper into you, let's just enjoy the moment." He wraps your legs back around his waist and lifts you off the table, the both of you groan at the position change and you have to bite back another moan as he starts walking to the back of the cottage. He lays the two of you onto the bed and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, humming back to you the song you sang on your way here.

#detroit become human #yandere #dbh gavin #kinktober 2021 #soft yandere #yandere werewolf #lemon content #a/b/o smut #tw: breeding #long post #mod beau #i think i fixed all the typos

[ecoamerica]

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[pascalpanic]

Alpha Beta Charlie- A Frankie Morales Story

Summary: Frankie is a lonely man with a big heart. His life changes when a new girl comes into his life.

W/C: 4.1k

Warnings: This one is a little heavy. Lots of language, talk of poor mental health (Frankie has depression and anxiety), Frankie’s recovering from a coke addiction, alcohol is prevalent here, harm to animals, lots of talk of blood and injuries.

A/N: This story is different than I normally write. There’s no reader in the story, this is just a story about Frankie Morales and a moment in his life. Please note that this is darker as it centers around an injured animal. Be warned of that. P.S. some of my friends might see ur names in here :) thank u to all of my friends who helped me pick Charlie’s name, and to @ilikechocolatemilkh who helped me create this whole story!

Frankie Morales is a kindhearted man. Anyone who meets him knows it instantly. He’s got a wonderful laugh that’s warm and inviting, and it’s often on display to anyone who chats with him for more than a few seconds. He’s caring, it’s clear, with big brown eyes that radiate compassion. 

His friends would describe him more as an idiot. Frankie, who they call Catfish from their days in the military, insists that they’re the idiots. He’s the voice of reason in their group, making the rational decisions and de-escalating fights within their group. 

That’s not to say Frankie is entirely sunshine and rainbows. He’s now several months sober from a long and grueling addiction to cocaine. It ruined him: it took away his pilot’s license, his everything in life. Flying helicopters was Frankie’s passion, but he’s recovering. He’s on the right track.

He had a girlfriend, who became his fiancée, and left him not long after he returned home from a dangerous mission in South America. It didn’t matter anyway; her child, who Frankie had dedicated all of his heart to before the birth, was revealed to be another man’s. As much as she resented him for taking the mission, he resented her for cheating and lying and holding the information back.

So now Frankie lives on his own. He resides out in a more rural town, not far from where Benny has his weekly fights and Will (also known as Ironhead) works with young military recruits. It’s been a couple of months, and it’s hard to be alone. Santiago pops into town once or twice a month, and it’s always the highlight of Frankie’s very being. His best friend brings light and laughter into his life. When he leaves again, Frankie’s small home feels massive and quiet.

He plays lots of CDs. He has bluetooth speakers all around the home and blasts his favorite songs. He’s learned how to cook and clean and has even learned how to bake a decent, basic version of a nice loaf of bread. He works as a mechanic at a shop in his small town’s center, working the odd hours that no one else wants, the hours where others want to be home with their families.

He’d considered different options to make the house more home-like, more welcoming. He tried his hand at gardening, only to find that he had the opposite of a green thumb. He painted the walls a warmer color, then painted them again. He was currently considering changing the colors for the third time. He’d burn candles that he thought smelled nice. He’d hung up a few photos of him and his friends, or his family. Nothing really worked.

A typical night for Frankie held one of two patterns:

-Night A: Frankie gets home from the shop at about 7:30, hands covered in grease and smelling of burnt motor oil. He gets in the shower and cleans up, then either ends up at Benny’s arena to cheer him on, or at the bar with both Miller brothers.

-Night B: Frankie gets home at the same time. He showers to clean himself, simply because he hates leaving smudges over his home. He cooks a nice dinner or orders takeout. He eats it on the couch and watches a new Netflix series. He gets sad and feels alone and drinks a beer, then a few more, to drown the sensation. He goes to bed early and calls into the shop to see if any of the morning shift workers want to go home early, because he can come in an hour or two before his shift. He claims it’s for the overtime pay. It’s really to avoid the loneliness.

Frankie likes patterns. He likes routine. It’s soothing. Maybe it’s a remnant of his military days, where not a second would pass without having a title affixed to the very second he was living in. Predictability made the hurt easier.

Tonight was an A Night. Frankie and the Miller brothers sat at the bar of McCreary’s and talked about everything and nothing at once. Will talked about the new girl he was seeing. Benny made lewd comments. Frankie smacked his arm and ordered another round for the other two, then nursed one beer for the entire night.

Winters were the worst for Catfish. He lived in the South, where snow was uncommon, but the dreary February weather stole whatever energy he could muster up and sent it up to join the gray masses that hung in the sky, yet never shed their raindrops. It gets dark early, another thing Frankie hates. It reminds him of the look on Tom’s face when he died. Of the way his bachelor home never made sounds unless he created them. Of the way the craving for one more hit of that devious white powder felt, the way it scrambled his brain until he thought it was the only thing that could take it away. 

This A Night, which also happened to be an especially chilly Tuesday, Frankie drove home from the bar at 12:21. The backroads that lead from the suburbs out to the rolling hills are dark, with a rare streetlight or two illuminating a fork in the road that led to a house. The radio droned on, some old Waylon Jennings song that was threatening to send Frankie into a fit of rage and smash a fist into his dashboard. He turned off the radio instead.

Another car drove the opposite way, far in the distance. He could see the lights approaching, then dim slightly. Frankie turned off his brights, instead allowing the road to be illuminated just by his front headlights. He turns up the heat in his truck as a shiver runs down his spine.

Something is running across the road. Frankie can see it now. It’s far from him, but visible in the other car’s light. He slams on his brakes, his body jerking forward.

The other car doesn’t slow.

He slams his horn several times, for whatever is in the road and the other driver.

The thing doesn’t move.

The car doesn’t slow.

The car and the creature- oh fuck, it’s an animal- collide.

Everything that happens next is too quick. The car stops for a moment. Frankie whips the truck into park and turns on his hazards.

The other car stops for a moment. Frankie can just make out a silhouette inside. He gets out of his truck, eyes wide and frantic. He runs to the animal’s side.

The car drives off.

Dust swirls across the road as the car’s tail lights fade into the distance. Leaving just Frankie and his truck and the mangled mess of fur and blood.

“Fucker!” Frankie screams after the car. “You fuckin’ bastard! You didn’t even check, you motherfucker!”

He gets closer and realizes it’s a dog. Its fur is white and brown and so painstakingly red with its own blood, and it whimpers and cries and Frankie realizes the poor fucking thing is still alive. Whether it’s his caretaking or his military instincts that kick in, Frankie isn’t sure, but before he knows it he’s ripping off his jacket and picking up the poor poor baby, oh you little angel, he coos to it, wrapping it in the denim and setting it in his passenger seat.

It’s still whimpering and crying, and Frankie gets in the driver’s seat and grabs his phone. “Nearest 24-hour pet hospital,” he shouts into it, hands shaking. He doesn’t realize either reaction is happening. It gets the words wrong. “No, fuck,” he groans, shifting the truck into drive and whipping a U-turn. He types in the words as he starts to speed back in the direction of the town. He knows he shouldn’t text and drive and normally he doesn’t, but he’s a fucking former military helicopter pilot, he rationalizes with himself, he can handle this. He finds the directions and types them in and tears start dripping from his eyes.

“Hang in there, buddy, hey,” he says and rubs the poor dog’s big ears as they drive. “It’s gonna be 30 minutes. Think you can hang on for me?” he asks it, not expecting a response. He wants to check the dog’s sex but now is certainly not the time, not while he’s doing 85 in a 60 zone and the dog’s blood is seeping into his denim jacket and his passenger seat.

The tears are flowing freely from his eyes now, his heart breaking. He can feel the animal’s shallow breaths as he drives, and he sobs to himself. “Hang on, buddy. It’s gonna be okay, I gotcha. I’m Frankie,” he introduces himself to the dog, “and I’m gonna take real good care of you. You’re gonna be alright and we’re gonna get you fixed up and back to your owners.”

The drive takes 24 minutes when Frankie is flying down the backroads. Fuck if a cop sees him. Fuck blowing a tire. That can be cared for later, when there’s not a dying creature next to him. A steady murmur of ‘it’s okay’ spills from Frankie’s lips. He’s not sure if he’s saying it to the dog or himself. One hand firmly grips the steering wheel and the other never leaves the animal’s body. He comforts the poor creature, murmuring more reassurances the closer they get. 

“Please hang in there for me, cariño,” Frankie whimpers, chewing his bleeding lip. “I gotcha. It’s all gonna be alright, bud.”

When he sees the hospital, he drives a little faster. He pulls into the emergency room area and parks in front of the door, turning on his hazards and running inside. There are a few veterinary nurses inside and they greet him, but their looks turn to fear when they see the denim-wrapped animal. “Please, please, Idon’tknowthisisn’tmydogitwasahitandrunandIpickeditup-”

“It’s alright, sir, come with us. Please breathe and tell us again,” a kind woman tells him with a hand on his arm, rushing him and the dog back. Frankie calms down after a moment and explains what happened. “It’s not my dog, I don’t know whose dog this is, you gotta check it for a chip-” he rambles.

“It’s alright, sir,” the nurse tells him kindly and takes the dog from his arms. Frankie clutches after it and a new woman pushes his arms down. “We’re going to take it back and operate on it. Would you please wait here for us? We’ll come give you updates as we get them,” she tells him, gesturing to the waiting room. He nods. “And is this your dog’s first time here?” She asks.

The tears come back, choking his throat as water falls steadily from his eyes. “It’s not even my fuckin’ dog, man,” he whimpers, worrying his lip between his teeth again.

The woman is still kind. “I see. Please, sit, Mr….”

“Morales,” he manages out.

She nods. “Mr. Morales. I understand you’re worried. Please just wait in here for us and we’ll bring you information when we have it.” He nods softly, grabbing a tissue from the front desk. He wipes his eyes and nose. “My truck is parked right outside, it’s in the way, I’ll go park it somewhere else,” he tells her.

“That’s perfectly fine, sir. You can even leave and come back if you’d like.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her and walk-jogs outside, getting in his car and bringing it around to park.

-

Frankie enters the emergency room again and sits in a chair. He worries and worries for hours, texting his group chat with the Millers and Santiago. He gives them a play-by-play, but only Santiago responds. He sits awake for another hour, nervously wringing his ball cap.

The dog must be alive, or at least be able to save, he rationalizes with himself. After a while, the worry fades and he falls asleep. Two hours later, no other patients around to disrupt him, he’s woken by the nurse who took the dog back. “Mr. Morales?” She calls out gently.

He jumps awake. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He sits up from his slumped state, readjusting the cap from where it had been resting over his eyes.

The nurse smiles softly at him and sits in a chair across the waiting room from him. “The dog is safe now. We had to amputate her front left leg, and she had a lot of stitches, but she’s stable and looks like she’ll do well.” He lets out a sigh and her smile becomes more genuine. “You told us she isn’t yours?”

She. The dog is a girl. Of course she is, Frankie smiles a little. The smile falls as he remembers the fact again. “No, no. It was a hit and run. I saw it happen, the other guy took off, it wasn’t me who hit her, I’m-”

“Mr. Morales.”

“Right. No, she’s not mine.”

The nurse nods and writes that down. “Well, we scanned her several times. She has no chip, no identifiers at all. Our options now are to send her to some rescue or kennel of some sort, or you can take her home with you.”

His heart breaks at the image of the sweet dog in the front seat of his car going somewhere without daily love and affection. “She’ll come with me,” he answers before he can rationally think about it.

“Wonderful,” she nods, marking that down as well. “She’s looped up now on some drugs. We’ll let her sleep them off for a bit and then she’s all yours. We do have some procedures we’ll need you to follow, for caring for the wound and such. But after that, it should be all good. You’re free to head out now. We can call you when she wakes up.”

Frankie nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great.” He looks down at his watch and notices how early in the morning it is. “Thanks,” he tells her with a genuine smile, taking off his cap and running his hands through his hair before replacing it.

- From that moment on, Frankie was enamored with the dog. He called in from work when the shop opened bright and early at 6:00 A.M. 

“Hey Carol. It’s Morales.”

“You can stop asking if you can come in early, Frank. Just do it,” the woman chuckles on the other line. A loud slurp is audible- it’s the coffee she’s always drinking, the dark sludgy shit that she brews in the break room that Frankie can’t stand but she absolutely adores.

“No, uh. Actually, I was calling in to see if someone else could cover for me today.” He explains the whole story to her, wringing his cap between his hands. “So. I was kind of hoping I could take the day to look for the dog’s owners and care for her.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. “Of course, Frankie,” the older woman says kindly. “You got a real big heart, kid. Real big. That’s awful kind.”

He smiles a little. “Just doing what I can. Thanks, Carol.”

“Keep me posted, Catfish.” The woman hangs up.

Frankie’s in more comfortable clothes now. He didn’t sleep at all once he got home, waiting for the hospital’s call. He distracts himself, cooking a breakfast he only picks at, watching his new series halfheartedly on the couch.

The animal hospital calls him again at 7:30. He gets off the couch immediately and into the truck. There’s a bit of blood on the passenger seat, from where the dog wasn’t immediately covered by his jacket. It’s not a worry, though, he thinks to himself. He’ll get some stain remover and maybe a new and nicer jacket. 

When he arrives, they usher him back to a check-up room. The dog is lying down but she wags her tail at Frankie, looking up at him with big brown eyes that could rival his own. “Hey, sweet thing,” he calls softly, and the dog stands and walks over to him. It’s pained, that much is clear, but she’s already adjusting to walking with one less limb. She rests her head on Frankie’s lap and he scratches her ears gently. 

Some paperwork is filled out and Frankie leads the dog out to his truck with the leash and collar the hospital provided. He lifts her into the passenger seat and she snuggles in. The scent is familiar to her. 

Frankie drives her to a pet store nearby, smiling over at her. She looks at ease with him, relaxed and trusting. Of course she is. This is the man who saved her. 

He helps her down once they arrive and leads her inside. Her walking is pained, he can tell. “Aw, honey,” he frowns. There are carts right inside; Frankie sees the immediate solution. He scoops her up and sets her in a cart. Her tongue hangs out happily as they go through the store. “We’re gonna get you all kinds of fun stuff, huh?” He asks, scratching her head. 

Frankie spares no expense for the dog. As they cross through the store, the cart fills: bags of food and treats, a new leash, and a pink collar decorated with donuts “because you’re such a sweetie, right cutie?”, doggie bags, and food and water dishes. Finally they reach the toy aisle. “Do you wanna pick your own toy?”

He picks her up and sets her down on the ground, unclipping her leash to allow her to explore the toy aisle. She meanders, sniffing toys here and there, even considering one big bone. A few moments later, she comes tottering back to the cart with a toy in her mouth. It’s a big plush hedgehog.  Frankie grins. “Aw, that’s a good one! Good choice, cutie.” He kisses her head as he puts her back in the cart. 

They check out and drive home, and Frankie allows her to wander inside. “Welcome home. At least for now. I suppose I should put an ad out for you online.” 

The dog doesn’t respond, just wanders around the house, sniffing the furniture warily and looking back at Frankie. Asking if he’s coming. He smiles and leads her to the couch, sitting down on it. “I know they say you shouldn’t let dogs on the furniture, but I think you and I can share.” She jumps up and Frankie praises her, giving her a smooch and earning a big lick in return. “Oh, pretty girl, I think you’ll like it here,” he coos to her. She snuggles into his side with a sigh and Frankie sighs too. 

Over the next few days, he posts ads for her, but no one responds. He reaches out to people from the area he was driving in, but no one responds. After Day 4 of searching, there’s no response and he allows himself to sigh in relief. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he coos to the dog, who’s happily panting and grinning. 

During the first week, Frankie tries out different names for her. None of them seem to stick. He wonders if she ever even had a name before. Ada, Lucille, Thea, Sunny, Miki, Zulu, Fox, Pancake. None of them work right for her personality. 

It’s not until late one night when Frankie’s coke cravings decide upon a name for her. 

It’s 2:24 in the morning and Frankie is quaking like a leaf. The dog is cuddled up into his side on the bed. Wherever he goes around the house, she follows. He’s biting his lip so hard it’s drawing blood. Normally when he’s this anxious, when he yearns to call his dealer, he rides it out by balling his fists so tight his knuckles turn white. But his dog seems to notice. 

She rests her chin on his hip, wagging her tail against the mattress with a steady thump. She whines quietly. She knows. 

Frankie’s at least momentarily distracted. “Hey, beautiful, what’s wrong?” He asks her, scratching his head and rolling over to pet her. He’s still desperate but the focus shifts from the sensation of one last hit to the feeling of her soft fur beneath his fingers. She sighs happily and snuggles into Frankie’s side, and he starts to cry. 

No one has ever needed him. Not his plants: they’re succulents. He deals with them once every other week. Not his former fiancée. She didn’t need him, just liked him for his money and his dick late at night. Not his friends. They had other friends to go to. No, this dog needs him, and it makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst. 

Sitting up, Frankie turns on the television. He hits a random button to choose a channel, and Princess and the Frog comes on. He chuckles a little. “How about Tiana?” He asks his dog and scratches her ears. She doesn’t react. 

It’s near the beginning of the movie. The relaxing music soothes him as the movie starts. The dog lies with her head on his thigh, happily receiving scratchies from her new father. Her head perks up when she hears a shrill noise from the television: Tiana’s best friend in her puffy pink dress. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay baby. It’s just Charlotte.”

Charlotte. Her ears perk up and she looks at him. “Charlotte?” He asks again, and she looks at him in confusion. “Do you like that one? How about Lottie?” No response. “Or Charlie?”

The dog pounces on him with her one front paw and licks his face. Frankie laughs happily scratching her sides. “Is that your name, pretty girl? Is your name Charlie?”

The answer, it seems, is yes.

It’s funny, Frankie thinks. Charlie is the third letter of the military alphabet, after Alpha and Beta.

Before Delta.

She would be, he realizes. She’s more important to him than his Delta Squadron guys. More important to him than the terrible things he did in the military. She comes before Delta.

And that’s how Charlie got her name. 

-

The guys finally came over to Frankie’s house on Night 9 of owning Charlie. 

All of the men are dog lovers, and Charlie takes to Benny quickly. He gives her her favorite kind of scratches: one hand behind the ear, one hand on the tummy. “Yeah, that’s a good tripod,” he teases her as he snuggles her. 

“Hey man, cut it out,” Frankie frowns and smacks his arm. “She’s insecure about it! Be nice.”

Santiago laughs. “Hey, you know what, Fish? This isn’t what I meant when I said that you should get a girl, but I’ll take it. Especially when she’s such a sweetie- oh hi, beautiful,” he coos as Charlie hops his way and licks his face. 

Frankie shakes his head. “Isn’t she a cutie?” He laughs happily as he watches his dog. “I tried posting ads for her, but no one answered. She’s such a sweetheart, potty trained and everything. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Benny grins. “And all because we asked you to get a beer and you caved and said yes.”

“What the hell do you mean caved, Ben? I get beers with you two fuckers three times a week,” he laughs and shakes his head. 

He’s been home alone with her all week, but he hasn’t felt as anxious as he normally does. Her companionship is all he needs, the way she snuggles up tight against him, the way her meal schedule motivates him to eat more. He has a purpose now. 

After the initial excitement, Charlie finds her place sitting at her dad’s feet, panting happily and looking around the room. “She fits in well,” Will nods and leans over as he scratches her head. “She’s the newest member of our group, I suppose.”

“She’s much less work than Fish. Maybe we replace him with her,” Santiago teases and Frankie flips him off, chuckling softly. 

This was a pattern that came to be known as the newly named C Night in Frankie’s head. These are the nights where they order a pizza or takeout and hang out in Frankie’s living room with Charlie. She’s the entertainer of the group, giving the men each some individual snuggles and wandering around the room. She’s funny, flopping onto her back at a human’s feet so that she can get tummy rubs, spending an absurd amount of time sniffing one specific spot on one man’s jeans. They all adore her. 

Life improves for Frankie when he has Charlie. He works shorter hours, spends time brushing her fur. He sleeps at better hours and cares for himself better as a result of caring for her. 

He takes her on a jog every morning. At first, he was nervous to do it. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to pass those Special Ops fitness tests. The thing that encourages him most is that Charlie is just the same speed as him. She runs along happily on three legs at the perfect pace for Frankie to match. 

Frankie lovingly refers to her as his copilot. She loves riding in the passenger seat of his truck, letting the wind from the open windows run through her fur. She gets excited when she hears the word truck and demands that Frankie snuggle her when they’re on a long drive. She even fell asleep on his lap once, with her face resting in the curve of the steering wheel.

Charlie is Frankie’s baby, and Frankie is her favorite human. The two of them are each other’s soulmates, Frankie thinks. His baby girl, his fluffy baby, his cuddlebug. His girl. His one true love is his dog, his Charlie. 

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pascalpanic

[watermelonlipstick]

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8​. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself. 

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

           Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

           “The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

           “Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

           “If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

           “Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

           He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

           “Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

           “Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

           Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

           “Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

           It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours,  the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

           Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

           “I’m not going in.”

           Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

           “Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

           His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

           You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

           Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

           “You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

           “It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

           You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

           Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

           “You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

           Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

           “You don’t kno—”

           He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels. 

           The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

           “That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

           “3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

           You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

           Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

           You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

           If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

           “Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

           “Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

           “What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

           “That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

           “A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

           “You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

           Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

           “Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

           As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

           The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

           Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

           You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

           You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

           “Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

           “Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

           “I feel like we’re camping.”

           “What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

           “You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

           “I really don’t want to tal—”

           “I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

           You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

           “You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

-

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[kindofinprogress]

What. A. Git.

Harry Potter fell in love at 18.

At least, that’s how old he was when he realized he was in love. He’d felt quite at home in this state so surely it must have happened when he wasn’t looking. Perhaps it happened when he was 16 and playing quidditch with her in the back garden of her home or later that year when an untamed amount of anger filled him at the sight of another boy near her in all the ways he’d wish he could be. Maybe it happened after their historic first kiss in front of 50 of their peers or the subsequent, equally as historic (although much more private), “walk” after said kiss. Maybe it was later, when he was 17, sometime in the nine grueling months he had to spend away from her- where all he could do was try and not think about how much he missed her. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that, right? Or, it could have happened the second, the very mind-clouding moment, that he got to hold her in his arms again after those nine months and the battle that ended the war in which he lost so much. But not her. She managed to come out on the other side and he couldn’t thank enough deities about it if he tried.

Whenever it was- he was sure he was fully, irrevocably, assuredly, enduringly, and all of the other painfully cliche words one could come up with, in love exactly one month after she left on a train for her last year of schooling.

Harry Potter was pitiful. That’s the word that Ron used, anyway. Well, if not being able to stand missing Ginny, his Ginny after the longest, grueling month of his life then that was fine. Alright, perhaps it was possible he’d had worse months so maybe he could tone down the dramatics. But, Harry rationalized, last year he had countless “worst” months- one right after the other in what at the time seemed like an endless string. And even back then he would have given up the world to be able to drop everything and get one good look at her. And he could do that now- quite easily and with a lot less at stake.

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It was after dinner at the Burrow where Harry sat in a room eating a delicious plate made by a stern and loving woman who’s laugh and annoyed tuts reminded him of his Ginny, sat next to a man with his Ginny’s wonderful curiosity, and surrounded by her brothers who had a mischievous edge to their jokes which only his Ginny could rival that he decided he would do just that. Drop everything and go see her- no matter how pathetic that made him in the eyes of his best mate.

Dinner was a more quiet affair these days. Spirits had livened up just enough at the end of September to where everyone could joke and ask each other about their days with genuine interest because they didn’t always end up back at sorrow-filled points but not enough that not at least one persons’ eyes welled up with tears by the end of the night. Or that someone had to excuse themselves when they almost mentioned Fred. But tonight, it wasn’t the collective longing for Fred to fill his seat at the dinner table or the mention of Teddy and the painful reminder that a 60-year-old woman and an 18-year-old man were now his main caretakers rather than his young and kind parents that created a knot in Harry’s throat. It was the mention of Ginny and the oh-how-busy-she-must-be fussing over her too-short letters home and her oh-so-important exams at the end of the year. After she came up Harry was in no mood to answer questions about his training, or if he and Ron would want the leftovers from tonights’ dinner, or to stay ‘round for after dinner drinks with the boys. Harry did stay, not from a lack of trying to leave though. Ron practically plucked him out of the floo and forced an ale into his palm. “Lighten up, we’ll see them at the end of October in Hogsmeade. No need to let a few miles soil our night.”

So, fine. Harry stayed and sulked over exactly one drink. He bid the clan of red-headed brothers goodnight while Ron went to the loo. Harry got home, put on his pajamas, washed his face and wrote a quick note to Ginny to meet him in the Shrieking Shack on the following night- October first. It was a Thursday and Harry figured it was too early in the year for any professors to be dishing out detentions to a castle full of grieving students and it wasn’t a special feast that night so the only thing that might get in his way would be Hermione’s time table.

The next morning, after about 5 more “you’re absolutely pitiful”’s from Ron, and a detailed description of exactly what he was to tell their training Auror his excuse for skiving off in the middle of a work week Harry set off for Hogwarts.

He arrived in town with enough time to stop by the Hog’s Head and grab dinner at the dusty bar and a quick conversation with the aloof Aberforth. The night’s air was well chilly as he made his way to the old, creaking shack and it wasn’t much better from inside. Harry made quick work to try and warm the place up with some charms but only managed to make it bearably stuffy before the door from the secret passage swung wide open and a red blur launched into his chest. Harry took in her flowery scent and dug his fingers into her hips bringing her as close as possible to him. Ginny looked up and met his eyes and Harry couldn’t help but bring his mouth to hers. The kiss was simple and all-consuming. It made his mind swirl. When he finally broke it and got a good look at her face he couldn’t help the soppy grin that overtook his features. It was so easy to let the world melt away and feel so happy with his Ginny around.

“Hey, you. You didn't just come all the way here to stare at me all night did you? We have pictures for that sort of thing you know.”

“Sorry.” He blurted. “No, that’s not what I came for. But it is quite fun. Be quiet and give me about another minute, would you?”

“Harry!” She giggled and swat at his arm. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck before untangling herself from him. “Why did you come? Is everything alright?” Her expression softened with concern in a way that made her look so absolutely endearing Harry swept her up and rightfully snogged her. When they broke apart, panting and out of breath minutes later he apologized again. “Sorry- couldn’t help it.”

He gave her a sheepish smile suddenly feeling just as pathetic as Ron had painted him to be. “I just. Er- I missed you. Is all. And I- I just wanted to see you. Is that okay? I’m sorry, you didn’t have anything important going on did you? Practice? I don’t even bloody know when you practice and I just made you drop everything because I’m a pathetic sop. I’m sor-”

Ginny shut him up with one of those small pecks that took his breath and all coherent thoughts away. “You silly man. Of course it’s alright, Harry. It’s more than alright. I’ve missed you too. I do have to admit you made me nervous with that note. It didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, bugger. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it freaked Hermione out enough to let me off the hook from studying with her tonight. We’ve been going over the same bloody chapter all week, Harry! I know you warned me but Godric, Hermione is boring me to tears and I think she’s enjoying it!”

Harry laughed and they exchanged another small moment of pure bliss. She had a way of doing that, Harry noticed. Filling a moment with everything. Filling him to the brim with happiness in the most minute ways. In that moment Harry wondered if that’s what his father felt for his mother. Later, Harry would reason with himself that James must have- for if anything was worth falling in love and marrying a girl straight out of school in the middle of a war that that feeling -this feeling- must have been in.

“Please, do carry on about your wild school year full of studying and classes.”

“Oh, only if you promise to drone on about your stuffy old coworkers and shoes that pinch your toes.”

“Hey, I’m serious! I want to know everything. I know you don’t put it all in your letters. I can tell your hand gets cramped when your writing gets all crooked and starts leaning on its side- which happens in every letter so I know you haven’t included everything you’ve wanted to.”

So Ginny spent the next half hour telling Harry about everything she felt was too little to write in her letters. Truthfully, she thought they were too little to be mentioning now when they had such a short time together but he truly seemed to be enjoying the conversation so she kept on only so he would keep looking at her like that. Like she was enchanting and everything. Ginny got the sudden courage to do something she’d been terrified of for weeks. “I had my career meeting with McGonagall my first week.” Harry searched deep in his brain for something to say to that- try as he might he couldn’t think of any specifics to ask- surely she’d mentioned this to him before. It was one of the most important meetings 5th, 6th, and 7th years had yearly and Ginny must’ve- “I didn’t mention it before because what we talked about just kind of happened. I just blurted it out without meaning to and she encouraged me, Harry. Me! She really thinks I’m capable of it.” Ginny let anticipation hang in the air for a second- reveling in the way she had Harry’s undivided attention. “She’s getting scouts from all over to come watch me play! I’m going to play quidditch professionally, Harry! Well, maybe. I have to be impressive enough for them to actually offer anything but-”

“You’re going to be amazing, Gin. Those scouts won’t know what hit them.”

“Oh, Harry. I knew I was right to wait to tell you before anyone else.”

Harry’s heart swelled with pride. He felt like he’d won a prize at that. It was in that moment that Harry realized he needed this for the rest of his life. To be the first one she shared good news with, to never miss out on being her biggest supporter, to get to watch her smile like this. To be around for all things Ginny Weasley.

It was ridiculous, then, the thought that before this visit he hadn’t known he was in love with her. She was Ginny Weasley. Beautiful Ginny who had boys falling at her feet, kind Ginny who took care of everyone she came in contact with, brilliant Ginny who was quick as a whip, brave Ginny who fought in a war at age 16 and faced much darker still at age 11- his Ginny. His talented, talented Ginny who was going to be a professional athlete. How cool was that? She was so cool and brave- his Ginny. Just looking at her now, talking a mile a minute, blushing at the confession that she’d been worried about her family’s reaction to her decision- about his reaction, eliciting confidence- he knew he was head over heels in love. She deserved the world and Harry would do anything to be the one to personally hand it to her.

Harry spent a while celebrating with Ginny and reluctantly left her to go to bed -way past her curfew- after about her tenth yawn. With promises to write and see each other soon Harry left on his way home feeling much lighter than he had in weeks.

Harry had always thought when he felt love for the first time it would be a bit more climactic than this. But strangely, this felt much better than any notion of falling in love he’d built up in his head. This was easy… natural. Nothing dramatic or flashy just… just the sheer act of being with Ginny was enough. And he was so fine with that.

It wasn’t until much later- in the early hours of the morning when Harry was finally crawling into bed that he realized he hadn’t even told her he loved her. What. A. Git.

#hinny fluff #hinny #harry x ginny

[jadonsanhco]

18th of April

alternative title: happy birthday badass bitch

for my dear friend emily @travellvogue

“Working on your birthday shouldn’t be allowed,” you thought to yourself as you stepped inside the house, where you had longed to be all day, exhausted from a full work day. Your birthday started off amazing – with breakfast in bed prepared by your lovely boyfriend, a dozen presents that were way too expensive for your liking though you loved them a lot, and several bouquets of the prettiest flowers from that florist down the street decorating every room in the house. “Only the best for my favourite girl,” Trent had said with a smug smile, having really outdone himself for your birthday this year and he was proud. Even though he knew you’d be happy with some lush bath bombs or some books (which were of course included in the presents as well) he couldn’t stop himself completely spoiling you on your special day.

After that great start to your day you had reluctantly gotten dressed in your work outfit, hopped in your car after a goodbye kiss from Trent and drove to your work for a full day of phone calls and meetings. Now that you were finally home, you couldn’t wait to spend the final hours of your birthday with your man.

“There she is!” Trent smiled at you, coming from the living room to greet you in the hall. “How was your day baby?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your lips and gently brushing one of his hands through your long hair. “Tiring. I missed you,” you mumbled, leaning closer again for another kiss, and another.

“Mmm I missed you too,” Trent smiled against your lips. “I told you, you should’ve taken the day off,” he added, quite disappointed he didn’t get to spend the entire day with you, but it was alright – his plans for tonight would make up for it. “I definitely will next year,” you giggled, definitely having learned from this mistake, knowing you would have enjoyed your birthday much more if you could have spent it at home with him instead of having to smile at everyone who wished you a happy birthday at work – you could have done without all the birthday attention. Besides, you had discovered that planning other people’s birthdays on your own birthday wasn’t exactly ideal either, seeing all the great plans you were putting on paper and in moodboards for strangers while you spent your day at the office.

“Well madam, to show you what you’ve missed all day, I have prepared something for you,” Trent smirked, making you raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh? And what is this something that you have prepared?” you asked, the night already starting to look promising. “That’s a surprise, you’ll see in a few minutes,” he winked. Of course it was. “I hate surprises, you know that,” you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile appearing on your lips.

“Trust me?” Trent asked and came up behind you, covering your eyes with his hands after you nodded. He led you through the house, making sure you wouldn’t trip or bump into anything, until you could feel a breeze on your face, the sliding doors leading to the garden being pushed open. “Mind your step here,” Trent said as you stepped outside, letting you go a little farther to the place he had prepared everything.

“3,2,1… Tadaaa,” Trent removed his hands from your eyes so you could see, a small table in front of you with food that looked delicious, table decorated with flowers and even the plates were all set in a fancy way he had seen you do on special occasions like Christmas and other family dinners. As you looked around the garden you noticed how pretty it looked, fairy lights decorating the trees, some lanterns hanging around the area as well, and there were even some white and pink balloons floating in the air that said “Happy birthday Emily”, the strings attached to the railing of the steps that lead up to a raised terrace in the back of the garden. The fire pit was on for some extra warmth since evenings in April were not quite warm enough yet to stay out for too long, though since the sun was only just starting to set you could still feel the warmth of the sunlight on your face.

“Did you do all this?” you asked Trent with a smile, turning around to see a proud grin covering his face. “Yes. Well… I have to admit, mum helped me out a lot, especially with the food,” he chuckled a bit, knowing that if he would have done the cooking all by himself it would probably be a takeout, but he wanted you to have the best homemade food possible and his mum happened to be a real chef, your favourite meal being one of her specialties.

“I love it, thank you,” you pressed another kiss to Trent’s plump lips before taking a seat at the table, Trent serving you your food before sitting down in front of you. “Bon appetit,” he winked at you and took a forkful of carbonara in his mouth. You ate in a comfortable silence, talking about your day a bit but you didn’t want to talk about work too much while you were enjoying your birthday dinner. Instead, you listened to Trent telling you all about how he and Di spent their day preparing for your birthday, cooking and decorating.

“I know it’s getting a bit chilly out now,” Trent said after you had finished your meals, “but I feel like only now the sun is setting you’ll really be able to appreciate what I did with all the lights.” You laughed a bit, but nodded your head, agreeing that you couldn’t go inside now dusk was finally setting in and the lights lit up the garden beautifully. You couldn’t let all his hard work go underappreciated. 

“The fire should keep us warm, and I’ve got some blankets so we can cuddle.” You followed Trent to where he had set up some blankets and pillows, happily sitting down in front of him with your back leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around you to both keep you warm and pull you as close as possible to him.

“I love you so much,” he whispered after a few minutes, both of you looking up at the stars as if you could try and find constellations, though you never really managed to. “I love you too,” you smiled, turning your head to give Trent a kiss before letting your eyes go over the stars in the sky again, more of them appearing the darker it got.

“I’ve got one more present for you,” Trent broke the silence again after a while. “Trent! You’ve spoilt me enough!” Trent laughed, having expected this reaction from you since he had already given you a bunch of presents before, but this last one was perfect to give to you right now.

“I promise it’s not something expensive or fancy.”

He stood up to go inside and get you your present. A shiver ran over your back from the loss of warmth, the cool air getting to you now you no longer had Trent’s body heat keeping you warm. Trent quickly returned with a gift bag in his hand, thin paper on top to cover up what was inside.

“You can look,” Trent smiled and sat down behind you again, the warmth radiating off him already protecting you from the chilly air better than the fire could. You reached your hand into the bag, your fingers touching soft fabric. A grey sweater was revealed when you pulled out your present, the material being so soft you instantly wanted to wear it and feel it on your skin. You held it up in front of you, the size definitely way too big for your body, and the sweater was just grey other than something small embroidered at the bottom of the sleeves.

“You know how you always steal my hoodies? I’m about to have none left since they’re all on your side of the closet, so that’s why I bought you this. It’s in my size, so it fits you the same as mine fit you. And my initial is on the sleeve so you can always think of me when you wear it,” Trent pointed out the small black T you noticed earlier.

“I’ve even put my cologne all over it already so it smells like me,” he winked, making you giggle a little, knowing one of the reasons you always wore his shirts was because they smell like him.

“Thank you, I really like it,” you smiled, pulling yourself out of Trent’s embrace a little so you could pull the sweater over your head, the soft fabric feeling so comfortable, and the scent of your boyfriend’s cologne making it even better.

“Thought it was perfect to give you this now so we can stay out here a liiittle longer,” Trent said and wrapped his arms around you once again, not ready to go back inside yet as he was enjoying spending time in the garden with you a lot. The doggies, that had been sleeping in the living room most the time, eventually came out for a cuddle as well, a bit afraid of the fire at first but they enjoyed being all close to you and wrapped up in blankets with you, happily continuing their nap outside.

You spent your night in such a simple way – dinner, cuddles, kisses, and just Trent’s company – but it was all you ever needed. You didn’t need a big birthday party or many visitors, you just needed Trent to make your birthday a memorable one. Even going to work earlier in the day couldn’t ruin it for you, and the idea of your and Trent’s families visiting later in the week was something to look forward to, but in that moment, cuddling by the fire with your little family, you felt happiest and more content than ever.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagine #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold blurbs #trent alexander arnold fluff

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly asks, 18 with the ot4? nsfw, if possible? thanks

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW.

18: we were just introduced at a party by our mutual friend and when my partner comes to join us, you freak out because you were just outside making out with them and you pull me aside to tell me

“Duck! Over here!” Aubrey waves him through the crowd, pointing to the lumberjack lookalike next to her, “this is the guy I was telling you about. Barclay’s an old friend of Dani's and, get this, he and Indrid know each other too. Wait, where is mr. mothman?” Aubrey cranes her neck.

“He had to work a late shift, but he says hi. Literally” He fumbles his phone, “fuck, sorry, first thing to go when I’ve been drinkin is my coordination.” He eventually triumphs, showing them the photo of Indrid, silver hair tied back and Void the Rat perched on the sleeve of his ‘Waffle House’ shirt. The sticker on the photo says “Hi!”

“Aww” Barclay’s voice is the epitome of gentle giant, “he always wanted a rat. I’m glad he got one.”

“Whelp, now that I got you two talking, I’m gonna go spend some ‘quality time’ with my girlfriend.”

“Just don't get caught makin’ out in a closet again.” Duck calls. Aubrey flips him off with a smile.

“So how did you and Indrid--oh, there you are babe. Thought you mighta snuck out to take a work call.”

“No, just had to de-escalate a shoving match on the back porch. I know you love Jake, but maybe next time we should just have him over rather than coming to the kind of party we outgrew in undergrad. I’m discovering I don’t enjoy being under the influence in this kind of cramped party anymore."

“Yeah, not really loving the noise. I lose my voice enough in the kitchen. Duck, this is my boyfriend, Joseph. Joseph, this is Duck, he’s a friend of Dani and Aubrey’s.”

Duck crunches his cup as his mind takes a violent spin an hour into the past.

He’d been out on the side deck getting some air and sipping his beer when a guy who looks like he walked in from the set of some splashy T.V show where everyone is hot joined him. His lips looked damn good whenever he sipped his beer and Duck did his best to turn on the southern charm. It was sort of working, until he complimented the guys button up; it was covered in drawings of cryptids--including mothman, Indrid’s favorite--and fit him in the way that made Duck want to rip the buttons off with his teeth. As soon as he demonstrated his enjoyment of listening to a hot guy talk about monsters, the taller man moved gradually closer, bumping shoulders and locking eyes with growing boldness. When Duck said the song booming out of the house was his go-to for putting the moves on someone, the other man asked to see his technique.

They spent the next three songs in the darkest corner of the porch, Duck’s back pressing into metal slats as his new friend wove his fingers into his hair and teased their tongues together with an experts touch.

When Duck breathlessly asked if he wanted to go somewhere more private, he murmured, “Only after we’ve had a chance to talk about some things.”

Then his phone buzzed and he was gone, leaving Duck horny and tipsy under the stars.

Back in the present, he does everything possible to keep from meeting Joseph’s eyes as he mumbles, “I, uh, I, I need some help with somethin in the kitchen? Fuck, yeah, kitchen, Barclay can you come help?”

“Sure. Be right back, babe.”

The kitchen is packed with people doing ill-advised things with drinks, so Duck keeps Barclay in the hall as he whispers, “Man, I, I’m so fuckin sorry but I gotta say somethin’. Joe and I, we, uh, we already met.”

“Makes sense, he’s been in town a year. I just got here.”

“That ain’t the kind of meetin I mean. We got a little, uh, friendly on the porch tonight.”

Barclay gives an “ah” of understanding. Then he chuckles, “thought he looked a little ruffled when he passed me earlier.”

“I’m real fuckin sorry, I didn’t know. ‘Drid and I got an, an agreement, but I shoulda checked to see if he was datin someone.”

“That would have been smart.” Joe appears at Barclay’s shoulder, “but that’s why I said we needed to talk before we did anything else.” He strokes Barclay’s beard, “you and Indrid aren’t the only ones with an open relationship of sorts.”

“Ohthankfuck.” Duck slumps against the wall.

“While I was making sure no one made a punch that could give them alcohol poisoning, you were getting hot and heavy? That’s not fair, babe.” Barclay teases.

“I’ll make it up to you, big guy. Are you safe to drive?”

“Gonna give it another half-hour, just to be safe. You need a ride home, Duck?”

“Uh, sure, that’d be great.”

Soon, he’s bundled in the back of a Subaru, Joe sitting beside him while Barclay navigates through Saturday night traffic. They luck out; the game ran long, so they’re not fighting the throng coming out of the football stadium. When they reach his apartment, Joe stops him and hands Duck his phone. Duck didn’t even feel him take it in the first place. As he waves goodnight, he spots a new number sitting in his contacts and smiles.

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

“...the point is, it amuses me that Joseph shares my taste in me.” Indrid sips his white chocolate mocha, then yawns wide enough for Barclay to spot his tongue piercing, “apologies, I didn’t get to bed until three.”

“Jesus, man, gonna tell Duck to start knocking you out.”

“I was working on commissions.”

Barclay gives him a disbelieving look.

“....I was working on commissions until midnight. Then I spent three hours watching videos on the finer points of home entomology.”

“There it is. You can’t fool me, I remember what you were like at sleepovers.”

“It was very important to read every single Eyewitness book your parents generously bought you.” Indrid takes another sip with an imperious tilt of his head.

Barclay bumps his unoccupied hand, “It’s so fucking nice to see you again.”

Indrid looks at him over his glasses, brown eyes as beautiful as they were when he was sixteen, “Likewise. Oh!” He perks up, “do you know what this means? We can have a double-date! I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Sure Joseph will be into it; he has a spreadsheet of optimal date locations. Bet he’ll have fun making one for double-dates.”

“That is...exceptionally geeky.”

Barclay sends a love-struck smile into his coffee cup, “Yeah, he is.”

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

Joe is more diabolical than Duck gave him credit for. And he thought he was pretty fucking cunning after he suggest seeing the local hockey team; the chilly arena gave Indrid and excuse to cuddle up to anyone who held still for too long and gave Joe plenty of opportunities to make double entendres about sticks in Duck’s ear.

But a night out at “Woofs” AKA the kind of gay bar where Duck and Barclay get hit on constantly is a whole new level of torment. Especially because Indrid hangs off Duck proudly (when he’s not teasing Barclay for the number of free drinks he’s getting) and Joseph even asks him to dance. When he peeks over the taller man’s shoulder, he sees Barclay resting his hand on Indrid’s arm while whispering something that makes him grin.

Dancing really is the most fitting thing he could be doing, because it’s what all four of them have chosen to do about this; dance around the fact that Indrid and Barclay dated, dance around the fact Joe and Duck kissed, danced around the fact that they’re more or less acting like a polycule already.

“Oh no.” Joe mutters, eyes on the door, “things are about to get loud.”

Duck’s about to point out that the club is already loud when he’s pulled out of the path of not one, but two bachelorette parties. They opt to stay, although Barclay gets hit on by someone who doesn’t believe he’s gay. Joe takes him onto the floor for a slow dance while Duck steps into the bathroom. When he comes out, his boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“You guys seen ‘Drid?”

Joe shakes his head, all three of them already moving for the door. They find Indrid across the street on a bench, hunched over and tapping on his knees.

“‘Drid?” Duck sits gently beside him, “you get overwhelmed?”

Indrid nods.

“You wanna head home?”

Another nod. Duck suspects the overstimulation spiked without warning, which usually means…

“You need to be nonverbal for a bit?”

This time Indrid looks at him when he nods, then cringes when he sees Joe and Barclay are watching.

“Our place is closer.” Joe offers, copying Duck’s tone, “we can all bus back there so you can be somewhere quiet. Or, um, if you need it to just be you two, that’s fine too.”

Indrid holds up a finger, indicating option one. Duck helps him up and let’s him stay hidden against his shoulder while they wait for the bus.

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

This used to terrify Barclay. He and Indrid would be hanging out, would be stealthily holding hands in the top row of the football stadium, and his boyfriend would shut down. Barclay, sensing distress, would try to figure out what was wrong, would start to panic when Indrid couldn’t communicate the things happening in his mind and body. They had more than one fight where his attempts to help only made Indrid more overstimulated to the point he snapped at him to fuck off (and, on one occasion, hissed at him).

They worked it out eventually, Barclay keeping a mental list of things that soothed his friend. Watching Duck do some of them, how calm and loving he was, makes something complex bloom in his chest, as vibrant and beautiful as the Dahlias Duck brought them from the garden (“weather’s been so fuckin weird things are bloomin when they shouldn’t”).

When they make it home, Duck stops in the living room and looks between Indrid and Barclay for a moment. Then he murmurs, “‘Drid, you want Barclay to keep you company for a bit?”

Indrid smiles and nods, takes Barclay’s hand and follows him to the bedroom. He lets his memories drive, keeps the light off, arranges his body so Indrid can relax against him, and pets his hair with slow, light motions. His friend hums, meaning he’s on the right track. As he strokes his head he notices the black roots peeking through the silver; it was jarring to see Indrid with pale hair when all his memories were of dark locks of it falling over his face or catching on Barclays hands.

He looks good with the silver. More like himself.

Metal pokes his chest. He takes the glasses Indrid hands him, sets them on Joseph’s stack of library books, then gives a startled, “nnfph” as his friend pulls Barclay on top of him.

“Like the weight” Indrid mumbles, wrapping his arms around him. The longer they lay there, the easier it is to overhear the conversation in the other room.

“I feel awful, if I’d known I’d have never recommended we go somewhere like a loud bar.”

“S’okay, Joe. ‘Drid is still a little wary of tellin people that’s something he has to consider when goin’ out; Dani and them get it, but other folks think he’s bein’ a buzzkill.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re tellin me. Besides, sometimes it comes up so fast, or happens in places he ain’t anticipatin it. He’ll be okay, especially with Barclay takin’ care of him.”

A pause, then, “Do you need someone to, um, take care of you?”

“Joe-”

“It’s alright if the answer is no. But part of my plan was to get everyone in a, um, bit of a frisky mood.”

A snicker, “Frisky?”

“I was trying not to be too crude.”

“Joe, you know how I feel about you. But we gotta check with the others to be sure everythin is on the level.”

“Tell them to come in.” Indrid whispers, a smile plain in his voice.

“Uh, babe? Could you and Duck come in here a sec?”

“Everythin oka--ffft” Duck snorts a laugh, “guess he improvised not havin a weighted blanket.”

“That I did.”

Duck bursts into a grin, hurrying to settle on the bed near Indrid’s head, “Hey, sugar. How you feelin’?”

“Much better. It helps that this one is very soothing.” He toys with Barclay’s hair, sending goosebumps up his arms, “though it seems he had a slighty different reaction to our contact.”

Barclay was so distracted by the conversation that he hadn’t realized his cock was hardening along the familiar warmth of Indrid’s thigh whenever one of them shifted.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright. In fact, it is rather relevant to what you two were discussing in the hall. Am I correct that we all wish to be in some form of polyamorous relationship with each other?”

“Yes” say two voices along with his own.

“Wonderful. I suggest we hash out details later. Right now, it seems you two have, ah, unfinished business.”

“Fuckin finallyAH” Duck cackles as Joseph knocks him backwards, kissing him frantically while yanking up his shirt. As soon as his belly is exposed Joseph begins pawing and groping from there up his sides. Indrid nudges Barclay so they can sit up, allowing the other two more room to disrobe. Or, more accurately, for Joseph to disrobe both himself and Duck, since the shorter man is having trouble moving his limbs between bursts of laughter and moaning.

Joseph crawls backwards, shoving Duck’s legs apart and groping his thighs, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on these since the party. Lord almighty did you look good in those jeans.” He kisses his way up the left thigh, moaning and mouthing at the skin. His posture puts his perfect ass in the air, which happens to be one of Barclay’s favorite views in the whole world. He unzips his pants, fights to get his cock out as Indrid begins offering commentary from beside him.

“Mmmm, were I not still rather exhausted, I’d make him do that to us both.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move his mouth from where it’s teasing Duck’s inner thigh.

“Know you would.” He reaches down to play with Joseph’s hair, “‘Drid’s got a whole fantasy where you blow him while I sit on his face.”

“Funny” Barclay’s voice is turning rough with desire,“he’s got one where he takes all three of us at once.”

Joseph’s face lacks any trace of self-consciousness, a rare thing for him, which means this whole arrangement is fucking brilliant. He simply nods, then takes Duck’s dick into his mouth.

“JEsus, fuck, Joe, ohfuckyeah.” Duck holds Joseph’s head encouragingly, “shoulda known you’d be good at this, you’re so fuckin good at everythin, fuck, fuck.”

Barclay grips his cock, trying to stroke in time with movements of Joseph’s head. Slender fingers carefully push his aside as Indrid purrs, “allow me.”

“You, you don’t have to, you said you were tired-”

“Not too tired for this” he strokes up more firmly, then brushes their lips together, “or this.”

It’s like tasting Hershey Chocolate or Marionberry Pie, transporting him back to their shitty hometown in Eastern Oregon, to summer heat on his skin and basement air in his nose as Indrid proved that yes, kissing boys was what he wanted to do.

Indrid’s certainly gotten better at it since then. Barclay likes to think he has, hopes the other man is feeling even half the things currently piling up in Barclay’s chest.

“Oh.” Indrid sighs as he pulls back, “that’s even better than I remember.”

A particularly loud moan from Joseph, underscored by Duck cursing happily, brings them back to the present.

Barclay moans as Indrid’s hand moves more deliberately.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Uh huh, c-couch, in that, fuck, that basement rec room at my house.”

“You came so fast.”

“Can’t really blame me.”

“Given the sounds he’s making, he might do the same thing now.” Joseph smiles at them from over Duck’s knee, “that’s one of the best things about you. You’re so sensitive, big guy.”

Barclay whines his name. His boyfriend winks, then dives back down to render Duck speechless.

“You really are” Indrid nips his ear, “remember when we, ah, lost it to each other?”

“Mmmhmm” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might make all this last longer. Joseph echoes the noise, making Duck groan.

“Just picture it, Joseph” Indrid is getting into it now, panting and pink-cheeked, “Barclay, eighteen and even shyer than he is now, in my lap, begging me to fuck him.”

‘I, I wasn’t the only one begging.” He grins.

“Of course not. I was desperate to get to it because just seeing you naked had me certain I was going to--one moment” he releases Barclay’s cock, ignoring his whimper to clamber into a position that allows him to kiss Duck as the shorter man grinds into Joseph’s mouth. He doesn’t pull back until Duck’s hips slow and Joseph is busy wiping his lips.

“I can never resist kissing you while you cum.”

“Fuck I love you.” Duck cups Indrid’s cheek. The silver haired man rubs against his palm a moment, then retreats. Duck growls at Joseph, “as for you, you got ten seconds to open your legs so I can show you a good time.”

“So thoughtful” Indrid pecks his cheek, returns to Barclay, “now, where was I…”

“Shy, AHshit, fuckingchristthat’s good.” Joseph’s legs sprawl open as Duck finger-fucks him, sitting on his side to kiss him without obstructing Barclay’s view.

“Ah yes.” He kisses Barclays neck, hand teasing the head of his cock, “you insisted on bottoming because you were so scared you might hurt me. I can still see it, you on your hands and knees, asking me to take you--those were your exact words--then whimpering when I finally got my cock in.”

“Fuck” Joseph is clearly enjoying the story; if Barclay had known he was into this, he would have made all his exes record voicemails describing their exploits.

“If memory serves I came very fast, because you were so much tighter than I expected and you, you felt so good. I used my hands to get you off-”

“Uh huh, fuck, you hadn’t pulled out yet and it was so fucking good, fuck, Indrid-”

“You made such cute noises when you came” a slow, deep kiss as heat floods him, “I wonder if you’ll do the same now.”

“Probably” is all he grunts out before he’s cumming hard enough that most of it hits Joseph’s stomach rather than Indrid’s fingers. His head lolls as his cock pulses, and beneath his own heartbeat he picks up Duck ordering Joseph to be good and cum for him. After a moment, there’s the distinct moan his boyfriend makes during his climax. It’s followed, confusingly, by weak laughter. His eyes flutter open to see Indrid licking his cum off Joseph’s chest, which happens to be ticklish.

He scoots over to join them, Joseph kissing him sleepily the instant he’s close enough.

“You sure you don’t need to cum, sugar?”

“I’m only half-hard, and I know I’m too tired to make it the rest of the way. Not that this wasn’t supremely satisfying. But you each owe me an orgasm sometime in the future.”

“All in favor of blowin ‘Drids mind tomorrow mornin’”

He and the other two raise their hands in sync. Then the four of them collapse, laughing, in each others arms.

#meet ugly #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #indruck #sternclay #inclay #autistic Indrid #trans duck newton #trans agent stern #reader request #duck newton/agent stern

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 friday, may 7th: nightmares & mythology

title: unholy balance

summary: "He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.” - Greek AU-ish Ao3

Years of coming and going through those silent woods, and yet, his eyes have never once seen the sun kiss her skin. Every day and every night— every winter and every summer— she’s trapped inside that dome, caged and exposed like the living statue they need her to be. He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.

Decades before either of them were even born, the oracles foresaw that a girl born during the blood moon would be the balance between doom and salvation. She alone would withhold the power to keep evil under control and protect the world from eminent destruction. A genuine gift sent by the gods so that men would be able to prosper without ever knowing things such as hatred, anger, poverty or sickness.

When the said girl was finally born, then, all the people gathered to celebrate the beginning of a new era, and before she even had the chance to become a child, she was already turned into a blessing. They named her Raven as to symbolize wisdom and longevity. She was a lovely girl and even if their days of playing around in the streets didn’t last long; he has always cherished them with all of his heart.

Everyone who had the chance to meet her could see how pure her heart was, and if anything, they believed she could use that heart of hers to save the world. She had enough goodness in her for that, and as long as she kept on smiling, they knew things would eventually work out. However, even if most people believed she was meant only to bestow grace upon them, the oracles knew better than to ignore the most crucial part of the prophecy. The old texts describe her as a balance, after all, and the slightest mistake can make it hang the wrong way.

As ordered by the village’s council, then, she was to be kept away from everything and everyone who could distract her from her celestial mission, and since no one objected— no one with the power to, at least— they were quick to build her a place where she could focus on her prayers. With her childish features and her amethyst eyes; she was thrown into her own private sanctuary, where she could be adored, but never disturbed.

Seen, but never loved. Not truly.

Ever since she was imprisoned, her voice was never heard, her skin never touched. People can approach her dome in order to steal a glance and leave her some offerings for the sake of their crops, but that’s as far as they will go. Eventually, they all walk away with smiles on their faces, and they don’t come back until the season changes or they need her for something else. Some of them never really return.

That has been her life for at least 16 years now. Their life, actually, for he has been observing her never-changing routine ever since he was selected to be one of her guardians. And though the Wayne heir has always prided himself in the way he keeps his emotions at bay, something about this— about her— makes his blood boil in pure annoyance.

Perhaps it’s because they used to play together or even it’s just his way to express his discontentment with the place he was raised in, but Damian hates seeing her like that. Trapped in her own blessing, she was deprived of every choice in her life, simply because she was born on that stupid night. They’ve filled the folks’ heads with a curse that would befall upon them if she were to stray from her path, and the worst part—

The worst part is that she believes those words. She really believes she has a duty to fulfill, a life to sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

Bullshit, he thinks.

That girl was meant to be special. Meant for greater things and wider horizons, however, they’ve given her the responsibility to hold the world’s weight in her tiny hands. No one dares to move a muscle to help her, and if anything, they count on her not to drop it because, if she does—well— may the gods have mercy on their pathetic souls.

It’s not fair. She deserves so much more than just this, but apparently, he’s the only one who thinks like that and who has actually tried to do something to help her.

One night, years before he was even assigned to his current position, Damian snuck into her pristine garden. As the skillful warrior he was trained to be, it was quite easy for him to pass through the guards and reach her dome. He knocked on the glassed wall, and after a few seconds, she came into view. She had grown considerably since the last time they had met, her face thinner and more delicate. Her beauty was breathtaking and her amethyst eyes mesmerizing. Until today, he doesn’t believe he has ever seen a girl as graceful as her.

The ivory skin contrasted with her dark hair, and there was a fleeting essence in her features that made his chest grow tighter. A sad and ephemeral beauty, hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away, and for a moment, Damian understood why people would come to see her.

Looking at her brought him peace. However, her sadness broke his heart.

‘Come with me. I can get you out of here and you can be free’, he remembers telling her, promising to keep her safe. He had meant every single word he told her that day. Every promise regarding a better future— every new sky he wanted to show her— but it was all meaningless. Raven gave him no answer, instead choosing to offer him an apologetical smile that spoke volumes.

She couldn’t go with him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t be that selfish. Not when the world depended on her.

And so, he left as if he had never been there to begin with. Although he hated that village, Damian forced himself to stay, and when he was old enough, he took upon himself the job to keep her safe. He became her guardian, vowing to stay by her side, waiting for the day when she would grow tired of all that hypocrisy.

Waiting for the day when the balance would finally hang to the wrong side.

He has kept on visiting her at least twice a week, their eyes exchanging silent promises that might never be fulfilled. They don’t talk, no, but he can’t bring himself not to go. It’s stronger than him. Seeing her makes him feel at ease, and deep inside, he hopes one day she will make up her mind and ask him to take her out of there. He wants to be there when she makes that decision. And until that day comes, silently, he shall wait.

Today, though, he stands on his spot like every other day, clad in his green and gold armor. His emerald eyes are set on her small prison, and there isn’t one day when he doesn’t wish for it to fall apart. For it’s spring, the garden looks exceptionally beautiful, with the prettiest flowers of the land blooming just for her. He likes to think nature does that on purpose, provoking her with its true colors and teasing her to leave the comfort of her imprisonment.

The other guards are far from him and even further from her shrine. Soon, their shift will end and others will come so they can continue their full-time surveillance. It’s another day like so many others, with a sky just as blue.

However… something feels different.

Perhaps it’s the chilly breeze of the upcoming autumn, or even the unusual silence enveloping the area— Damian can’t quite pinpoint. Something is uncharacteristically unnatural, and he knows it’s got something to do with her. His eyes drift towards her dome, his lips pressed in a thin line. He can feel the weight of his sword hanging from his waist, and all of his senses are oddly alarmed.

The world beneath his feet is alive, he can feel it in his core. The change is coming, and perhaps the balance is tilting.

His eyes blink, and suddenly, nothing is what it was. The ground is shaking, birds are flying away from their nests, and dark clouds are gathering above their heads. Damian sees the other guards looking around, confused, and once everything seems to settle, a horrified scream tears reality apart. It’s her, he knows. She’s the one who’s screaming and before he can even think through, his feet are desperately taking him towards her dome.

His heart is beating faster now, and he knows it’s not because of the run. Something’s wrong with her and he needs to do something before it’s too late. The clouds are growing darker, lightnings roaring inside, but his feet can’t move any faster— god knows they’re trying to. However, all of his efforts prove themselves useless when an energy burst sends him and all the other guards flying backwards. His back hit the ground with a loud thud, all the air from his lungs escaping through his lips.

What on earth did just happen?

His green eyes are wide now as everything he has judged to be a lie is happening right in front of him. The wind is blowing violently, his soul shaking in sudden fear, and a crimson vortex emerges from the celling of her dome, ripping it all apart. This isn’t good. This isn’t normal. It’s too powerful and too maleficent to be fought back with his bare hands. Right now, he knows his priority is to take her and run towards a safer place. Damian needs to find her. He needs to save her.

While all the other guards are running away from the epicenter of the chaos, he’s the only one running towards it. He doesn’t allow his own heart time to be scared as he’s already rushing inside, his eyes scanning the place in search of her. Broken glass is scattered across the floor, and for her cage is quite small, it doesn’t take him long to find her.

Raven is kneeled down on the floor, her purple robe covering her small body and shards threatening to pierce through the skin of her legs. Her hands are covering her ears and a painful expression is taking over her demeanor. “Stop! Make it stop!” She mumbles, shaking her head and causing her hood to fall back. Her dark locks are falling forward now, brushing her tear-stained cheeks.

She’s completely different from the girl he first met all of those years ago. She’s scared— powerless, even— and all of that celestial composure of hers is nowhere to be found. Raven has lost control over whatever it was she has been keeping inside for all of these years, and even if he knows they’re due to suffer the consequences of her outburst, he couldn’t care less about that.

Right now, he only cares about her.

“Raven!” Her name rushes out of his tongue in an exasperated tone, and soon, he’s kneeling down in front of her. His hands are quick to touch her trembling shoulders, making her head shoot up in pure shock. Amethyst eyes are now locked with his emerald ones, and even if they’re still filled with horror, now he can see traces of relief in her irises. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Damian, I-I…” She starts, stumbling upon her own words. Her voice is a bit hoarse from the lack of practice, but when she says his name, it’s still as melodic as he remembered it to be. “I’ve set it free, Damian. I couldn’t control it and now it’s free!”

“What!? What is free, Raven? Tell me.” He asks, his eyes frantically scanning her body as he searches for any bruise or anything that might suggest she’s hurt. At first glance, thankfully, he finds nothing.

She looks straight at him, and Damian can tell she’s debating whether or not to tell him the whole thing. Eventually, then, she closes her eyes, more tears streaming down her face and her knuckles turning white as she tightens her grip around herself. Her slender fingers reach for her head, tracing the opaque red crystal that decorates her forehead.

“My father. He’s been trapped inside this crystal ever since I was born, and I had the job to make sure he never escaped. But now…” The girl bites her trembling lips, and she takes one last breath before continuing. “But now he’s free and he will use all of his demonic powers to spread evil and misfortune all over the land. It’s just like the prophecy said, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Hey, don’t say that! You were trying your best.“

“It was never about trying, Damian! I had a duty to fulfill, and I failed! All of those years trapped inside that stupid dome for nothing! People are going to die and it’s all my fault!”

His heart is breaking as she speaks, despair lacing every word that leaves her mouth. His brows furrow in condolence, as he can only watch as she cries like a small child in front of him. She feels responsible for all of this, of course she does. After so many years of being told she was the person who had to keep all the evil inside, it’s only natural that she would eventually believe all of those things. Guilt is now getting the best of her, and he’s not doing anything about it. She’s hurt and lost, and all he can do is watch.

Great fucking job, he thinks, anger running through his veins. Now that the balance has finally weighted to the wrong side— now that she’s finally free like he wanted to— he can’t find it in himself to help her. What’s he supposed to do? Damian knows better than to lie to her. He knows she won’t be convinced by his words if he simply says it was not her fault. He cannot tell her everything is going to work out, no. For all he knows, things might never get back to the way they used to be.

Life might never be simple again. He won’t go back to his job as her guard, and she won’t ever go back to that dome of hers as their protector.

Things are going to change.

And perhaps that’s not something that bad, is it?

Now that she has released the evil that was trapped inside of her crystal, she’s finally free to roam the world and do as she pleases. Raven is free to touch the trees and smell the flowers as much as she wants. No more dome to keep her trapped, and finally, she will be able to feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin.

Maybe he’s not taking things as seriously as he should be, but this new life doesn’t seem so bad. Any life where there’s a slight chance for her to be happy is a life worth fighting for.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He will fight for her. For her freedom and for her chance to make her own choices. He will fight because, deep inside, he knows there’s still—

“Hope.” He murmurs, almost as a whisper, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. Once more, she’s looking at him with hopeful eyes, and his heart is beating faster than before.

“What?” She asks, confused, the tears stopping for a moment.

“Hope, Raven.” He starts, his calloused hands now reaching for hers. He caresses her skin with his thumb, a tender expression now spread across his face. “As long as you’re still alive, there’s still hope. Your father might have escaped, sure, but you’re the one who has kept him sealed for all of this time. You’ve done it once, I’m sure you can do it again.”

Her ribcage is moving up and down, her eyes looking at their connected hands. His toned skin against her ivory one makes his chest feel slightly warmer, and he’s glad to see that her shoulders are no longer trembling. “How do you know it? How can you be so sure of that, Damian?”

“I’m not.” He starts, his grip on her hand growing a little stronger. “But I have hope, Raven. As long as you’re here, with me, I have hope.”

Her eyes are looking at him with enough intensity to make his heart skip a beat. He knows she’s looking for a breach in his confidence, but when she finds none, he can feel her hand relaxing under his touch. Her eyes are now brimming with new tears, and in an impulse, Raven throws herself over him, her small hands tugging on his armor. She presses her face against his chest and his arms are fast to welcome her in a warm embrace.

She must have missed this, he thinks. Human contact, that is.

A person to hold her and who believes her, even if she doesn’t. A person to bring hope into her despairing world.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, bringing her closer while she cries her heart out. “You’ll be okay.”

Raven has been deprived of so many things for so long, and he wonders if she even remembers when it was the last time she has felt another person’s touch. He’s hugging her so tightly right now, as if she might disappear if he’s not careful enough. Her tears are soaking his cloth, and perhaps that’s the proof he needs to be sure that she’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He holds her like that until her exhausted body gives up and she falls asleep. Her breathing pattern is slower now, and he doesn’t dare move in fear of waking her up. Tomorrow, when she’s awake, they can think about what to do next and how to solve their problems. Tomorrow, things will be different.

After so long, at last, a new dawn awaits for both of them.

fin.

-----

a/n: So, for this prompt, I’ve tried to play around a little with Pandora’s myth and I’m happy with how it’s turned out (maybe I could’ve done something different, but more than anything, I wanted to keep it “short”). There are a lot of nice things involving greek mythology, and the stories have always fascinated me. I hope you guys have enjoyed this one, and please, tell me your opinion! It means a lot.

#damirae #damirae week 2021 #demonbirds #damian Wayne x raven #damian x raven #mydamiraefics

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 24

masterlist 

Hello darlings! I will promptly be back to working on school, but I had this in drafts, and I thought I’d release it today (cheesecake factory cheesecake put me in a good mood so why not). It’s a little short, but enjoy! Thanks so much for the support! Be sure to check out the teaser moodboards for the upcoming fics and let me know which one you’d like to see first!--- chaotic puff

Y/N was extremely relieved to see Jungkook. She would have gotten up to give the younger man a hug, but Jin had very firmly ordered her to remain seated on the sofa as he hooked her into a new saline bag. No one was particularly keen on her moving. She’d given the entire estate a scare remaining asleep for so long.

“Noona!” He grinned coming to sit next to her on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Kookie.” She smiled tiredly at him gently grasping his hand in hers. “Just tired.”

Jin scoffed hanging up the saline bag. “You were asleep for three days and catatonic for almost two before that. How can you still be tired?”

“Don’t be mean to noona.” Jungkook whined moving to lie down on the sofa cuddling himself into her side, displacing Moni and enjoying the way she carded her fingers through his hair as he made himself comfortable.

“What!” Jin squawked.

“Noona hasn’t been feeling well. You can’t be mean to her.” He pouted before smiling up at her with that charming bunny smile of his and a playful wink. “I missed you noona.”

“I missed you too, Kookie.”

“Why didn’t Jin hyung take better care of you while I was away?” He pouted throwing a playful glare at the older man. “He was supposed to keep an eye on you. For shame, hyung.”

“Yah!”

“And I heard you gave Jimin hyung a nasty bump on the head.” He laughed ignoring the indignant protests from the doctor.

“I never did ask you if he was okay.” She turned tired eyes up to Jin. “I didn’t hurt him too badly did I?”

Jin smiled gently perching himself on the armrest and gently ruffling her hair. “He’ll be fine. He’s got a hard head.”

“That’s good.” She sighed in relief allowing herself to relax back into the cushions again.  

“I’ll leave you two alone. You keep an eye on her, Kook. Don’t let her move around too much.”

“You got it, hyung!”

“And don’t let her sleep! She needs to stay awake for a while yet.”  

The two settled back into the sofa Jungkook keeping his head on her lap letting her play with his hair. Moni had settled himself on the ground in front of them unwilling to stray too far from her side. No one had been able to get the dog away for more than a short interval ever since she had come back from the meeting with GOT7.  After some whining from Jungkook they turned off the drama that Namjoon had put on for her and switched it over to an action movie. It didn’t matter though as she paid very little attention to either of them.

Jungkook was content to lay there with her seemingly innocuous as he kept a sharp eye on her for any signs of fatigue or stress. Namjoon had asked him to keep an eyes on her, and he was determined not to fail his hyung again. He felt guilty for everything that had transpired. If he had managed to stop her from running out of the house, he never would have been sent away. Then Jimin would never have been left in charge of her, and she never would have run away. It was a domino effect that had led to every bad thing that had happened to her in the recent days.

He was grateful that Namjoon had called him back though. He knew how hard everything was on Y/N especially when she had so few friends in the estate. He was determined to do better the second time around, for her sake. She had always been kind to him, despite the fact that Namjoon had assigned him as an over glorified babysitter. She treated him like a brother, and that was not something he was going to take lightly considering everything that had happened with Jackson. She deserved better than that.  

“Noona?” He asked after a long while only to receive a tired hum in response. “Noona, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” She asked in confusion.

“If I had been here you never would have gotten in trouble, and Namjoon hyung wouldn’t have to deal with GOT7…”

She sighed affectionately ruffling his hair. “It’s not your fault, Kookie. Sometimes that’s just how things work out. If it’s anyone’s fault its mine.”

Jungkook shot up eyes wide with indignation as he stared at her. “It’s not your fault!”

“If I hadn’t have jumped the wall and called Jackson, none of this would have happened.”

His brow furrowed turning his expression far more serious than she was used to seeing on him. “Jackson was still part of GOT7 whether you called him or not. Eventually he would have called them for help, and JB still probably would have bargained you off to Namjoon hyung for an alliance.”

She turned to him with sad eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.”  He nodded. “But Namjoon hyung won’t let anything bad happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you either, noona.”

“You’re a good kid, Kookie.” She placed a hand on his cheek smiling at him affectionately.

“I’m not a kid!” He yelled glaring at her playfully before diving down to attack her with tickles.

“Take it back!”

“No!” She yelled through peals of laughter.

“Say Jungkook is the coolest! Say it!”

That was how Namjoon found them, Junkook sitting on her midriff as she shrieked with laughter begging him to stop.

“What is going on here?”

Jungkook froze turning to face his hyung like a deer caught in the headlights. “Hy-hyung!” He gulped.

“Jungkook?”

The effect of the crime lord’s chilly tone and the menacing line his lips were set in was immediate. Jungkook scrambled to get off of her falling over his own limbs and onto the floor in the effort to move quickly enough to satisfy the other man.

“We were… It isn’t… we were just…. Sorry, hyung.” He hung his head remaining cross legged on the floor.

Namjoon sighed pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I seem to recall that there were strict orders from Jin not to get her worked up?”

“Sorry, hyung.”

“I’m fine, Namjoon.” She sighed sitting up wincing a little bit as the IV tugged at her arm which did not escape Namjoon’s notice.

“Are you alright?”  He asked coming to sit next to her gently checking over her arm to make sure that nothing was out of place. There was a little blood under the adhesive, but that was normal.

“I’m fine.” He huffed checking over the rest of her quickly and adjusting the blanket to sit back over her lap again. “You don’t need to fuss.” She sighed trying to push him away only to be levelled with a stern look.

Of course he needed to fuss over her. She’d been asleep for three days, catatonic for two days before then. A rival gang had come claiming her as their own. She’d tried to run from him. He had every reason to fuss over her. It had been a trying week for the both of them.

He was determined to keep her securely in the estate especially while she was in such a fragile state. He wasn’t going to risk her going into another episode. The waiting had been horrible. She’d lain there still and pale like death for days. It had been one of the worst experiences of her life, not knowing when or if she was going to wake up. He wasn’t going to risk losing her even if it was to her own mind.

“Is he gone?” She asked fiddling with the ring on her finger nervously.

“He’s gone. I had Hoseok escort them out, and make it very clear that they are not welcome at the estate.”

“Have you had a good time with Jungkook?”  She hummed tiredly leaning back and patting the cushions of the sofa to call Moni up to her. The fluff ball of a dog happily reclaimed his spot now that Jungkook was on the floor, settling in for his rightful pets and cuddles. “Tired, jagi?” She hummed again. “Jin wanted you to take a walk and eat something more before you slept again. How about we take a walk in the garden, and I’ll have the kitchen fix something light for you. Okay?” “Okay.”

part 25

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #yandere #soft yandere #rm x reader #rm #mafia au #mafia #a dangerous game #dark romance #fanfic

[engie-ivy]

Short happy Wolfstar fluff for @remus-john-lupin Wolfstar Holiday Prompt list.

16: Chilly

To face unafraid, the plans that we've made

Walking in a Winter Wonderland - Bing Crosby

Remus is afraid of how everything will change after Hogwarts, but forgets that change isn't necessarily bad.

Christmas Day, 1977

There’s a sharp December chill in the air. Remus wraps his hands a little tighter around his mug of warm chocolate milk. He’s standing by the window in the living room, while laughter sounds from behind him coming from James and Peter sitting on the rug playing Exploding Snap. There’s a pleasant warmth in the room, but it’s as though he can feel the cold seep through the glass of the window. Despite the fact that he doesn’t like the cold, he’s got to admit that the large garden surrounding the Potter mansion is a sight to behold. The branches of the trees are frozen white, and a crisp layer of snow covers the grass, painting a beautiful and serene picture.

Suddenly, an arm is flung around Remus’ shoulder.

“Doesn’t that snow look made for frolicking?” Sirius grins at him.

Remus rolls his eyes. “I’m not frolicking anywhere. I get cold just looking at it.”

That’s not completely true. Now that Sirius oh-so-casually has an arm draped around him, he doesn’t feel cold anymore. Quite the opposite. A heat spreads through his body, and Remus hopes his cheeks aren’t flushed.

It’s Christmas break. The Christmas break of their seventh year at Hogwarts. Their last Christmas break.

Sirius has recently inherited some money from his uncle, and has bought a small flat in London, where he’ll be moving in this summer after graduation, James and Lily are actually making plans to buy a house together, and Peter will be taking over his parental house, since his mother wants to move to a smaller place.

And Remus? Well, Remus tries not to think about the big, black hole that is his future, tries not to think about how he has no place to live, no money, no prospects, and no chance of anyone wanting to hire someone like him.

Remus is brought back to the present by Sirius grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the kitchen.

“Come on, let’s see if Mrs. Potter still has some of those Christmas Cookies hidden somewhere!”

Remus thinks about how he’d let himself be dragged anywhere as long as Sirius is firmly clasping his hand. Remus also thinks about how it’s not normal to feel that way about your friend, just like it’s not normal to feel sick to your stomach at the thought of no longer sharing a dorm with said friend and not having him around you every day anymore.

Remus definitely does not think about how Mrs. Potter insisted on hanging a branch of fresh mistletoe above the doorway to the kitchen.

He’s too wrapped up in the melancholic knowledge that things will never be anything like this ever again.

Christmas Day, 1978

There’s a sharp December chill in the air. Remus wraps his hands a little tighter around his mug of warm chocolate milk. He’s standing by the window in the living room, while laughter sounds from behind him coming from James and Peter sitting on the rug playing Exploding Snap. There’s a pleasant warmth in the room, but it’s as though he can feel the cold seep through the glass of the window. Despite that cold and the fact that their small balcony is coated in a layer of frost, however, their potted plants are in full bloom. He wonders how long Sirius expects him to belief he’s got a green thumb, instead of him having charmed the plants to keep blooming.

Suddenly, two arms are wrapped around his waist from behind and he’s pulled against a strong chest. A voice whispers close to his ear. “If it’s still too cold for you, I know a way of frolicking that doesn’t involve any snow, and will leave you hot rather than cold.”

Remus chuckles as he leans further into Sirius’ embrace, and places one of his hands on top of Sirius’.

“Even though you make a very compelling argument, I hardly think this is the time for that kind of frolicking.”

Sirius kisses his temple. “You’re probably right. Those Christmas preparations aren’t going to do themselves.”

As Remus nuzzles Sirius’ neck, he kind of wishes that those Christmas preparations were going to do themselves.

Remus is brought back to the present by Sirius grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the kitchen.

“Come on, Evans will be here soon and we’ve got to proof that it wasn’t a mistake to let us be the first couple to host Christmas at our place instead of her and Prongs, and we’ve still got tons of food to prepare!”

Remus thinks about how he’d still let himself be dragged anywhere as long as Sirius is firmly clasping his hand. Remus also thinks about how wonderful it is to feel that way about your boyfriend, just like it doesn’t stop being wonderful to hear Sirius say ‘our place’.

While Remus isn’t thinking about how Sirius insisted on hanging a branch of fresh mistletoe above the doorway to the kitchen, he’s less surprised when Sirius spins around and lovingly kisses him on the lips, as he’s been making a sort of habit out of that lately.

“Merlin Padfoot,” James says from where he’s lounging on the floor. “Maybe you needed the mistletoe as an excuse last year, but you don’t anymore.”

Sirius grins at him. “Just keeping the tradition alive, Prongs.”

Remus had been right about one thing. After that Christmas Day last year, things had never been the same again. But, Remus thinks as his handsome boyfriend enthusiastically starts his attempt at making Christmas cookies in their kitchen, he supposes not all change is bad.

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #marauders era #wolfstar holiday prompts

[the-fiction-witch]

The Siren P2

REAL LIFE HORROR COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: FLIRTY AF

I drove following the directions my phone told me driving down this long curving road beside the sea so many little houses and buildings lined the way between the road and the ocean. The sounds of seagulls and fairground rides breaking through the sounds of the radio playing something I didn't know. The sweet smell of sea air and chips, I drove on following the directions seeming to leave the world behind me going further and further from the busy town down these kong winding roads. Even the little houses stopped now I could see the crisp blue sea down a long drop to the ocean many broken railings were no doubt people had lost control and ended up going to the bottom. I took a turn and I saw it.

Tall, striking sat beside a beautiful cove of crystal blue water and golden sand, the sky a muted grey, the old bricks without a flaw, large victorian windows with purple drapes behind them, a fountain at the front that the road went around with little water coming from it and an old carefully preserved mermaid statue in the centre seat on a rock brushing her hair. The sign on the twisted gate confirming I was in the right place 'The Siren's Bay' hotel, restaurant, and bar. With a smaller sign on the gate

'All non-hotel guests must be off site by 10'

That seems fair. I pulled my car up and saw a car park to the right so i parked up grabbing my stuff and walking over by az soon as I took a step on the marble I jumped seeing a man stood there he was old, a little withered in a pair of black suit pants a red button-down and some black suspenders, he had a bushy beard not too unlike Santa but with tones of grey

"Good afternoon," he said welcomingly

"Good afternoon. I uhh in ti-"

"We know. We've been expected you" he smiled “Come I’ll have someone tend to your things,” He said

“Okay” I nodded a little unsure this felt weird, I swear some kinda Stephen king shit kicks up I am fucking out of here. I followed him up the steps and through the wooden door to a rather nice little reception room with checkerboard stone floors and tall fictional features, the desk central in the room in front of a large staircase to the left was a doorway to a large bar and restaurant with views of the cove and to the right a glass door out to a terrace that overlooked the gardens even if they seemed a little worse for wear then in the pictures online

“We’re a little down at the moment out of the high season you see” He said

“Oh yeah, of course “I nodded going over to the desk with him and he did a little paperwork and handed over a key

“Feel free to use al our facilities during your stay, you’ll be up in room Thirteen” He said “If you can just sign?”

I nodded and signed on the paperwork taking my key “Thanks”

“Go on up, and I’ll have things taken to your room”

“Thanks very much” I nodded heading up the stairs.

I got to my door and unlocked it revealing a very nice room it was large and open with a small area for the fridge And some counter space, a beautiful for post bed with blue curtains some sheer and some less so, beautiful blue and white covers on the bed with so many pillows you could build a fort. A very vintage and stylish bathroom to the side with a bath and seperate shower

There was a lovely old sofa that looked out the large glass doors out to the balcony, I opened the doors pushing back the blue and white curtains and walking out onto the lovely balcony looking out across the sand and sea of the cove nowone down there and honestly it was a little chilly but this Tome of year I don't know what I expected. Soon enough the man from the front brought my things up I thanked him and began to unpack hanging my shirts on the little wardrobe and such as I was to be here a while once I had put everything where it needed to be I smiled and jumped on my bed getting cosy with all the soft covers.

I had myself a nice warm bath and got dressed I'm on holiday perfect Tome to dress up a little for dinner I got my dark blue suit pants on and my light blue button down on doing my hair a little before heading down to the restaurant it was actually fairly busy clearly a lot of local people come up for the evening there was a older woman at the bar washing a glass of I had to guess I'd have sad she was the wife of the guy I met this morning, I took a seat at the bar as that was all there was and she smiled at me "room thirteen?" She asks

"Yeah that's me" I nodded showing my key a moment as I still had it in my hand from locking my door

"Not many in the hotel itself. Most just come up for dinner" she says "I can do you a drink while you wait for a table?"

"Sure" I nodded going for my wallet but she laughed

"No charge sir, part of you staying you see" she says

"Okay. I'll uhh have a cider then" I smiled she did me the drink and I sat sipping It looking out at the beautiful ocean I noticed someone at the bar he seemed off. Sat looking at his drink and nothing else his glass in his hand inna vice like grip, he seemed old, tried, nervous. I made a note of him and continued to look around the very nice room when suddenly there was noise people where applauding I looked around a little confused why before I noticed at the edge of the restaurant by the windows was a raised area and there now stood a woman.

I was for a moment taken aback by her. She was… beautiful.

She stood there in a long blue dress with white petticoats peeking out from the skirt, a white belt on her waist, she had silver bracelets and a necklace with a blue crystal hung from her neck, a white headband in her purple curled hair, she had perfect make up with a bright red lipstick, and eye shadow that made looked like waves apon the sea, natural looking lashes and a glow on her cheeks that sparkled purple and blue she had quiet wide hips and rather voluminous breasts she smiled doing a little curtsy as she stood there setting a microphone up I smiled widely just watching her I don't know why but she made me feel so happy, so peaceful and relaxed music began and she began to sing, it was gentle, slow, sultry and perfect like an old lounge singer designed to make you smile and maybe dance to her songs, but I couldn't help watching her it was like the world went dark and only her and I existed as she sang, like she was singing only for me and it was heavenly.

Once it was over I felt strange, I felt empty like I'd been thrown back to reality and I didn't really want to leave everyone applauded her I did too and she went off somewhere else many getting up to leave now the song was over so I got my table for dinner sitting by the window with my cider looking over the menu as the place cleared out only one old couple in the corner and that weird guy at the bar still here

"Would you mind if I joined you?" A voice asked I looked up and saw that woman again now with a glass of rosé in her hand

"Ohh no not at all, I'd be delighted" I said offering her the other chair at my table she smiled and took it "your song was beautiful"

"Thank you" she smiled "I've not seen you before"

"No I uhh staying here for a holiday only came down this morning"

"I see. How do you like it so far?"

"It's amazing. In really waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me it all feels too good"

"Well it's a nice place, I'm sure they'll be something somewhere" she smiled

We both ordered another drink and some food getting a sharing thing between us

"So, do you live around here?"

"I do. In the hotel"

"I see. You work here then?"

"As a cleaner. sometimes singing"

"I see well your song was beautiful I've never heard anyone like you"

"Thank you" she blushed her hand gently stroking the top of mine. I blushed a little so not use to having anyone… flirt with me well other than kelly at work but not like this. I couldn't deny I was interested in her she was beautiful and I couldn't stop looking at her breasts our food and drinks came and we spoke for a good while about the area, the hotel, the food.

"Sorry I uhh I don't even know your name"

"Y/n." She smiled

"Y/n? That's a very beautiful name" I smiled "Tom. Or Thomas. Either"

"Tommy" she giggled

"Okay"

"Okay?"

"usual Don't allow that one" I told her

"Ohh sorry I'll-"

"But. I'll let you" I smiled giving her a little wink

"That's sweet of you" she smiled stroking her foot up my leg a little I smirked and did it back too stroking my foot on her ankle and a little up her leg as we finished our food and our drinks

"So you have another song to sing?"

"No just one tonight, nothing left to do likely just go back to my room"

"Yeah me too."

"I could always. Come and keep you company?"

"Company? In my roo- oh."

She shrugged and smiled at me

"Yeah sure I uhh I'd love some company"

"Which room?"

"I'm room thirteen"

"I'll see you later then" she smiled getting up giving my head a kiss and heading out into the hotel as soon as I knew she was gone I pretty much bolted up to my room...

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mermay - Dilliam - Getting To Know You

William and Damien want to get to know each other, but these things take time. There are more important matters that need to be addressed first.

Read the first part here!

Word Count: 2,159

--

Sure enough, early the next day William hobbled down the steps to the shore. He kept his balance with one hand, and gripped a flask with the other. Unlike the previous day, he wore more layers to keep warm. It made the chilly morning more bearable as the pair sat on the picnic bench. Even so, Damien's high energy and energetic gesturing as he told William the story of when he first met his extended merfamily was infectious. William kept the hot flask in both hands as he sat forward to take in everything and encourage Damien with more questions.

At one point, Damien seemed to snap out of the moment and throw William a concerned look.

"I'm sorry… this, this isn't too much, is it? I don't get to talk about my experiences too much -" He was cut off when he felt a warm hand on his.

"Keep talking. I want to hear everything." William's smile was so wide, it could be seen either side of his bushy moustache. He gave Damien's another reassuring squeeze before lifting his hand away; and Damien had to rapidly suppress the instinct to snatch the hand back. It was such a simple thing, yet Damien felt comfortable enough to keep going.

As it turned out, it was very easy to talk to William. He knew nothing about the world of the ocean, except a small selection of fish names… and even that wasn't right:

("Oh yeah! An orca! That's the one with a horn, right?"

"No. It's the large whale that is black with white markings."

"... Then what am I thinking of?"

"Either a unicornfish or a narwhal, I'd imagine.")

However, as William would later argue, it was because he was normally assigned to tasks on land and was better acquainted with recognising animals, something that Damien was not too confident on:

("But what about that big cat with the hair? You know, the one that has the hair all around its head like this!"

"... Damien, that's what I've been telling you about. Male lions have manes, see?"

"... I knew that.")

Back and forth the conversation went, and Damien could feel a pang of disappointment when Mark came down to accompany them when he returned from rehearsals. Then, to make matters worse, William got a call from Celine regarding something that needed to be reassembled ASAP, so he had to scramble back up.

"Hey… Damien?" Mark broke the silence that had descended on the rocky coast. "I know you were told William was staying for a day or two, but if he gets the all-clear to take off the boot at his appointment tomorrow he has offered to stay longer to help us with odd jobs around the house. Would you be okay with that?"

"Why are you asking me? I don't live here." Damien made quite a considerable effort to give a calm response, and he could only hope that Mark couldn't see through the flimsy act. "It doesn't really affect me what happens up there."

"Well… I wasn’t sure if you were going to continue on your travels soon. If you need to keep on track of your itinerary, don't let our possible change of plan mess with that." Mark's response had Damien cursing his sister. Did both Celine and her partner know about his plight? But Damien knew Mark. If that was the case, there would be obvious teasing. Maybe it was genuine concern on the actor's part. 

"It's alright. I'm not under any time restriction, remember?" One key difference between humans and merfolk was how humans were obsessed with time and schedules, whereas merfolk were more flexible and carefree. "I don't mind staying a little longer. It's nice to be with family again. I'd be a fool to hurry off too fast and miss out on this." Mark's face lit up as he turned to pick up a bag Damien hadn't noticed originally. It was passed to him without any hesitation.

"Speaking of being with family - here. I had this commissioned for you. Consider it a 'new home' gift from both myself and Celine." The merman gingerly opened the present, surprised when he pulled out a small stacked stone ornament on a waterproof pedestal, complete with aqua blue natural sea glass for decoration. "I know you enjoy travelling the seas. Just know that we want this to be your home as much as it is ours when you are in the area. I might only be your brother-in-law to be, but you are still family, and this can be your home if you want it to be. There’s nothing too hard for us to do to make this your home. Just say the word - I have a credit card." Mark reached forward to ruffle Damien's hair, earning himself a dramatically offended hiss in response.

When Mark left, Damien took the decoration in his hands. It was beautiful, and he was enamoured by it… But it made something in his stomach twist. A home… such a concept was different between a merfolk and a human. If they wanted this to be his 'home', were they going to make some sort of enclosure and expect him to ‘settle down’? Celine wouldn't, he knew she never would. Even so, there was the worry if she felt sorry that he would never have a 'home' in the way a human can.

He put the gift into the chest to keep it safe and slipped into the water. He needed time to think about this.

--

"You sure you want to help out? I was kidding about working you to the bone." Celine accompanied William back to the car after his appointment the next day. The crutch and boot were gleefully returned as he was given the all-clear. Now all that was needed was to simply not break it again any time soon.

"Of course! You expect Mark to move things around for you? Or are you planning on killing your fiancé by letting him try his hand at wiring a new light in one of the empty rooms?" He threw Celine an accusatory glare when she laughed at the suggestion. Thankfully, the conversation returned to the matter at hand as they spent the drive to the hardware store deciding what needed to be done in the seafront cottage. 

"Can I ask you a favour?" Celine had stopped in the middle of the 'outdoor' section during their shopping expedition. William screeched the shopping cart to a halt so he could reverse and see what caught her attention. "I want to make the rock pool a place Damien feels comfortable to call home. The positioning of the rocks means it's sheltered from the tides, but I don't know how safe it will be from winter storms. I don't suppose there's anything you can do about that?" William's eyes went from Celine to see what inspired her to request such a job. It was a rock waterfall, an ornament for a garden. The colour of the rocks matched the ones by the sea.

"I'm not sure, only because I've not seen much of it. It'd depend on if the 'pool' is shallow or not. I could try and add some extra support to those rocks that frame the water, maybe check what supports are normally put along beaches to protect coastal towns?" Celine nodded as William spoke, fetching several LED lamps and dropping them into the cart.

"We should ask Damien when we return. I didn't want to bring it up too soon after we moved in because I know he's not one for staying in one place for too long. I suppose it's the mer instincts at play." When she noticed William's confusion, Celine continued, "When we grow up, we normally want to settle down in a house of our own, right? Merfolk might have nesting grounds or communities of their own, but they tend to travel since they can cover large distances in a short amount of time. It's why Damien would often disappear for months at a time." She sighed as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "I wanted a house by the sea so Damien would have a place he could call home too and feel he can stay longer. I can't protect him if he's forever travelling."

"Protect him?"

"You've heard the stories, right? Where people have exotic 'pets' that are categorised as 'mythical'? Having a merman as beautiful as Damien is one thing, but one with fluency in English and an awareness of human behaviours would be a valuable asset to American collectors… Or worse." Even if her hands were hidden, William knew her fists were tightly clenched in anger at the thought of something bad happening. "I don't want anyone to hurt him. Even if he travels the seas and has plenty of connections, he's still my little brother."

"Hey," William braved putting a hand on Celine's shoulder, "It's okay. He'll be okay. We can go back and see how he feels about rubber duck decorations." He pulled back to lift the item in question. They were tiny LED lights on a string, but each light was encased in a small model that resembled a toy rubber duck. "If we got a few of these and draped them around the rocks, it'd really look like home. And look! They're half-price. It's meant to be, Celine." Though still worried for her brother, the distraction worked as Celine finally cracked a smile and lightly shoved William. "What? Oh! You're right. That's far too ambitious. Just the one will do." That was that as it was innocently dropped in, followed by an actual rubber duck toy.

"Trust me. I might not be an outside landscaper-person, but I know we'll be able to make the rock pool the most spiffing place this side of the seven seas!"

-

To William's credit, he had only gathered a handful of impulse purchases that he paid for himself, including a pair of small hanging mirror shaped like a crescent moon and a star as a belated housewarming present ("Mark is the star 'cause he an actor, and you're the moon 'cause of your magic stuff."). Everything else was relevant to the required home improvement jobs that William would be working on over the next few weeks. Once they had brought everything inside, it was then the turn of Mark to bring William out of the house and make the drive to William's family home. William could grab his tools and show his elderly parents that his leg had fully healed. His mother insisted they take a loaf of homemade bread and some cupcakes with them once she had smothered William in hugs and kisses and made him promise to come by while he was in the area.

Meanwhile, the twins sat on one of the large rocks, gazing out over the sea. Damien rested his head on Celine's shoulder as she told him about how her job was going and some of the ideas for the home renovation now that William was staying and ready to work. Damien held her phone, idly scrolling through the photos as she explained what was going on, until he realised the next few photos were of the area they were in.

"- some sort of way to make this place a little safer in the storms. Do you think you could have a think and see what can be done?"

"I'll think about it." Damien returned the phone to Celine as he sat up straight. "Whatever happens will happen, I suppose."

"But this is your home. Whatever happens here is your choice first and foremost."

"Yeah, sure."

"Damien. I'm serious." She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, only for him to pull away. The fins on his collarbones flared briefly in agitation.

"This is your home, Celine. You don't need to pretend that I have a say in any of this, or that you'd even listen to what I'd want anyway. I don't need your pity because I can't go buy a house like you can."

"That's not what this about-"

"Isn't it? Don't think I never heard those conversations you had with Mom and Dad about wishing I could 'settle down'. I'd bet you even want to build me some sort of little enclosure to make up for that fact."

"Damien, stop that!" But it was too late. He had slipped into the water. Confused and frustrated, but wanting to avoid further argument, Celine stormed back up to the house.

Mark and William had decided to cut into the bread when the back door opened. Their argument on what would best accompany their snacks was abruptly cut off as Celine marched past them and down the corridor, before a door slammed shut. A silent nod was swapped between the men. Something happened between the twins. Food could wait. They needed to get to the bottom of this. ---

(I normally don’t stick these notes on the bottom, but I’m planning on spreading out this story over the month. It’s currently 20 pages on g.oogle docs total, so there definitely will be more. However, I will be putting the next part up tomorrow since 1. I’m not mean to leave it on a cliffhanger for several days and 2. It was waaay too long to put everything as one chapter)

#mermay #dilliam #writersofmark #mayor damien #william j barnum #(I never wanna tag Mark and Celine since they play a minor role) #Blue Soul (Damien) #Eccentric Goof (Colonel) #Shattered Heart (Mark Doom) #Red Soul (Celine) #(read-more is for tidiness! :D )

[rosy-cheekx]

Make A Wish

Book passage:  Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

Me? Posting an unprompted fic? 2021 is starting off wild!

AO3 Link here

Summary: Martin knows just how to celebrate Jon’s 35th birthday. It’s soft and beautiful and speaks of a bright future. 

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really want trinkets or the little gifts Martin would think to buy for a significant other. (If he does want them, at least, he doesn’t say it.) Things he needs, like clothes, he buys himself, doesn’t wait for an occasion. Overall, Martin would not describe Jon as materialistic.

Books are the exception. Books are always the exception for Jon. While Jon is not materialistic, he is usually sentimental. He keeps things for as long as he can, letting them wear and wear til they’re no longer usable, like his shoes. Especially pictures. Jon never throws away pictures. (Martin knows why and snaps as many Polaroids as he can of his partner, himself, their friends, even their cat, hanging them around the house in tiny frames as reminders.) But his books are in and out of the shelves like they run a bookshop of their own. Martin has heard the stories of his partner’s reading habits as a youth, knows that Jon’s reading habits are challenging, to say the least. Before they’d moved in together, though, he hadn’t realized that every time he was at Jon’s the bookshelves were almost entirely unique to the last visit. New titles, rarely the same authors, with no seeming organization to the assemblance. Martin knows this now, knows that once a fortnight Jon packs up all the books he’s read and takes them to their local charity shop. It’s his little ritual, and the bug-eyed look of confusion Martin had received when he had asked him about it the first time was priceless.

“I just--don’t need them anymore?” He says, like it’s a question. “I’m not going to read them again.”

“Really?” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I took you to be a bit of a hoarder when it comes to books, if the statements in your office were any indication. And it’s our flat, so they’re our books. What if I want to read them?”

“Please.” Jon scoffs. “That’s entirely different. I don’t enjoy­- well. They’re work, these are not.”

Still, after this, Jon includes Martin in his ritual, giving him synopses from books he thinks Martin might enjoy and adding the Blackwood-Approved books to the other bookshelf. Martin is quite proud of his bookshelf, identical in structure to Jon’s but entirely more organized: books ordered by genre, then by author, with figurines, photos, and plants acting as weights and decor. Jon’s deviates between sparse and overflowing, books stacked however they will fit, with no rhyme or reason to their order.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon, but he’s learned quickly that Jon isn’t a Things person. Jon is an Experiences person. The moments he treasures are the ones where he and Martin are happy to be in each other’s presence and experiencing new things together. Ice skating, picnics, hiking, cinemas, all the quintessential cheesy dates, the ones he would’ve guessed, way back when, before he knew the real Jon, this Jon, he would have snubbed his nose at.

Jon’s birthday is coming up. He’s turning 35 and is all too self-conscious about the fact. Martin ribs him a little; he’s older by seven months, after all, “you’re making me feel old, Jon!” Their ritual has become to call off work and spend a day together on Jon’s birthday. No gifts, no fanfare, just a day doing an activity Martin has planned. It’s perfect usually, Jon’s delighted smile and bright eyes when he thanks Martin with a kiss is all the satisfaction he needs. But this is 35, it needs to be special. It needs to be perfect.

---

Martin blinks awake to the steady, calming drum of rain on their bedroom window. He pats out blindly for his glasses, haphazardly set on his bedside table, and pushes them on his face, before rolling back onto his side and tucking an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs, carding his other hand through Jon’s tangled curls. He smiles softly as he watches his partner; Jon always grumbles that he looks so much older than he is, but when he’s sleeping, Martin swears he looks timeless, a specimen of perfect beauty against the crisp black sheets. Jon shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and squints blearily at Martin. Jon, for all his sleepless nights back at the archives, is not a morning person.

“Hm-mar’in?” he mumbles, irises stained forever green. He clears his throat and scrubs at his eyes. God, he looks just like a cat. “G’mornin’,” he says, a little more comprehensible, voice rough-hewn from sleep.

“Morning, love.” Martin kisses his forehead, between his eyebrows. “Happy birthday,” His nose, cold from a chilly autumn night. “Ready for a good day?” His lips now, soft and warm. Jon sighs underneath him, presses himself into the kiss, slots himself into the Jon-shaped space in Martin’s arms.

When Martin shifts away to sit up, Jon audibly whines, grabbing at Martin’s hand to pull him back. “You’re so warm, don’t go,” he pleads. Martin chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“It’s half nine. You want breakfast, don’t you? We have an agenda to follow, don’t forget.” But Jon shakes his head and tugs again.

“Birthday Ruling,” he cites solemnly, stretching as he says it. (Again, like a cat, the way he arches his back. Is that on purpose? Martin is pretty sure he’s seen Reggie—Her Regency—do the exact same thing.) “By royal decree, you have to stay here until I’m awake enough to help you with breakfast.”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, shaking his head to himself and tucking himself around Jon’s thin form. “I can’t refuse a royal decree, now, can I?”

Breakfast becomes brunch, and once the pair are awake tea, cut fruit, and omelets are prepared and eaten on the couch. Jon being left-handed and Martin right, they sit on their perspective sides so they can hold hands and not inhibit the other from eating.

“So,” Jon prompts, eyeing Martin from his peripheral as he watches him wash dishes. “What are your secret plans? Am I allowed to know yet?”

“Hmm.” Martin considers his question, running a plate through his hands as he dried it, solemn contemplation on his face. “No.”

“Mar-tiiin,” Martin is almost worn down by that plea, a sound he doesn’t think anyone else who has ever met Jonathan Sims could fathom coming from him. A bloom of warmth in his chest; a reminder he will never feel lonely again.

“But I think you’ll figure it out,” he compromises, grinning to himself. His plan had come to him in a sudden realization at work and Martin did think it was some of his best work yet. “Here’s your hint: you may want to bring a canvas.”

Jon’s face is a measured calm. “We’re going shopping?” Martin just shrugs, winking.

-

They take a cab and the rain pounds down on the roof, the repetitive noise a balm against the cold and wet.  Martin really got lucky today; the sound of rain is one of Jon’s favorites. He sighs inwardly as Jon rests his curls, slightly damp from their wait for the cab, on his shoulder and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of his boyfriend and the pleasant drumming.

Jon’s eyes opened when he felt the cab pull to a stop, and he took their surroundings in with the quick analytical eye of an ex-Archivist. Martin felt his cheeks growing warm with excitement as they stepped out of the cab and paid. The building before them, like most Scottish buildings, was made of uneven stone. There was a little garden, mostly rocks with some shrubbery dotted between, and the pathway, also stone, though a flatter smoother variety, led to the door, which read The Watermill in blue and white lettering. “Martin?” Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s, eyes wide.

“It’s a bookshop, Jon. It’s got reading nooks, and a café, and I swear I’ll buy you any books you want. We can stay as long as we like. We can read as much as we want.”

Three short squeezes to Martin’s hand. Oh. He was starting to ramble. He returns the answering four. “Martin, love, it sounds perfect. But it’s raining.” Right. A drop of rain rolls down Martin’s nose, and he shivers.  “Let’s get inside.”

Martin is glad he brought a tote, a canvas bag with the name of Jon’s university emblazoned on the sides. He follows Jon through every aisle as Jon analyzes every book like their dogs in show. He scans the titles, covers and authors with precision, sometimes returning them with delicate hands, sometimes reading descriptions or thumbing through the pages, before deciding their worth and either reshelving it or handing it to Martin. Martin is distinctly reminded of being an Archival Assistant, helping Jon prioritize case files, except the expression on Jon’s face isn’t furrowed and grim, it’s near-rapturous awe as he selects and examines the books. There is no evident consistency to the books Jon picks, ranging from YA fiction to historical documentation to travel books of places he knew they’d probably never visit, though he always takes Martin’s suggested reads, nodding dutifully and running his hand down the spine before placing it in the ever-weighing bag on Martin’s arm.

They spend nearly an hour and a half roaming shelves before Jon is satisfied with this first load. Martin is grateful. His shoulder is starting to hurt from the nearly full canvas he’s hoisted on his shoulder. Martin leads his partner to a small corner, something that can only be described as a nook. There’s a small, well-worn sofa, a table with coasters, and a coffee table in front of the sofa. The whole space is cast in warm orange-yellow light, courtesy of the standing lamps, and Martin can imagine this is a great place to curl up and fall asleep.

Curl up they do, Martin sitting with a few books of his own beside him and Jon leaning against Jon’s side, sprawling over the majority of the couch. Martin tucks an arm over Jon’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of the space where collarbone meets rib, and they read. They read in silence for most of the morning, Jon flipping through his books at a truly astounding pace (Jon thinks its left over from his Archival Spooky Powers, Martin thinks he’s just a nerd), pausing occasionally to read Martin a line he finds interesting. It’s a yellow paperback now, something about psychopathy, and he begins to read out an interview the author had with a man who claims he should not have been diagnosed as a psychopath.

“D’you think Jonah was a psychopath?” Jon asks, brow furrowed as he reads the qualifying characteristics. “He had the ‘grandiose sense of self-worth’ and ‘cunning/manipulation’ down pat.”

Martin hums, glancing over Jon’s shoulder to read the rest of the Psychopath Test. “Lack of remorse,” he points. “Lack of empathy for sure. Someone with empathy doesn’t implant visions of their dead father into the head of their employee. Speaking of, we should have Melanie and Georgie over soon.” Jon nods against his chest. “I’d call him charming, too, actually,” nudging Jon gently. “Especially with new employees. Remember how he—”

“Called me into his office nonstop and ‘checked in?’ Yeah, I remember.” Jon sighed and smoothed the page down. “Can you call it ‘a parasitic lifestyle’ when your employees are bound under your servitude for eternity or until they die?” Jon scoffs. “I don’t think the DSM is ready for Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the sixth edition will be.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and turns back to his own book.

-

“Hungry?” Martin asks, nudging Jon as his stomach gurgles for the third time in as many minutes. Jon jumps a little, likely having forgotten Martin was there.

“Erm-I mean, a little.” Even after being together for so long, Jon still hesitates to let Martin buy him food. (“Martin, I have money. You don’t- you don’t have to-” but whatever offending muffin or cone of chips would be pressed into his hand and he would thank Martin, sheepish, and take a bite.)

“Chai latte? Something sweet?” Martin asks, nudging Jon out of his side and feeling the cold spot left in his wake. “Its your birthday, come on.” Jon sighs and relents, and Martin swear he can hear him roll his eyes as he walks away.

Martin orders two chais and a few cupcakes (chocolate for Jon, carrot cake for him) from the café in the front of the bookshop and joins an ever-growing queue of patrons waiting to get their own warm treats. The rain must have driven people in in droves. Never mind it, though, their corner feels empty enough. He thinks he sees a spider on the back of a woman’s shirt in front of him, and flinches before realizing, oh, it’s just a bit of string. He takes a slight step back anyways. He didn’t used to do that.

“Order for Martin?” An American voice, uni student probably. He thanks her and makes a point to drop a few quid in the tip jar, seeing it frustratingly empty for such a busy café.  

Martin takes a small porcelain plate in each hand, a mug and pastry balanced on each, and makes his way carefully back to the sofa where he had left Jon. Only, he couldn’t see his curly hair, tied up in his half-bun, over the back of the sofa. Did he go to the loo?

It’s when Martin steps over to the side of the couch to set the plates down that he bursts into laughter. Jon is sprawled in a way that seems completely unconducive to reading: his knees are hooked over the sofa, so his socked feet (shoes neatly deposited next to his hips) are on the cushion itself. His torso is stretched on the warm, well-swept wood floor and his head (and his book) are tucked under the coffee table; arms locked over his head so he can read on his back. It looks ridiculous, he cannot fathom what possessed Jon to sit like this and not on his back on the couch.

Jon hears his laughter and arcs his neck, trying to see Martin’s face. “It was…comfortable?” he tries helplessly, giggling awkwardly. “Oh, piss off,” he sighed, inelegantly worming his way out from under the seat.

“Come on, old man.” Martin grins, handing him the cupcake he’d bought for him, with a single purple candle pressed into it. “Make a wish!”

“It’s not even lit,” Jon protested, cheeks flushing.

“Want me to sing instead? I can.” Martin took a deep breath. “Happy Bir-”

“N-no! Martin, no!” Jon pressed a hand over his mouth, though he was giggling madly at Martin’s wild expression. “I’ll blow it out. Just hush.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a breath in a sigh. His eyes were soft, smile to match. “I…I don’t have anything to wish for.”

Martin’s turn to blush. “Just-just shut up and eat your cake,” he mumbled, hiding his smile in a sip of his tea.

-

Maybe its how at-peace he feels, maybe it’s his ADHD (its definitely the ADHD), but Martin has no idea how long he’s been reading. He’s brought out of his reverie, his copy of In Cold Blood almost finished (he’s read it before, but god he loves this book so much), by a low noise he can’t pick out at first. It’s quiet, soothing, its right next to him.

Oh. Oh. It’s Jon. This one, a real compulsion left over from his time as an Archivist, Jon is reading aloud to himself, his voice the sonorous, resonant tone of a man performing for himself. Martin puts his book down carefully, trying not to alert Jon to his awareness, and listens, letting the words wash over him. Jon’s voice has always been able to capture Martin’s attention, even before the Eldritch Spooky Magic that eventually attached itself to it.

“Klemmer stands there, gazing at her.   “Erika doesn’t want a silence to develop, so she utters a platitude. Art is platitudinous for Erika because she lives off art. How much easier it is for the artist, says the woman, to hurl feelings or passions out of himself. When an artist resorts to dramatic devices, which you so greatly esteem, Klemmer, he is simply utilizing bogus methods while neglecting authentic ones. She talks to prevent the eruption of silence. I, as a teacher, favor undramatic art – Schumann, for instance. Drama is always easier! Feelings and passions are always merely a substitute, a surrogate for spirituality. The teacher yearns for an earthquake, for a roaring, raging tempest to pounce upon her. That wild Klemmer is so angry that he almost drills his head into the wall. The clarinet class next door, which he, the owner of a second instrument, has been frequenting twice a week, would certainly be astonished if Klemmer’s angry head suddenly emerged from the wall, next to Beethoven’s death mask. Oh, that Erika, that Erika. She doesn’t sense that he is actually talking about her, and naturally about himself as well! He is connecting Erika and himself in a sensual context, ejecting the spirit, that enemy of the senses, that primal foe of the flesh. She thinks he is referring to Schubert, but he really means himself, just as he always means himself whenever he speaks.   “He suddenly ventures to adopt a familiar tone with Erika; using a formal tone, she advises him to remain objective! Her mouth puckers, willy-nilly, into a wrinkly rosette; she cannot control it. She controls what the mouth says, but she cannot control the way it presents itself to the outside world. She gets goosebumps all over.”

Martin closes his eyes against the words, a shiver running down his spine, starting at the top of his skull. It’s a feeling he gets so rarely now, the feeling of being so absolutely content in the presence of another person that any fog he may have is physically expunged from him. Not that there is any, but it’s a safeguard; a reminder to himself that he is not Lonely anymore and will never be lonely again. It can’t get him, not here, not with Jon sprawled, almost in his lap, reading and sipping tea and letting the only thing they worry about be whether they fed the cat this morning (Jon did, of course, Reggie is not one to let them forget her morning meal).

“Martin?” Jon’s voice cuts through his quiet contemplation. “You alright?” He’s tilting his head back, almost upside down to look at Martin’s face. “I felt you shudder.” Of course, even deep in his trance of this story he had felt Martin shift.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he smiles reassuringly, carding the hair off Jon’s forehead. “I’m not feeling lonely, not even a little bit.” He used to do it a lot in the safehouse, and fog would roll off him in droves. Jon would hold him through it all. “I think it just happens now like part of an immune system, just checking in when I’m feeling emotional.”

“Emotional?” Jon looks a little relieved, but not entirely. He sits up, glancing down at his page number (Martin could never figure out how Jon did that, remembered his page number instead of using a bookmark) and cups Martin’s face gently, searching it. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jon, I promise. That was why I was emotional,” he admits, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s just good to feel happy. It feels good to be with you, to be at peace, to not worry about what is going to happen tomorrow and whether we’re going to die.”

Martin blushes, feeling heat spread through his face. It feels good to say it out loud. “Happy birthday, Jon. I love you.”

-

They leave with bags full of books, smiles on their faces and the moon casting a faint light on their backs. Martin falls asleep in the cab on the way home, his head lilting onto Jon’s shoulder. When Jon wakes him up, leading his sleepy partner up the stairs, 

Jon thinks 35 maybe won’t be so bad, after all.

#tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #birthday #bookshop #cafe #good vibes all around #fanfic to a tea

[atths--twice]

Picture Perfect Moments

Mulder and Scully attend a small party at Mrs. Scully’s house. (An idea born from an old photo of DD and GA.)

They were not working out of town, or even working on an active case, but in the office catching up on paperwork. Scully mentioned in passing that her mother was having a party and had asked if she would be able to stop by.

“You could head over now. I can finish this up.” She gave him a look and he smiled. “I am capable of filing paperwork on my own, you know.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered with a smile of her own, finishing the page she was writing on, and signing the bottom.

“Seriously, I can do this, Scully. You go ahead.” He stared at her and she nodded as she set the pen down and stood up.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked, a look of surprise on her face that he was sure mirrored his own.

“Oh no, that’s okay. You go on.”

“Mulder,” she said, putting on her coat. “That paperwork can wait, and my mother has asked after you.” She rolled her eyes as she adjusted her collar, and then stood with her eyebrows raised. “Many times, in fact.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, finish that one I handed you, and let’s go.” She crossed her arms and he sighed.

“Fine. Far be it from me to say no, to not just one, but two Scully women.”

“Smart man,” she smirked and he smiled. Adding his signature to the paper, he set it down and stood up, reaching for his coat.

“What kind of party is it? Will there be cake?” he asked, sliding on his coat, and she snorted.

“Knowing my mother and her friends, there will be many different kinds of desserts.”

“And you didn’t think to lead with that? Come on, let’s go.” He put his hand on the small of her back as he led her out the door, her laughter ringing in his ears.

His plate laden with many delicious treats, he sat on the garden wall, away from the large group of women who were gathered in the backyard. It was cool out, but they did not seem to mind, their cheeks pink from the weather and the many bottles of wine on the table.

He heard Scully laughing and he watched her speaking to her mother and a few of the other women. He smiled as he picked up a frosted brownie and took a large bite, his eyes closing at the rich chocolate flavor.

“They’re all quite taken with you.” He heard Scully say and he opened his eyes, finding her standing in front of him with a smile on her face. “Of course, once I told them you have a nasty habit of ditching me, you leave sunflower seeds everywhere, and you believe in little green men from outer space, well…” She took a small piece of his brownie and chewed it as she smiled.

“Gr…” he tried to say, his mouth full. She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Grey. I know, I know. But Mulder, these are Catholic, church going women, do you want to explain that to them? Really?” She looked over at the women and he followed her gaze.

They were all laughing and drinking their wine. Memories of country club parties from his youth suddenly resurfaced, of rich women and their killer cheek pinching fingers. He shuddered and shook his head, swallowing down the bite of brownie.

“That’s what I thought,” she chuckled as she sat next to him and took another little piece of brownie. “I think I’ve bought us a few minutes at least, except I saw my mother carrying around her new camera, which she never has quite gotten the hang of, so… be on the lookout. Oh… also.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. Taking off the cap, she took a drink, and handed it to him. He stared at her and she smiled.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve snuck a bottle of booze from your parents stash?” he asked, as he took a drink and coughed, the liquid burning the back of his throat, and causing his eyes to water.

“Because it’s not,” she said with a laugh and took the bottle back, taking another drink. “Missy and I got very drunk once when I was about sixteen and we were on the roof up there.” She pointed to a flat part of the roof and took another drink. “That’s my old room. We used to sneak out at night and drink and smoke-”

“Smoke?!” he asked incredulously, and she looked at him with a smile, nodding her head. “Does your mother know about this?”

“What are you gonna do? Tell on me?” Another drink and she stared at him, challenging him with her eyes, though the smile on her lips betrayed her tough expression.

“Maybe. What else did you do?” He took the bottle from her and took a drink, coughing again and she giggled, actually giggled.

“I can’t tell you all my secrets, Mulder. Not in one day,” she said softly, and he knew they had crossed into somewhat dangerous territory. He cleared his throat and was about to say something when he saw her mother coming toward them.

“Fox, I hope you’re enjoying the food,” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes, and he nodded. Setting the large plate of food down, he stood up and brushed his hands off, before reaching to clasp her hand.

“Thank you. It’s all delicious,” he said and she smiled.

“Of course. Oh, since you’re both here, let me get a picture of you two,” she said, and went to get her camera. Scully sighed as she stood up and slipped the whiskey bottle into her pocket.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Scully said with a smile. “I don’t get a chance to take pictures often, so… Okay, closer together. Yeah, like that. I’m going to take a couple just in case. I haven’t gotten the hang of all the bells and whistles yet. Okay, I think that’s good. Have fun you two.” With that, she walked away and they sat back down, Scully taking the whiskey from her pocket and opening the cap.

“And she never suspected a thing,” Scully said with a wink as she took another drink. He laughed and offered her half of the remaining brownie. She took it and smiled at him, but he waved off the whiskey she offered in return. One of them needed to be able to drive back and judging by the pinking of her cheeks, he knew it wouldn’t be her.

“So tell me more about this sneaking out,” he said, taking a bite of a lemon bar. “Pretty ballsy with your father.” She laughed and pretended to zip her lips, her eyes dancing. He smiled, as she took one more drink and put the bottle back in her pocket and sighed. She looked at him and smiled.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly as just then, the wind blew her hair across her face. Without thinking, he tucked it behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheek. Her eyes searched his and then dropped to his lips, before coming back to his eyes.

Moving his hand, he sat back and cleared his throat. “Well, someone needs to make sure you get home safely.” She looked down and smiled, then looked at him again. He nodded with a smile of his own, the moment between them pulled away with the wind.

_________

A month later, he was at her apartment going over a case. She asked him to grab a blanket from the closet in her room, the evening becoming chilly. He generally stayed out of her bedroom, it feeling like her private domain, but he did as she asked.

As he was walking out, something caught his eye. In a small frame, he saw a picture of them he had never seen before. They did not have many, if any really, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Picking it up, he grinned as he realized it was the one Mrs. Scully had taken.

It was a great picture. He was wearing his suit from that day, and had his arm around her shoulders. She had an almost secretive smile on her face, no doubt thinking of the whiskey in her pocket, sneaking out with Missy, or laughing at her mother’s lack of technological knowledge. Whatever the reason, it amplified her already beautiful smile. He stared at it, then set it down, grabbing the blanket and leaving the room.

No doubt her mother gave it to her framed, and yet, she kept it so, and left it out where she could see it. He smiled at the thought and handed her the blanket, saying nothing about it as they continued to discuss the case.

__________

Scully shut the door with a sigh and locked it. They wrapped up the case and Mulder took the files with him. Intent on taking a bath and going to bed, she shut off the lights and made her way to the bathroom. The temperature just right, she let the tub fill and went to her room to undress.

As she did, her eyes landed on the picture her mother had brought over, her sly smile saying more than words could. It was not until her mother left though, that Scully found the other two pictures wrapped in tissue. She understood why her mother would not have framed them, but wanted her to have them nonetheless.

They were from the same day, but when neither of them were looking or knew she was taking pictures. In one, they were simply looking at one another, but Scully felt her pulse race as she looked at it. It was innocent, but she felt it to her toes.

The other… she had taken a picture at the exact moment he pushed her hair behind her ear. If the first one made her pulse race, this one made it stop. It was such a Mulder thing to do and yet it was completely unexpected. He was a very touchy person and she had become accustomed to it, but seeing it was another thing in itself.

Her mother could not have captured a better moment, and yet she did not see everything. She did not see how the whiskey made Scully feel bolder, the desire to taste his lips so strong, she nearly fell in, not caring who saw them or where they were. But Mulder saw and he had pulled back, as he had cleared his throat and changed the feel of the moment.

Scully opened a dresser drawer and moved aside her sweaters, taking out the pictures, needing to see them again. She smiled as she held them, seeing the care they had for one another, frozen in two perfect pictures. She sighed as she put them back and closed the drawer.

Maybe one day she would put them out, but for now they would stay hidden. Like many other things, it was safer that way.

For now.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Sometime in season 4 #Parties #Drinking #Laughing #Flirting #Drunk Flirting #Memories #Photographs #Friendship #Happy