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elvish-sky · 3 years

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The Best Day {Legolas x Reader}

A.N: I wrote this for @band--psycho ‘s 1.5k Bingo Challenge! The prompt was “beach.” I loved writing this, it’s been forever since I’ve written Legolas which is absolutely ridiculous and I need to write him more. Anyways, I really hope you guys love this as much as I do, it was an utter joy to work on!

Word Count: 1,337

Summary: You wheedle Legolas into going to the beach for the day.

Pairing: Modern AU Legolas x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

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The Best Day

“C’mon, Legolas. Can we please go to the beach today?”

You looked at your boyfriend with pleading eyes, collapsing onto the couch next to him.

“It’s only 8:30, if we go now we can get a good spot!”

He still didn’t look up from his book.

“We can get Italian ice…”

Legolas slammed his book shut and sprung off the couch. “Ok, be outside in ten minutes!”

You laughed, missing the twinkle in his eye, following him to your bedroom where you quickly donned your favorite backless black one-piece, throwing a cover-up over it as your boyfriend picked out his green swimming trunks.

You left Legolas putting his hair up into his usual beach-going style, and grabbed two towels and sunscreen from the closet, stuffing them into a bag. You raided the fridge for drinks to stick in a cooler, root beer for you, and ginger ale for Legolas, who after discovering it two years ago refused to drink any other soda. Lastly, you stuffed a bag of Doritos, a bag of Sour Cream and Onion potato chips, and your wallet into the bag with the towels. You grabbed your bike helmet from its spot above the coatrack and clipped it on, going outside and fastening the beach bag onto Legolas’ bike, the cooler straps slung onto your back.

You heard the door to the house open again and turned to see Legolas locking the door behind himself. His hair was pulled back into a man bun, and he was wearing an unbuttoned teal shirt that revealed his toned chest and abs. Buckling his helmet, he got onto his bike and the two of you were off.

Arriving at the beach, you locked your bikes onto the rack, Legolas grabbing the beach bag off of his. Walking down onto the soft sand, you turned right, looking for a place to spread out your towels. It took a moment before you realized Legolas wasn’t beside you anymore.

“Where are you going?” you asked, turning around to see him fifty feet away in the opposite direction.

“I’m finding us a spot!”

“But we always go right!” You did. The right side of the beach was just better, everyone knew that.

He laughed, “Fine, we’ll go right,” and jogged back to you, grabbing your hand.

Together, you found a perfect spot and spread out your towels. You got the sunscreen and applied it, doing Legolas back, and then sat on the towels.

“Can we go in yet?”

For someone who hadn’t wanted to go to the beach today, Legolas was very impatient.

“Five more minutes,” you giggled at the pout on his face, “we have to wait for the sunscreen to set!”

Finally, five minutes later, he sprang up. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

“No fair!” You shouted, sprinting down the sand towards the sparkling blue ocean.

You watched your boyfriend dive in, water rising in a splash all around him. He surfaced, water streaming down his face in rivulets as he blinked it out of his eyes, smiling at you.

“I see someone still hasn’t dunked!”

“Legolas, no…. No, no- AGHHHHHHH-” Your scream was cut off by Legolas dropping you into the water.

Quickly, you surfaced, spluttering.

“Oh, I’m gonna get you for that.”

You dove, grabbing his ankles and yanking them so that he fell. This time when your head rose above the water, he was the one spluttering. You giggled, watching him shake his head at you in mock disappointment.

“Y/N. I thought you were better than that.”

Legolas moved as if to lunge at you and dunk you again, but before he could you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck, hooking your legs around his waist and clinging on. He started, but grabbed your thighs to support you and leaned closer, kissing you.

You lost yourselves in each other for a moment. Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist, one of his hands under your thigh, holding you up as the other stroked your bare back and you silently thanked whatever had made you decide to wear a backless bathing suit. You broke apart, before pressing a trail of kisses down his jawline, so focused on Legolas and only Legolas and his soft breath mingling with yours that you didn’t notice when he started to tip over.

All you had time for was a shout of, “LEGOLA-” before you fell underwater together.

You came up laughing, him blushing.

“Oops.”

“Oops? Oops?! Y/N, we fell over in the ocean because I was too focused on kissing you and not on the fact that there are waves in the ocean, and all you have to say is oops? It’s super embarrassing!”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s not embarrassing, you doofus, we’re in love! And besides, it seems like an oops sort of situation.”

His face lightened and you smiled at him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips before breaking away.

You dashed towards the beach, hearing Legolas’s confused sound of disappointment that the kiss hadn’t gone any further behind you.

“I call the potato chips!”

“Y/N, you can’t call the potato chips, potato chips are fair game to everyone and you cannot deny me potato chips on the grounds of ‘you called them first-”

It was annoying how he never got out of breath while running, even sprinting so fast that he was gaining on you very quickly. You groaned in frustration as, catching up with you, he scooped you up and continued running, reaching the towels and plopping you onto one while he went straight for the chips.

“Share please?”

Legolas smiled at you and sat next to you on the towel, holding out the chips for you to take a handful.

Later, as the sunset cast the sky in pink and orange, you held Legolas’ hand as you walked down the beach. You stopped and turned to face him.

“Thank you for the best day.”

He smiled. “Look at the sunset.”

You turned, marveling at the light it cast over the still water. When you looked back at your boyfriend, he was bent on one knee in front of you.

You gasped.

Legolas reached out for your hand, grasping it in his as the other went into his pocket and pulled out a box.

“Y/N. I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and probably on some level have loved you forever. Your soul sparked something in mine and continues to feed that flame every day and I’m not sure what I would do without it. I adore your smile, your laugh, the way you’re always up for anything. You make me want to be the best version of myself and encourage me towards that every single day.”

He stopped, for a moment, and you could see tears brimming in his eyes to match the ones in yours before he took a breath, opening the small box to reveal the most gorgeous ring you had ever seen.

“I guess all this is to say that I love you, Y/N, and I want to spend the rest of our lives falling over in the ocean because we’re too busy kissing. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You gasped.

Legolas stood, taking the ring from the box and sliding it onto your finger, which it fit perfectly.

“I have one question.”

He looked at you, slightly concerned.

“Was that box in your pocket the whole day? Like, even when we were in the ocean?”

Legolas laughed, a hearty, relieved sound.

“Nope! I grabbed it from my bag when we went for this walk.”

You grinned. “Good. And I love you too.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your fiancee’s lips.

He quickly deepened it, hands in your hair, kissing you like this was the end of everything. Or the beginning of something new.

You stood there, entwined in each other, two silhouettes almost merging into one in the sunset.

Everything tag💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell

Legolas tag 🧝‍♂️: @from-patroclus-with-love @bitter-sweet-farmgirl

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ashesandhalefire · 3 years

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i know, you know

alex, michael, and a lonely hearts club gone slightly awry.

inspired by @malex-cupid day one and three themes: wooing my way into your heart and valentine’s day.

“Okay, here’s a nightmare scenario,” Michael says as he eases back down onto the couch with another slice of pizza in his hand. He crosses his ankles on the coffee table and bites the tip off. Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly, drawing a sip from his beer, and Michael nods. After a rough swallow, he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I once hooked up with a girl on February thirteenth. Totally lost track of the date.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “That’s not a nightmare scenario for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael takes another bite of his pizza and tries to talk around a mouthful of cheese, face twisted with playful indignation. “Someone like me?”

Alex leans his head against the back of the couch and says, “Charming people never end up in nightmare scenarios because they can, by default, charm their way out of anything.”

Brow furrowing, Michael wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming in my life. A few other choice words, sure, but not charming.”

“Well, I guess my perspective is a little different from the sheriff’s department. In my experience, you have a tendency to be very good at saying the right thing.” Alex wiggles his left foot where it sits, tucked beneath the center cushion on the couch, and rubs distractedly at his right knee. The knot in his sweatpants jostles close to Michael’s hip.

Entirely by accident, he’s significantly more dressed-down than Michael is in his slim jeans and crisply colored flannel. Neither piece of Michael’s outfit has the well-worn softness of his usual wardrobe, none of the torn seams or threadbare elbows, but the top two buttons of his shirt are undone like always and the collar hangs wide against his clavicle. Alex tries not to let his eyes linger.

As he chews through another bite, Michael stares back at him, and the gaze feels heavy enough that Alex turns away. “And, please, you’re sitting on my couch, watching my television, drinking my beer, and eating my pizza. If that’s not the direct result of charm, what is it?”

“Dumb luck,” Michael says. Amusement glints in his eyes as he licks his lips. “Besides, this whole lonely hearts club thing was your idea.”

“Yeah, but it was originally a party of one.”

Alex had quickly opted out, making his answer a polite but firm no, when Kyle mentioned the flier on the Crashdown’s front door that advertised the latest Wild Pony cash-grab attempt, but that hadn’t prevented him from running face-first into Isobel’s advertising efforts all over town for the next week and a half. General buzz at the post office and hospital implied that her reputation for event planning had drummed up some genuine interest from the locals, and that in and of itself cemented his plan for the weekend as pizza, beer, and whatever cable had to offer. His plan had, at no point, included running into Michael in the candy aisle at RiteAid at three o’clock in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day.

With an armful of personal care items marked with discount stickers, Michael had taken one look at the prescription envelope in Alex’s right hand and the box of chocolates in his left and said, “Got a hot date?”

“No,” Alex had said, wishing he’d chosen to put on something neater than his faded sweatpants. Michael rarely looked presentable by general standards, but he always looked good. “Just chronic pain and a sweet tooth.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Michael had suggested. “Better sales after the holiday.”

“True, but then I won’t have anything to eat tonight.”

Michael had visibly perked, even though his face stayed neutral. “You’re not going to the singles night thing at the Pony? I thought Valenti would have roped you in for sure.”

“No.” Fleetingly, Alex had considered the idea of wandering through the crowded bar, equally decorated in distasteful neon and garish party store hearts, and trying to pick which of the Pony’s regular stock might like to have his drink bought by an openly gay veteran with one leg while his friends watch from the sidelines of their depressingly stable relationships. “There’s not enough booze in the world.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Michael had laughed. He hadn’t quite met Alex’s eye as they both carefully side-stepped the rest of the conversation. Alex had stopped paying attention, so he wasn’t sure if Michael had retaken to running up a tab yet. “Is is completely pissed at me, but I told her there was no way in hell.”

Alex had swallowed. “Got a hot date?”

“Totally,” Michael had said. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I think you’ve met him.”

In retrospect, Alex blames the rest of the conversation on the fact that he’s been unshakably in love with Michael since he was seventeen. For the better part of a month, he’s been trying to work up the courage to throw out a line. But they exist in a strange no-man’s-land of casual acquaintanceship that borders on friendship and romance simultaneously, and Alex hasn’t quite found the right way out yet.

“If you don’t have plans tonight, you could swing by.” Michael, already at the end of the aisle when Alex called after him, had looked mildly startled when he turned around. “We can get pizza. Or something. Whatever goes with beer.”

“Everything goes with beer in my world.”

“It’ll be a lonely hearts club type of thing,” Alex had said, primarily for the deniability.

Michael had cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower and lower until they paused and climbed back up Alex’s body at a crawl. “Are you lonely?”

“I had a nose ring, remember?” Alex had clutched the prescription bag in his fist with a crunch and forced himself to laugh, even as bashful panic squeezed at his throat. “You don’t end up with a nose ring and Danger posters on your walls at seventeen unless you’re deeply lonely.”

A slow smile had stretched across Michael’s face, and he ducked his head like it was too private to share with the open aisle. When he looked up again, he wrinkled his nose to help steady his armful of bottles with a nudge of his telekinesis. “I’ll see you at six, then. Pizza and beer.”

Now, Michael breaks a wayward string of cheese away from his last bite and asks, “You want me to go home? Leave you to your pity party?”

“No. I’m enjoying the company. I think it’s because you’re so charming.”

Michael laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But hooking up with a girl who was looking for a hookup on the day before Valentine’s Day is not a nightmare scenario.”

“Alright,” Michael says, nudging Alex’s bent knee, “so give me a better example.”

“Uh, pizza and beer with a guy that never learned how to chew with his mouth closed?”

Michael tears into the crust of his slice and says, muffled by food, “I’ll leave anytime. Just say the word.”

Alex pulls his foot out from under the couch cushion and rolls his heel into the side of Michael’s thigh. “Don’t be disgusting!”

Mashing his teeth, Michael chews with his mouth open for another two bites and then relents. He drops a hot palm into the exposed skin of Alex’s ankle, holding it in place, and Alex manages not to react until Michael strokes his thumb into the hollow beside his Achilles tendon.

“I need a refill. Do you want another beer?” he asks, pulling his leg away and turning to plant his foot on the floor. He bends down to grope beneath the couch for his crutch.

“Yeah, I’ll take another one.” Michael stands, taking his empty bottle in hand, and says, “I’ll get it. I know my way around the fridge.”

As he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table, he drops a hand onto Alex’s left shoulder and squeezes. The touch is gone almost as soon as it starts, but Alex still lets out an audible squeak on his next exhale.

Being touch-starved is hardly new, but it makes him feel like an especially pathetic rescue cat when his body shivers at the barest graze. Twice it happened when Kyle leaned over to look at his laptop and put a hand on his back while they worked on the salvaged hard drives together, and Alex had barely been able to hide the heated flush in his cheeks. It’s more humiliating with Michael, somehow, because Michael has always been exactly the same. He’s always turned into Alex’s touch with eagerness, always looked for the most contact he could find. Something about touch between them turning casual and unaffecting on his end while Alex is gasping like an Austen heroine is especially unsettling.

He takes three deep breaths, holding the air in his chest and releasing through pursed lips, and then Michael squeezes between the end table and the chair with two beers. He twists the tops off with a twitch of his nose, and Alex watches the bent metal land on the coffee table with a ding.

“Show off,” he says as Michael hands him a bottle. Their fingers brush against the glass. “You’ve never fought with a jar of pasta sauce in your life.”

Michael eases back down onto the couch, snagging the last garlic knot from the crimped tinfoil on the coffee table on the way, and says, “Rubber band trick works wonders. Not that I’ve ever needed it.”

“Smug bastard.”

Alex watches the bob of Michael's throat as he takes a long draw from his beer.

“Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Michael pops the rest of the garlic knot into his mouth and lifts his hips off the couch to give himself room to root around his pocket. After a moment of tugging, he tosses something across the couch. It lands on Alex’s thigh. “For your sweet tooth.”

Alex stares down at the packet of SweeTARTS heart candies, emblazoned with the same sentimental phrases as classic conversation hearts. “These are sour.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t those the ones you like?”

Fingers toying with the crimped edges of the paper wrapping, Alex nods.

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day.” Michael sucks a spot of oil and garlic from his thumb. “I had to go to, like, four different CVS stores to find them.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. “You didn’t— I didn’t get you anything.”

Michael shrugs. “You paid for dinner. Least I could do was pick up some candy.”

Darkness creeps up on them while they trade sarcastic commentary about the fake detective comedy marathon they found on a higher cable channel. The lone bulb still on over the sink casts a warm yellow glow across the kitchen and dining room, and the living room flickers between dark and light as the scenes change on the television.

Alex glances down at Michael, who has made himself comfortable with one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and the other curled up against the arm. His head rests on a pillow that he laid atop Alex’s right leg, and he has Alex’s left leg stretched out in front of his chest to keep it from blocking his view.

The shift was gradual: he slumped sideways and curled his legs up; he leaned on his elbow and tried to stretch out; he whined about his neck and grabbed the pillow off the floor, checking that it wouldn’t bother Alex’s knee if he put pressure on it; and he grabbed Alex’s left leg by the ankle to straighten it out while complaining that he couldn’t see. And now Alex’s shin is pinned beneath Michael’s palm, feeling the rise and fall of Michael’s chest whenever he chuckles at one of the jokes.

They’ve spent hours together, rolling around in Michael’s cot and the back of his truck and motel beds, but Alex isn’t sure they’ve ever been more intimate. Quiet stillness has always been difficult for them to come by, and he can barely remember the last time they spent an afternoon together without some sense of doom hanging over their heads. They’ve certainly never laid on a couch together for four hours.

Michael shifts, rolling onto his side, and his hand drifts down towards the top of Alex’s foot. The calluses on his palm catch against the weave of his sock, and Alex listens to the faint scratch of material without breathing. After a moment, Michael’s fingers slip beneath the elastic at the bottom of his sweatpants, and he strokes absently at the ball of Alex’s ankle.

The fears and the doubts are as present as they’ve been for the last few weeks. All of their baggage is exactly the same.

Alex winds one of Michael’s curls around his finger, and he feels the stutter in his breathing.

With empirical evidence like that, he has to be brave.

He mutes the television and says, “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Michael glances up. “Is this…new information? Should we be celebrating?”

“No, I mean—” Alex swallows. “I don’t have to go out tomorrow, so if you stay over afterwards, we can talk.”

Michael stares at him. “After what?”

Alex shrugs, but his eyes linger pointedly on Michael’s mouth.

“Oh,” Michael says. He turns onto his stomach slowly, like he thinks moving too quickly will turn Alex skittish, and then he eases up onto his knees between Alex's legs. Carefully, he pushes the pillow on Alex’s lap out of the way and onto the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I could stay over. Afterwards.”

Light from the silent television flickers against the side of his face, and Alex reaches for the loose collars of his shirt. Michael bends pliantly, anchoring his hands beside Alex’s shoulders on the arm of the couch, and lowers himself until their noses brush. Then, he hesitates. He nuzzles against Alex’s cheek, rolls their foreheads together, and sighs out a laugh.

Alex giggles back, a nervous sound he has no control over, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I just— I don’t wanna screw up. This has been a no-fly zone for weeks.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“It really has. I have the bruised ego to prove it.”

A missing piece slots into place in Alex’s chest, loosening every ounce of tension left in his body, and he sags down against the couch cushions. He takes a moment to look up at Michael, at the vulnerable pinch of anxiety that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crest of Michael’s cheeks. The wrinkles worsen, so he tows Michael in by his hips and shakes his head. “No. No, you’re— you’re cleared to land.”

“That’s not— ” Michael blinks, and then says, affectionately, “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughs, deep in his chest, and finally presses his mouth to Alex’s. Alex surges into the kiss, letting it linger until the smile splitting across his lips forces Michael to pull back. He tries again, but Alex can’t relax his grin, so, for a moment, they just breathe, silhouetted in the dark.

Then, Michael says, “No regretting it tomorrow?”

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“No nightmare scenario? No backslide with my ex?”

“No.”

“No… I scratched my itch, now get out of my house?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Good. Because I’m playing for keeps this time.” He settles his weight between Alex’s thighs, and Alex is struck suddenly with the realization of how easy it is to be happy, how earned it feels after all this time.

They kiss, lazy and unhurried, until the cable box starts to idle in the background and leaves them in a nearly pitch black room. The last three buttons of Michael’s shirt come undone under Alex’s fingertips, and Michael’s unshaved jaw scrapes his mouth almost raw.

“Next year,” he mumbles against Alex’s cheek in a moment of reprieve, “I’m gonna fill this house with roses.”

Distractedly, Alex hooks his heel around the back of Michael’s calf and says, “If you somehow have a quarter of a million dollars to waste on that many flowers next year, we will not still be living in this house.”

Michael’s whole body jolts.

“We?” he teases gleefully, and he digs his fingertips into the soft back of Alex’s knee. “Did you just forget we don’t have a joint bank account? Oh, fuck, you really do like me.”

A hot flush rises in Alex’s cheeks as he squirms. “I like your fake money.”

“I think you mean our fake money.”

Alex laughs. “I fucking hate you.” He turns away, and Michael bends down to kiss the exposed line of his neck.

“You don’t,” he says between nips. “You really don’t.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I really don’t.”

#michael x alex #malex #malex fic #malexcupid21 #roswell new mexico #alright it's DONE it's out of me so now i can read all the other ones lol #it's been a long while since i posted fic but!!! i kind of need them back together ASAP #my fic

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bbangsoonie · 3 years

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tangerine guesthouse

member: haknyeon genre: fluff word count: 2,238 synopsis: on a healing trip to jeju island, you meet a guesthouse owner who goes the extra step to make sure you enjoy your stay.

a/n: happy birthday to our jeju boy, juhaknyeon ! 🍊

After impulsively quitting your job, you packed a suitcase and booked a last minute flight to Jeju Island. You wanted to escape but unfortunately didn’t have enough money for an international flight. So you found yourself flying over on a domestic plane.

Everything about this journey was spontaneous. The money you saved up on the side from your tedious 9-5 job was all spent on this healing trip. With nothing but a camera in your hands, you were determined to finally rest and have fun for once. You hadn’t had the luxury to do so in years.

Before you left Incheon Airport, you reserved a room at a random bed and breakfast you found online. “Tangerine Guesthouse”. It had a cute name.

The taxi dropped you off in front of the place and you cautiously walked in with your bag rolling behind you. You peaked inside the building, unsure if you were supposed to just enter.

“Hello!” a chirpy voice greeted you. Startled, you jumped as you turned around to face the person who nearly gave you a heart attack. Seeing him only made your heart beat faster. He was cute. Extremely cute.

“Are you here to rent a room?” he asked.

“Y-Yes, I made a reservation a couple of hours ago,” you pulled out your phone to show him the details.

“Ah, Y/n! Yes, welcome,” he beamed. “My name is Juhaknyeon but please call me Haknyeon.”

You reached out to shake his hand and were surprised to feel how soft they were.

“Allow me to show you to your room,” he said before guiding you upstairs.

The room was fairly small but cozy. It had everything you needed and made a cute space for photos. After Haknyeon left, you began to unpack.

You heard a knock on the door and mindlessly told your guest to come in. You looked up when they entered, surprised to see another male.

“Hello! I’m Sunwoo and I’m staying in the room next to yours,” he introduced himself. “I just wanted to stop by to say hi and get friendly.”

“Nice to meet you, Sunwoo. I’m Y/n,” you smiled.

“The other guests and I are gathering this evening to just chat over beer. Would you like to join us as well? We’d love to have you,” he said.

On a normal occasion, the introvert in you would have declined. However, you were on a healing trip and resolute about trying new things. So you happily accepted the invitation and promised to meet them in the yard at 7.

You had about four hours until then and decided to kill time by exploring the neighborhood. You enjoyed the change in scenery and the fresh air that Seoul could not offer.

You found yourself alone at a nearby beach and embraced the solitude. There were no managers yelling at you about deadlines or coworkers passive aggressively criticizing your work here. It was just you and the roaring waves. Grabbing your camera, you took a few shots of the salty sea. Perhaps you would return to your hobby and pursue photography.

You allowed yourself to consider it as an option as you headed back to the streets to look for a restaurant. You settled for the closest one and were satisfied with your choice when you took a bite of their seafood ramen.

You roamed around a bit more after the meal. You came across a souvenir shop and ended up spending a lot of time—and money—there. You certainly had a thing for cliche souvenirs. Keychains, magnets, mugs. You loved them all.

You came back to the lodging with a bag full of trinkets you knew you would keep instead of gifting. The retail therapy added a bounce in your walk as you climbed up the stairs. You organized them accordingly as you happily hummed.

You looked at the clock and saw that it was time to convene with the rest of the boarders. You threw on a cardigan before going back outside.

Haknyeon was by the grill flipping meat and Sunwoo was busy taking out the drinks from the fridge. You awkwardly stood around, not knowing where to go.

“Take a seat wherever you want,” Sunwoo called out.

Finding an empty spot, you sat down and looked around. The yard was decorated nicely to bring a nice ambiance.

“Hi, I’m Eric and this is Hyunjoon,” the guy next to you grinned.

You exchanged greetings with the two and introduced yourself. You had to admit it was nice to meet such amiable people.

The night went by with the five of you conversing over black pig samgyupsal and alcohol. Haknyeon was a big foodie, Sunwoo was a big tease, Eric was a big dork, and Hyunjoon was a big sports enthusiast. Hyunjoon came to Jeju to enjoy horseback riding and planned on dragging Sunwoo and Eric along.

“If you guys are down for some physical activity, I can destroy you in badminton,” Haknyeon suggested.

“Loser has to down a bottle of soju. Each,” Eric laughed evilly.

To make the teams fair, you were paired up with Haknyeon to play against the other three. He definitely proved his worth as the ace, easily winning 21-12. Sunwoo let out a scream, blaming Eric for his punishment suggestion. The latter tried to run away but was caught by Hyunjoon who handed him a bottle.

They all retreated to their rooms after fulfilling their penalty, leaving you and Haknyeon to clean up. The work was done relatively quickly and you made it back to your bed before midnight.

The next morning, you came out of your room clutching your Ryan doll that doubled as a pillow. You mumbled a “good morning” to Haknyeon who was preparing breakfast and chuckled at your appearance.

“Cute,” he commented on your tastes. You replied with a yawn, still not fully awake.

“The guys are probably gonna be hungover so I’m making some soup. I hope that’s okay with you,” he said.

He rolled up his sleeves before washing his hands. He then grabbed a knife and began cutting the vegetables. Your nose wrinkled at the sight of onions. You had forgotten to mention how picky you were. It was an embarrassing conversation to have as an adult. You had to explain how your childish tastebuds never matured while people let out an incredulous gasp. It was something you had to disclose every time you ate with someone new and it was honestly pretty tiring. People didn’t understand that you didn’t choose to be picky. Your tongue just refused the tastes of a lot of foods. It was more inconvenient for you than anyone else.

Nevertheless, you were excited to try the food made by the self proclaimed food connoisseur. You would just have to pick out the vegetables later.

The two of you decided to just eat together after the guys refused to wake up before noon. Haknyeon took a seat in front of you after he set the table and you thanked him.

To your relief, he didn’t seem so shocked by your childlike palate. He let the conversation end by saying something about respecting other people’s preferences.

Noticing your hair falling in front of your face, he got up to go look for something. He returned with a hair tie which he offered to you. It was just a courteous gesture but it still made you giddy regardless. The hair tie was probably just a spare left by previous guests but to you, it was a token. Something to remember him by.

“So, Y/n, what brings you to Jeju?” he questioned.

You’ve heard your name before many times in your life. Obviously. But hearing it from his voice felt different. The way your name rolled off his tongue made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh you know, just the typical “I wanted to get away from the city” trope,” you hummed.

“Classic,” he nodded.

After breakfast, Haknyeon volunteered to be your tour guide for the day. He showed you his favorite places in town and even drove further out to take you to the photo exhibition you wanted to see. You had a blast, taking a bunch of pictures to commemorate your trip.

When he asked why you used such a fancy camera and why you took photos of everything, you simply shrugged in response. Truthfully, you didn’t know why either.

For lunch, he brought you to a sashimi place where you bonded over a large platter of raw fish. Both the view and quality of the restaurant were amazing. And your company too, of course.

“Do your guests always get such personalized treatment?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Honestly? No,” he laughed. “I’m not that great of a host. Nor do I have the time and money to.”

“Then what’s all this? Today?”

“Hmm… I’m not quite sure.”

You left it at that and let him take you to an aquarium. Haknyeon had more fun watching you than looking at the animals. You were like a little kid in a candy store. Everything was fascinating to you.

The last time you visited an aquarium was for a field trip when you were in elementary school. It felt like you were going back to your childhood roots.

You made it back to the guesthouse in time for dinner. This time, you insisted on cooking. With the ingredients left in the fridge, you made kimchi fried rice. The smell lured the others down to join you two in the kitchen.

The rest of the night was rather uneventful, which you appreciated. You got to relish time just passing by. It was exactly what you came to Jeju for.

Back in your room, you connected your camera to your laptop to browse through the photos. Looking at them, you noticed that Haknyeon was in half of them.

“Maybe it was him I wanted to save in my memory,” you whispered under your breath.

Another week went by and you wished time would flow slower. Hyunjoon was the first to leave the guesthouse and it already felt a lot emptier without him. You hated goodbyes. You hated how all good things had to eventually come to an end.

The feeling made you cherish the remaining time you had left on the island. You spent your evenings with the guys and frequently chatted in the group chat with all five of you in it. You never expected to grow so fond of strangers you barely got to know. Haknyeon, in particular, had a special place in your heart.

He often took you out on what you liked to believe were dates. Under the guise of being your tour guide, he showed you the hidden parts of his hometown. Though he was slightly disappointed that your favorite thing from all the menus you’ve tried was the black sesame frappuccino from Starbucks.

“Really? Of all the things you’ve eaten and drank, you choose something from a chain store?” he had whined.

“Hey, they only have it here. I can’t get it anywhere else,” you defended.

He made it his mission to find you something local that would triumph over your love for the Starbucks drink. A close second was the makgeolli made and sold only in Jeju.

By the time Sunwoo and Eric left, you and Haknyeon had gotten extremely close. With him, it was so easy to open up and just be you. You practically lived in his room. You slept over after late night movies and cuddles.

Neither of you ever verbally defined your relationship. You were both somewhat afraid to ask what exactly you two were. Instead, you focused on each other.

“So you’re picking up photography again?” he asked with your head resting on his chest. The two of you were lazing around on the couch with a random show on for background noise.

“Possibly. It was always an interest of mine. I thought I’d get to have it as a side-job once I started working full time but I never got around to it. Trying to make a living was a lot harder than I thought it’d be,” you revealed.

“You definitely have the talent. I think you should take the opportunity and go for it,” he encouraged.

The idea lingered on your mind as the second week flew by. Your passion for photography had been pushed to the side as you struggled as a paycheck worker. You missed taking up odd gigs for extra cash in college.

On your last night at the guesthouse, you paused in the middle of dinner to stare at Haknyeon. The more time you spent with him, the more you didn’t want to leave. Changing your career path because of a guy was crazy. Moving to an island because of said guy that you only met two weeks ago was even crazier. But he inspired you to do what your heart desires. And that included being with him.

“What if I moved here to start freelancing? Publish that photography book I always dreamed of. Maybe set up my own studio one day,” you pondered aloud.

That proposition had many implications about the relationship between you two. He took a moment to carefully contemplate over it. Your heart pounded waiting for his response.

“If that’s what you truly want to do, I think that’d be nice,” he smiled, making your own face light up.

a/n: wow i was reminiscing my own time at jeju while writing this 🥺 and now, with this fic, i have officially written for all tbz members! :)

#the boyz #haknyeon #the boyz haknyeon #tbz #the boyz fluff #haknyeon fluff #the boyz haknyeon fluff #tbz haknyeon fluff #the boyz fic #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbz fic #tbz scenarios #tbz imagines #haknyeon fic #haknyeon scenarios #haknyeon imagines

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onlyangelcas · 3 years

Text

rosé flowing with your chosen family

my addition to @spnwomenweek ☼ day 2: family | read on ao3

“Claire,” Kaia says softly, placing her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “This is your family, what are you so worried about?”

Claire sighs, unsure of what exactly is so nerve wracking about walking into a house filled with her loved ones. Her back is resting against the side of her beat up station wagon, one sneaker kicking uselessly at the gravel under her feet and Kaia is looking at her with those concerned eyes that make her stomach knot up with guilt.

In front of her, past the somewhat wild front lawn, is Sam and Eileen’s new home, where their family is gathered for a last minute housewarming party. Sam and Eileen had put in an offer a few days after their wedding back in March, eager to get out of the dingy bunker and begin their life as a married couple. Claire was happy for them, Sam deserved a life of domesticity, just as Cas and Dean did.

It was weird, those first few weeks after the Winchsesters had defeated Chuck, God, whatever. Claire was devastated by the news of Cas being taken by the Empty, she hardly moved from her bed in the days following. Left confused, broken, and grieving an angel who was like her father in more ways than just his appearance. Kaia was supportive, of course, content to cuddle up next to her and run a soothing hand through her hair or convince her to eat a real meal at least once a day.

Before she even had the chance to fully process the loss of Cas, Jack and Dean had rescued him from the Empty. She remembered Jody’s voice calling out to her, she had slid from her bed and padded toward the front door. Claire was shocked to see Cas standing there, normal trench coat and suit traded in for a sweater and jeans, his hand tightly holding Dean’s. The two men had looked at her with concern, probably taking in her wrinkled pajamas, two-day-old bun, and the dark circles under her eyes. She had passed on asking the millions of questions that had flooded her mind in favor of wrapping herself tightly around Cas.

Claire had never been one to show her emotions so viscerally, but in that moment she couldn’t help the tears that quickly rolled down her cheeks. The joy of seeing Cas, when she thought he was gone for good, standing in her living room full of life and having apparently worked out whatever feelings he had for Dean, was overwhelming. Cas held her tightly while Dean ran a soothing hand across her back, and she wept openly for the first time since the Bad Place.

After that, things had returned to normal. Not normal for Claire, because all she had really known for the last few years was hunting, but the kind of normal where she didn’t have to kill monsters or worry that Sam and Dean were off getting themselves in trouble. There weren’t any monsters to hunt anymore, which left her feeling empty and useless for months. Kaia had pulled her out of that, like Kaia always did, and they decided to travel across the country and see the places they had never been able to enjoy before. It was freeing, to be on the open road, enjoying just being alive.

Claire and Kaia often passed through Kansas to visit Cas, Dean, and Jack at their house on the lake or to swing by the bunker to see Sam and Eileen. They never missed a birthday, wedding, or big event. Which is how they found themselves back in Kansas, Jody had called to let them know everyone was getting together for a housewarming party for Sam and Eileen. Her and Kaia had been in Memphis, enjoying barbecue and Blues, so the drive wasn’t too much of a hassle.

“Earth to blondie,” Kaia says, snapping Claire back to the present. “Are we going inside anytime soon? I’m starving, babe.”

Claire clears her throat, “Yeah, sorry. Lost in my head.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She looks into Kaia’s eyes, the usual soft brown painted with worry, and smiles in hopes it will ease her girlfriend’s concern, “No, I’m good, just overthinking. Let’s go eat.”

Kaia gives her a tentative smile, wrapping her hand around Claire’s and pulling her in for a chaste kiss.

They approach the front door, Claire raises her hand to knock but before her knuckles make contact the door swings open, revealing Sam with a grin spread across his face. He quickly wraps them both up in a hug and pulls them inside the loud and lively house. Claire and Kaia congratulate him on the house before breaking away to greet Jody, Donna, Alex, and Patience.

After hugs are exchanged and road trip updates are given, Claire slips away to the kitchen for a drink and Kaia heads toward Cas and Eileen who are clearly gossiping in ASL in the far corner of the living room.

Claire yanks open the fridge and helps herself to a beer, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink before propping herself against the counter.

“Hello Claire,” Jack says happily from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, Claire hadn’t even noticed him when she first came in.

“Jack, jeeze, you scared me.”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize you hadn’t seen me.” Jack responds, his hands wrapped around a can of root beer.

“Yeah, I guess I was a little lost in thought.” She says, turning her head toward the door where the sound of Dean’s laughter is filtering through.

There’s a pause then, as Claire contemplates how she ended up here, with this ragtag group of former hunters, angels, and a witch that she calls family. It’s weird, she had always expected her dad to show back up one day and make their family whole again, back when she was young and naive. It’s even weirder, she thinks, that this band of misfits has become a better image of family than she could ever imagine to have with her mother and father. Claire had come to think of herself as a combination of Novak-Winchester-Mills-Hanscum for quite some time now, content to be part of this chosen family.

She still missed her mom and dad, from time to time, wondered what life would have been like if they had stayed with her. Claire never let herself spend too long on that path, knowing that if things had been different she would have never known Jody or Alex, she would never have known Cas, or Sam and Dean, she never would have fallen in love with Kaia. She has a family now; she found a mother in Jody and Donna, Castiel and Dean became her kind-of dads, Sam and Eileen the closest thing she has to an uncle and aunt, Alex and Patience are her sisters, Jack her brother. It’s weird and mismatched, but it’s hers and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Claire,” Jack says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You seem troubled.”

Claire flashes him a watery smile, suddenly overcome with affection for her perfectly messed up family, “Actually the opposite.”

Jack smiles back at her, a gap-toothed goofy grin, “Oh, I thought you were upset.”

She pushes herself away from the counter, abandoning her beer on the stone surface, and makes her way over to Jack. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Claire, anything.” Jack says, his head tilting up slightly to lock eyes with Claire, who is standing close enough that she’s marginally taller than Jack sitting down.

Claire pulls Jack into a hug, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that her ribs ache, “I love you.”

Jack slowly loops his arms around Claire, resting his cheek against her shoulder, “I love you, too.”

She lets out a wet laugh, giving Jack one final squeeze before pulling away.

“Well,” A gruff voice says from the doorway. “Isn’t that just a sight for sore eyes.”

Claire whips her head around to find Dean lounging against the doorframe, his face soft with a bit of fondness in his eyes.

“Hello Dean,” Jack says, his face still twisted up in a goofy grin.

Dean stalks forward into the kitchen, quickly wrapping the two up in a warm embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of their heads. He pulls away just as quickly as he pulled them in, locking eyes with Claire and giving her a look that conveys all the words he can’t say out loud.

“Jack helped me get a bunch of Sammy’s baby pictures scanned onto a CD and I’m gonna put ‘em up on the TV for everyone, you don't wanna miss it.” Dean says, giving her a gentle pat on the back.

She laughs, “Sounds mortifying, I can’t wait to see Sam’s face.”

“C’mon,” He says, jerking his head toward the living room before turning and heading out the door.

Claire watches him and Jack disappear into the other room, smiling to herself as she snatches up her beer and heads into the chaos. Cas, Kaia, and Eileen are still deep in conversation. Jody and Donna are whispering quietly to each other on the other side of the room. Rowena, Patience, and Alex are pressed together on the couch, a martini glass dangling from Rowena’s hand as she gestures wildly, obviously recounting an insane tale as the other women listen with rapt attention.

She slides in next to Sam, who is leaning against the stairway railing, eyeing Jack and Dean with suspicion as they fiddle with the disc player next to the TV.

“This is a great house, Sammy.”

Sam looks down at her, smiling slightly, “It’s not bad, but it’s the people who really make it home.”

Claire returns his smile, then turns back to the scene in front of her; all her favorite people, the people she loves most in the world, gathered in one room.

Dean always says, family don’t end with blood, something his own stand-in father, Bobby, used to tell him. Claire never met Bobby, but she thinks he might have been onto something.

#spnwomenweek #they are a big family!!!#writing in claire’s pov is new to me so i hope i did her justice #claire novak #spn #supernatural

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icarusbuck · 4 years

Text

7. yes i did, what about it?

FOX! 911 | fluff

∞

Eddie put his truck in park and turned the key. After a long day at work, all he wanted to do was unwind and decompress on Buck's couch. It wasn't quite a routine yet, but spending an evening at the loft was swiftly becoming a regular occurrence.

The quiet rumble of his engine faded into quiet. He picked up the case of beer sitting on his passenger seat; a consolation prize for drinking most of what Buck had in his fridge over the last few weeks, and also for showing up unannounced. He made his way to the front door, but pulled up short when he heard multiple voices from inside, talking over each other as much as they seemed to be talking to each other.

Shifting the box under one arm, he knocked. A feeling of unease settled in his chest, and he half convinced himself to just go home in the moments that passed.

Buck's voice drifted closer to the door, and then it opened, revealing him in sweats and a tank top. He had a beer in his hand and it was on the way to his lips when he froze. His shock lasted only for a moment, then he broke into a crooked smile.

"Eddie!" he cried, opening the door wider in invitation. His smile fell when Eddie didn't move; he stood rooted to the spot, drinking in the slight flush that always accompanied a buzz. Buck’s pants hung off his hips, and they were a tempting handhold. He gestured with his beer bottle, breaking Eddie out of his trance. "Are you going to come in?"

"Yeah," Eddie said with a start, shaking himself. He stepped inside and Buck shut the door as he peered around the stairs, trying to get a glimpse of who the voices belonged to. Maddie and Chimney sat together in a wide armchair, and there was a third guest who looked vaguely familiar. The three of them were dressed similarly to Buck - Maddie had on a pink onesie with a hood, Chimney sported grey long johns, and the third was curled up on the couch in royal purple silk pajamas. He looked back at Buck apprehensively. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Interrupting?" Buck's eyes flickered up from the beer under Eddie's arm, his brow furrowed. "Nah, we were just about to watch a movie." He took the box from Eddie and turned, heading into the kitchen.

"Oh," Eddie muttered, mentally kicking himself for just assuming Buck would be free. He followed after Buck and considered bolting. "I guess I should have called."

Buck looked over his shoulder with a confused smile. "Called? Since when do you need to call?" He pulled open the door to the fridge and shoved the beer inside. His movements were loose, and Eddie would have bet money that the bottle in his hand hadn't been the first of the night. He bumped the fridge shut with his hip and turned toward the microwave, taking out a bag of popcorn.

"I didn't realize you had people over," Eddie explained, watching him dump the popcorn into one of two waiting bowls.

Buck tossed another bag into the microwave and turned toward Eddie, the wheels turning almost visibly. He looked from Eddie to the living room. "You're always welcome. You know that," he chided, waving his statement aside. "Do you want to join us?" Buck gave him a once-over, nose wrinkled. "You can borrow some clothes."

Eddie took a moment to examine the way his stomach lurched at how easily Buck always managed to fit people into his life, regardless of how full it already was. He was so caught up in the feeling that he barely noticed Maddie sliding into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey Eddie," she said, slightly breathless from laughing at whatever they'd found so funny. She bumped her hip into Buck's as she arrived and reached for a piece of popcorn. Buck slapped her hand away and slung his arm over her shoulders, smiling innocently when she scowled up at him. She turned her attention back to Eddie, and the Buckley smile was in full force. "I didn't know you'd be joining us," she said, almost in apology.

"I'm not."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Yes he is, he just needs to dress down first; come on," he said, moving away from Maddie. He took Eddie's hand and led him up the stairs, calling over his shoulder for Maddie to leave the popcorn alone.

"Buck," Eddie hissed, once they were out of earshot at the top of the stairs. He pulled his hand free and tried to come up with an adequate reason he should go. "I really don't need to stay, I just -"

"Sweats or shorts?" Buck cut him off, oblivious to how Eddie had lagged behind. He looked over his shoulder and eyed Eddie's button-down critically.

"Sweats," Eddie answered automatically.

Buck nodded, rooting around in his dresser for a few more seconds. He surfaced with a small stack of clothes. "Josh needed some company, so we threw this together at the last minute. Here," he said, dumping the laundry on him.

"Who is Josh," Eddie muttered, barely catching the clothes. There was a pair of sweatpants and one of Buck's workout shirts.

"Uh, Maddie's friend," Buck said, flapping his hand toward the stairs. "You can change up here, just be quick," he said, tossing Eddie a wink as he moved past him and headed down the stairs. His voice sounded the second he hit the last step, accusing Maddie of eating all the popcorn in the two minutes that had passed.

Eddie sighed and started changing. Buck's clothes were slightly too big on him; he had to double check the knot at his waist, and the shirt was extra baggy due to how much material Buck had removed when he cut the sleeves off. They were comfortable though, and he would much rather be in sweats than jeans if he was to sit through a whole movie.

He followed Buck downstairs once he was dressed. Maddie resumed her place on the arm chair, leaning toward the end of the couch where Josh sat leaning toward her. Buck was seated in the center, looking back and forth almost comically as he tried to follow their rapid conversation.

It drifted to a stop when Eddie appeared. He waved awkwardly at Maddie and Josh, and nodded at Chimney.

"Josh, this is Eddie," Buck said, using the remote to point at each of them respectively. "Eddie, this is Josh."

"Nice to meet you," Eddie offered, leaning over to shake Josh's hand.

"Oh, I assure you, the pleasure's mine." Josh smiled warmly at him, and he gave Maddie a look that appeared to speak volumes. She smirked back at him, eyes sparkling.

Buck elbowed Josh in the ribs and looked back at Eddie, patting the seat next to him as if it weren't the only one left. He passed off the bowl of popcorn once Eddie was comfortable and fiddled with the remote to get the movie going.

It was about some blonde lawyer whose hair color was firmly held against her. Eddie wasn't overly interested in the plot, but the others seemed about as interested in watching the movie as they cared to talk about it. They alternated between criticizing the movie and pointing out their favorite parts, but Eddie was certain he'd never seen it before, and had a hard time following anything. He was happy just to be included after a rough shift, especially on a night when Christopher was staying with a friend.

By the end of the movie, he'd had a few beers, and the buzz coursing through his system made it even easier to relax. He draped himself into the corner of the couch, and at some point Buck had slouched down into the space under Eddie's arm and leaned into his side, their calves pressed together. Eddie let his arm curl around Buck's shoulders, his hand resting on Buck's chest. Every time Buck spoke or laughed, it vibrated into Eddie.

Buck's arm rested along Eddie's thigh, his beer bottle balanced just above the knee. He felt good and warm and it took all of Eddie's willpower not to pull Buck just a little closer, just enough to kiss his temple or his cheek. He squashed the impulse by draining the rest of his beer.

As the credits started to roll, Josh gave an exaggerated yawn and stretch. "Well," he sighed, flopping his arms back down to his sides. He looked from Buck and Eddie to Maddie and Chim. "I should probably get going."

"We still have another movie to watch," Maddie protested, sitting up a little straighter. She'd turned into Chimney's side and pulled her legs up and over his.

"This has been great," Josh assured her as he stood. "Exactly what I needed. But I work the early shift tomorrow, and I should really be getting home."

Maddie deflated with a sigh, but pulled herself up out of the chair. "Okay. Well, let us walk you out."

"Deal," Josh said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He paused before they left the living room entirely, looking down at Buck and Eddie with a knowing smile. "And don't worry. I promise I didn't feel like a fifth wheel."

Maddie laughed, and Eddie stiffened. Chimney followed behind them without a word, and the trio soon made their way out the front door.

The moment it shut, Buck stood. "I'm going to get another beer," he announced, refusing to look at Eddie. The flush rising up the back of his neck was one Eddie knew all too well, and he surged unsteadily to his feet.

"You told them about us," he said, narrowing his eyes with the accusation. He moved in front of Buck, blocking his escape.

Buck squared his shoulders immediately and assumed his full height. "Yes I did, what about it? She's my sister, Chim's her boyfriend, and Josh is - well," Buck swallowed, the pink rising into his cheeks. "He's…"

Eddie shook his head slightly, unable to contain his amusement at Buck's conviction. He wasn't mad or upset, he was… relieved.

"I don't care," he breathed, grabbing the front of Buck's shirt and pulling him into a sound kiss. Buck made a soft noise and his lips parted under Eddie's. His hands found their way to Eddie's waist and pulled, until they were molded together from chest to knee. Eddie wrapped his arm around Buck's neck, holding on as the room spun and his heart pounded.

It ended before it could really begin, and Eddie broke away with a gasp when the front door opened.

"I'm glad he's - oh," Maddie's voice stopped short. Buck glanced over Eddie's shoulder and he grinned, eyes lighting up so bright that Eddie's stomach flipped.

"Well, I can't say I blame him for leaving," Chimney teased. He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Okay, lovebirds, break it up; we have another movie to watch."

"Or, you know, we could go," Maddie offered quickly, putting her hand on Chimney's arm.

"That's not necessary," Buck chuckled, squeezing Eddie's hips. His hands fell away as he turned, searching for the remote he'd discarded earlier. He sat once he found it, leaned forward intently as he searched for the title.

Eddie fell back down to the couch as the others passed, and only hesitated for a moment before putting his hand on Buck's back. The secret was out now, at least to their current company.

Once he got the movie started, Buck shifted closer and leaned into him. He didn't waste any time in pulling Eddie's arm around him, nudging and pulling until he had Eddie where he wanted and he could stretch out along the couch. He took Eddie's hand, twining their fingers together on his chest.

From that position it was easy to feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest. He felt the exact moment Buck drifted off; barely an hour of the movie had passed when he started to snore.

Eddie rubbed his thumb along Buck's. He shifted in his sleep, turning in toward the couch and releasing Eddie's hand so he could curl up on his side. He pressed his face into Eddie's stomach. Eddie ran his freed fingers through Buck's hair, paying more attention to the little twitches and grumbles he made than to the movie.

Maddie leaned over with a knowing smile and picked up the remote to mute the movie. "We're going to go," she whispered, looking fondly at her brother as she stood. "You got him?"

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, his attention shifting to Chimney as he stood. His expression was hard to read, and they locked eyes briefly.

"It looks good on you," Chimney said after a moment. He put his hand on the small of Maddie's back, following her out of the living room.

"What does?" Eddie frowned, turning his head to track them.

Chimney looked over his shoulder with a soft smile, and with one word, made Eddie's chest swell with emotion:

"Happiness."

#fictober20 #911 on fox #911 fox #911 fic #911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buckleyevan #fox 911 #long post #idk why the readmore doesn't work D:#maddie buckley #howie han

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amelialincoln · 3 years

Text

Notion

“Hey.” Link was breathless as he brought the final bits of outdoor furniture into the kitchen. It was supposed to rain tomorrow and Seattle had become covered in a thick layer of fog that seemed to cling to him as he closed the door to the backyard.

“Everyone headed out?” Amelia asked, scraping the last of the kid’s leftovers into the compost. Link nodded, placing a lingering, cold kiss on her forehead that made her shiver.

“Seemed kinda awkward between Jackson and Winston.”

“Well, it’s not Maggie’s fault that Jackson’s dated every person in a fifty mile radius,” she responded bitterly.

“This is true,” Link nodded.

“What’s going to make things worse is that she’s going to have to explain that all of us are mourning her other ex’s death,” she added grimly.

“No,” Link’s voice was soft. “I thought he pulled through.”

“Richard just called me to see if I wanted to join a meeting on zoom tonight, everything fell apart and Teddy and Owen couldn’t save him.” Tears were starting to fill her eyes. Deluca hadn’t spent much time on her service recently but he and Sam were pivotal when she was working on Kimmie’s tumor. When it came to her own tumor, she was surprised how much Deluca had shown his support.

“So, he’s just gone?” Unlike Amelia, Link hadn’t experienced a whole lot of death.

“Yeah.” He pulled her into his chest and rocked gently. It almost hurt how nice it was to see the few people that had come over today. Despite the house they were living in being chaos, the couple had never felt more isolated and alone. “I had to tell Zola that Mer might possibly not wake up.” Amelia whimpered. “She was so strong. She doesn’t want to worry Bailey and Ellis so she told Maggie and I not to tell them. If anything happens to Mer, Derek made Kathleen their godmother, I can’t watch these kids get shipped off to New York, they’ve had it hard enough.”

“I know, babe,” Link sighed, pulling her in closer.

“I have to go feed Scout, my boobs are gonna explode,” Amelia finally shed herself of Link’s arms after a couple of blissful moments. “Can you read to Zola and Bailey? I can handle Ellis because she’ll get like five stories out of you if I let you go in there.” Link chuckled.

“You’re probably right.”

[][][]

“Auntie Amelia.” Amelia was relieved to be greeted with a sleepy voice as she stepped into the pink monstrosity that was Ellis’ room.

“Hi Elle belle.” She smiled in response to the little girl’s arms reaching towards her. “Come on sweetheart, let's pick some pjs.”

“Can you make it a surprise?” Ellis asked in a way that made Amelia’s ovaries explode and she found herself wondering what Link would think about trying for a girl. Hormones, Amelia, focus. “What about these?” She suggested, holding up a pair of pastel blue Moana pajamas. Ellie nodded happily, squealing as Amelia tugged them over her pudgy arms.

“Can we read the cookie mouse story?”

“Of course,” Amelia grinned. “It’s not like we haven’t read it every day this week.” She lowered herself gently down onto Ellis’ bed. Recovery hadn’t been the easiest when chasing three children around the house and caring for a newborn. Link had pulled out Amelia’s stitches the night before, using his phone’s flashlight, since neither of them wanted to go to the hospital and then go through the trouble of getting tested. She had tried to hide the pain for Link’s sake, tired of him expecting her to be constantly resting, but she hadn’t expected the pain. Link was an incredible ortho surgeon but when it came to the little details, he was sometimes a bit careless.

Amelia closed the door to Ellis’ bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to chuckle at the little figure sprawled out across her twin bed. For such a small girl Ellis was notoriously known as the most impossible person to sleep with, taking up spaces three times her size. She walked past Zola and Bailey’s room, hearing Link’s animated voice through fits of giggles. He definitely outdid her in the storytelling department, and really in every department, which she tried to not think too much about. Scout was babbling as Amelia entered the familiar room.

“You hungry, big guy?” To Amelia’s relief, Scout had progressed past his grumpy and problematic eating phase. She hugged him into her chest, breathing in his sweet and comforting soft lavender smell from the bubble bath they’d used this afternoon. “My beautiful boy.” She was still in disbelief, even staring down at him in her arms, that he truly existed. As he’d gotten bigger, he’d started to become a perfect combination of his parents. With Link’s strong features, like his nose, and what Amelia could tell would be his jaw, along with her dimple and piercing blue eyes.

“Hey mommy,” Link’s amused voice came from the doorway. “You feeling better?” Amelia wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the soreness in her lower half or the news about Deluca.

“He makes everything better,” she sighed, fumbling with one of the buttons on Scout’s onesie.

“You going to go to that meeting?” Link asked, she could tell he knew something was bothering her. “I already missed it.” She shrugged, glancing at their bedside alarm clock. “I’ll probably just feed him and then pass out.”

“Do you want me to grab the baby wrap, you were lifting lots today already with the furniture.”

“Sure,” she nodded, not feeling like having a conversation about how perfectly fine her arms were. Link nodded, placing a soft hand on her back before rummaging through their closet for the wrap. She was happy to find that Scout latched on easily and without protest, feeling a little guilty about the lack of attention that he’d received today. She knew that people were suffering way more during this time and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for wishing that she, Scout and Link could be spending quality time in their apartment for their maternity leave like planned.

“Lift your arm a bit.” Link ran a soft hand along the side of her forearm as he tied the piece of fabric around her shoulder and managed to wiggle Scout into it, without removing him from her chest.

“Thank you,” she smiled tiredly.

“No problem,” he yawned, practically collapsing into bed beside her. “Fuck, Amelia I’m exhasuted.”

“Me too.” She ran a gentle hand through his hair, tugging out some of the frequent knots that had begun to form since his hair had begun to grow out.

“Is your incision site healing okay,” he groaned into the pillow, melting a bit as she massaged the root of his neck.

“I haven’t checked,” she admitted with a yawn.

“Want me to grab some polysporin?”

“It’s okay, babe, it feels fine.” She sighed slightly, playing with the idea of bringing up a topic that has been bugging her but not wanting to cause an argument that neither of them were up for. “You started drinking pretty early today.”

“Amelia,” Link groaned tiredly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It was just unnecessary, no one wanted...I’m just worried.” She shifted Scout to the other side uncomfortably.

“It’s not my fault you see addiction everywhere. I had like two beers.” Silence hung thickly in the air and after a couple of minutes Link turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t really seem to care,” she answered honestly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He replied defensively, tiredness had seemed to leave his body momentarily. “I don’t--”

“The fridge is stocked, Link. It’s like a reminder every time I go to make food. There’s a cooler in the garage for a reason.”

“How am I supposed to know,” he sputtered. “Meredith downs tequila in front of you like this is a frat house. You hang out with our friends when they drink all the time.”

“It’s different when you're surrounded by people. When I’m alone and just staring at a fridge filled with booze it’s hard to not want to take one.”

“Amelia, you haven’t relapsed in years, why would you even--”

“Because I’m an addict, Link!” The increase in volume of her voice caused Scout to shriek in protest. “Don’t you understand that? It doesn’t get easier. It’s a fight every fucking day. And when my boyfriend starts drinking every day at three o’clock in the afternoon, it makes that fight ten times harder.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” he grumbled.

“Are you serious right now?”

“About what,” he shot back.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I thought you’d be considerate enough to validate my feelings instead of acting like I’m being dramatic but instead you’re being a child.”

“Mia,” Link groaned, slamming his head back into the pillow, looking as childish as ever. “You’re--”

“What? Overreacting? The fact that you don’t see this as an issue is concerning.” Scout’s shrieking turned into a full on meltdown as their “perfect” son burst into tears. “Oh, baby, no. It’s okay.” Amelia sighed, finding tears of frustration begin to build at the sides of her own eyes and let out a tiny whimper as she held back any sobs that attempted to be heard. Of course Link noticed, as always, and rolled over to witness the upset state that both his girlfriend and baby were in.

“I am sorry,”

“Show me then,” Amelia hissed through a clenched jaw, wiping away some stubborn fallen tears. “Cause right now I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll put the packs in the cooler tomorrow,” he promised, with a hint of resentment. Amelia shrugged, finally giving up on feeding Scout and bringing him tightly into her chest.

“Hey, it’s okay, mommy and daddy fight sometimes, but everything’s going to be okay. Don’t cry Scout. We love you so much,” she murmured into the crown of his head, causing Link to melt a little inside.

“Are we going to be okay?” Link asked, receiving a teary glance from his girlfriend.

“Not if you can’t get this sorted because I cannot be his mother and also be passed out in a ditch somewhere on opioids.” Link nodded, moving to tug her shirt back into place and took Scout into his own hands, marvelling slightly at the little miracle they had created. “I don’t want to screw him up.”

“You won’t,” he promised her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before grazing her slightly chapped lips. “You’ve been a mother for a month and have already proved that. That’s the last thing we need to worry about right now.” He patted his chest. “Now come to sleep because if we stay up any longer I feel like I might end up on the couch,” he chuckled.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” she replied with a yawn.

“I love you,” he sighed.

“I love you too.”

what did u guys think of 17x07? i did find the beers at like 12 a bit weird and with the upcoming episode’s synopsis “Jo, Jackson and Link play a drinking game” I wonder if Amelia and him will have a conversation about her addiction bc I feel like they haven't really talked about it. lmk what u think!

#amelia shepherd #AmeliaShepherd #amelinkfanfiction #amelink #amelink fanfiction #link #Atticus Lincoln #atticus link #greysanatomy

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supernovanim · 4 years

Text

Neighbours

This is my first attempt at fanfic. To be honest I’m super bored at the moment and this just kinda happened. Let me know if you’d like a part 2, if anyone actually reads this. I wrote part 2. Feedback welcome.

Summary: It’s the middle of a pandemic and you’re bored in your new house. Until your next door neighbour makes things a lot more interesting.

Pairing: Female Reader x Dylan O’Brien

Word Count: 1273

Warnings: swearing, voyeurism, light smut, I’m british so might get some americanisms wrong

Lockdown Day 5

Looking out of your kitchen window you surveyed the bare earth with dismay. All those lovely trees, gone. At least the work had been completed before the pandemic properly hit California. According to the site survey if the roots had got any bigger your entire kitchen would have dropped three foot, which would have been especially awkward as you were now spending most of your time in here.

You’d moved into the house around a month ago. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined living in the Hollywood Hills, but your long-lost great aunt had apparently been something special in 1950s LA. And had left it all to you – given you’d only met her once, it felt more like the plot of a movie than real life. Reality hit when you moved in – the place was in urgent need of some love. The line of trees along the boundary fence being first on the list.

As they were your trees your lawyer had confirmed you didn’t need permission from next door to remove them. Still, you’d dropped a note in their mailbox, assuring them you were planning on erecting a much higher fence once the trees had gone. Except then lockdown had happened, and all your plans for a rose-entwined trellis had evaporated. Leaving you with this patch of bare earth, and next door with an uninterrupted view down into your kitchen.

You’d never met your neighbour. Apparently, he was some actor, which was hardly unusual for round here. Still, his house was nice, much nicer than yours. You could just see the end of a grey topped kitchen counter, and minimalist white floors. A fruit bowl sat on the counter containing a solitary lemon. Nice to see even rich people were struggling with grocery shopping.

Your kitchen was mostly brown – brown cupboards, brown tiles. Your aunt had redecorated in the 70s and not done much since. You’d put in a new fridge-freezer but would need to wait for the rest. Unfortunately, the salary of an advertising copywriter didn’t quite stretch to marble floors and sleek minimalist counters. You’d have to start saving.

Wondering how long you’d have to save to afford just one of your neighbour’s cupboard doors, you started making breakfast. At least nowadays you had time to do it properly, and you hummed quietly to yourself as you ground the coffee beans and cracked eggs into a bowl. Turning to your phone you opened Spotify and hooked it up to the nearby portable speaker, pressing play on the Supremes.

Just as you performed a perfect spin in front of the stove-top coffee percolator, you noticed a movement out of the corner of your eye. You looked up out of the window, which is when you finally met your neighbour. Well, saw him anyway. It was quite a sight. Dark scruffy hair, pale skin with a scattering of moles, a bit of stubble. He was wearing low slung sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, which was riding up as he reached up into a cupboard, showing a glimpse of toned stomach. Your mouth felt suddenly dry, and underneath your shirt you could feel your nipples instantly harden against the soft fabric. Jesus wept; the guy was gorgeous. And you weren’t just saying that because the only guys you’d seen in the flesh in the past week were delivering your pizza.

He closed the cupboard, holding a coffee mug. Then glanced out of the window, looking down to where you were standing, probably with your jaw hanging open.

Amber eyes met yours and blinked. He smirked, raising one hand in a slow greeting.

Suddenly conscious that your shirt hardly covered your ass, you raised a hand in return, smiled and met his gaze. Wow.

After a few seconds you returned to reality with a bang. This was a hot actor, you were a penniless copywriter. Romcoms weren’t real, and you had eggs to cook. But you couldn’t help but feel lockdown had just got a whole lot more interesting…

Lockdown Day 7

Since that morning breakfast meeting you hadn’t seen much of Dylan (yes, you’d immediately Googled him and found out his name). He wasn’t up as early as you, and certainly didn’t seem to spend quite so much time in his kitchen. Sometimes empty beer bottles would appear on his counter, so you guessed he was making the most of time off from filming.

Still, life must go one, which is why you’d arranged a Zoom date with someone you’d been messaging on Tinder. It gave you something to look forward to and would distract you from thoughts of the hot neighbour. You hadn’t had sex in weeks, and it was beginning to get to you. Hopefully this date wouldn’t just frustrate you further.

It was late evening, with the sun just setting over the spectacular view from your bedroom balcony. Inside, you looked critically at yourself in the full-length mirror. Was sexy lingerie too much for a Zoom date? What was the etiquette on these things anyway? You had chosen a pale pink lace demi-cup plunge bra. It barely covered your nipples, your breasts spilling out of the front. Teamed with the matching lacy shorts you had to admit you looked good. Obviously, you’d put a dress on before the call, but it paid to be prepared. The combination of not leaving your house, a lack of human contact, and oh yeah, the eye candy next door had made you really horny. A problem with the aircon wasn’t helping – the bedroom was sweltering. You felt a drop of sweat run down the back of your neck.

Without even thinking about it you walked into your kitchen, bare feet padding across the cool tiles. You flung open the freezer to try and find some relief from the heat. Pulling your hair up into a loose top knot, you fanned yourself with one hand, leaning on the freezer door with the other. In the darkening kitchen the only light was from within the appliance.

You glanced to your left and realised you weren’t entirely alone. Fully illuminated by his kitchen lights at his window stood Dylan, paused in surprise with a beer bottle raised to his lips. He raised his eyebrows and gulped, his eyes travelling across your skimpy outfit. Lowering the beer bottle, he mouthed something:

“Fuck”

Yeah, exactly, you thought. Covering your surprise, you bit your lip. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of shorts and a backwards cap over his scruffy hair. His muscles were well-defined but not too much, exactly what you liked. A smattering of chest hair led your eyes down to his waistband.

Biting back a low groan, you reached into the freezer with one hand. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed an ice cube and pulled it out. Looking straight into his eyes you ran the cube down your neck, the heat from your skin starting to melt it on contact. Drops of water ran down your breasts to hit the lace of your bra. Your hand moved lower skirting your nipples and then running down your stomach. God, that felt good. His eyes followed your hand and then glanced back up at you. “Hot”, he mouthed silently.

You swallowed hard. And realised you only had five minutes before your date. You glanced at the growing bulge in Dylan’s shorts and internally shrugged. Popping the remains of the melted ice cube in your mouth you closed the freezer door, so you were now in darkness, and left the kitchen to go find your laptop. Good things come to those who wait…

Read Part 2 next!

#dylan o'brien smut #dylan o'brien fanfic #dylan o'brien fanfiction smut #dylan o'brien x reader smut #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Little Things in Life - 1

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark!Steveand explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: I’m still working on Syster and BJB and all my other WIPs. This was supposed to be a one shot but I got about 22 pages out and realised that we weren’t even close to an end. Anyways, hope you enjoy a subtle Steve. Slow burn. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You liked to do your gardening early. Even on the weekends. You let your husband Logan sleep in; your daughter, Kayla too. You basked in the morning balm as you rooted around for stray roots and watered the leaves which looked a little too brittle in the dew. The birds sang as the neighbourhood still slept. It was a rare moment of your own.

Well, almost all yours.

You turned at the steady beat of sneakers on the pavement. You stood and dusted off your gloves. Steve, your neighbour from just across the street, stopped as he reached the end of your walk. He smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I don’t know how you do it,” You said. “You’ve got a newborn keeping you up all night and here you are, running the entire neighbourhood like it’s nothing.”

He laughed. “Never got much sleep to begin with,” He said. “You know, if you ever get bored of the dirt and grubs, you’re welcome to join me.”

“You know I couldn’t keep up with you, Cap,” You grinned.

“Not anymore,” He said. “I hung that shield up.”

“Oh yes, Logan told me you let him toss it around.”

“Well, he tried,” Steve said. “I… you know, I’m happy I ran into you. Me and Sharon, we’re having this thing next weekend. A party for all us restless parents. No kids.”

“Yeah, she was saying the other day.” You replied. “I’m sure I could get the sitter and Logan never says no to a beer or two.”

“Maybe we could hit the felt again. It’s been a while.” He ventured. “We had to move the table but I got the cues all ready.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You said. “So she let you keep it.”

“It’s in the garage now but it’s still in one piece,” He preened. “You should pop by some time. After dinner, I like to try a few trick shots.”

“I’ll try,” You said. “I’m usually the one cleaning up dinner and Kayla. But, maybe we could do doubles sometime. Nap time, maybe.”

“I might be able to convince Sharon,” He rubbed his neck and glanced over at his house. “Speaking of, I should go check in on her. Got a serious diaper run to go on this morning.”

“See ya,” You said. “Say hi to Sharon for me.”

“See ya,” He turned and jogged across the street.

He stopped at his front door and turned back to look at you as you collected your watering can and basket of tools. He waved and you waved back. A coffee would be nice before you roused the little monster. Saturday was pancake day and she rarely forgot it.

🏠

That day you kept thinking about your neighbours. Steve and Sharon used to be your weekend buddies. You’d stop by after you put Kayla down for the night and have a few drinks. That was until Sharon had gotten pregnant and they’d both descended into full blown panic mode. Baby this, baby that! It was a peculiar type of excitement which had them both beaming and baffled.

You’d seen Sharon for lunch every now and then and at her shower. She was so swept up in it all that she wasn’t as social as before. You were glad to hear she was throwing one of her parties. She was finding her balance again.

As for Steve, you only really saw him in passing. Doing yard work or random chores around the house. He was always busy it seemed. Well, that was life.

You went about your usual Saturday routine; pancake breakfast, dishes, play time with Kayla, lunch, nap time, a walk to the park, dinner… The days only varied when you worked and most times, you did so from home. You were lucky enough to spend much of your time with your daughter, though you wished you could say the same of Logan.

He worked hard, you couldn’t fault him that. Most days, he stayed late. By the time he got home, he was so wrapped up in it that it was all he could talk about. But he was a good dad when he was there. He loved Kayla and he treated you well enough.

Sunday was lazy. The afternoon was disappointing as Logan spent much of it on the phone with his boss. You took Kayla out to the garden so she couldn’t disturb the call. She helped, or tried to help you transfer some flowers from your garden into a pot. Proud of your creation, you took her across the street and knocked on the door.

Steve answered it to your surprise. Sharon was usually quick to the punch. You greeted him with a smile.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb, I just thought… well Sharon said she liked the flowers so we brought you some.” You held out the pot.

“You can put them in your garden,” Kayla said cheerily.

“I need to make a garden first,” He grinned at her and took the pot. “Thank you. I’m sure Sharon will find a place for them. She’s just sleeping with the baby right now.”

“I get it,” You said. “We were a bit restless and just wanted to say hi. She wanted to give them to Ethel but you know she has terrible allergies.”

“I appreciate the thought,” He leaned down to talk to Kayla, “You’re getting big, kiddo. How old are you now?”

“Four,” She chimed. “Mommy says I’m old enough to go to school.”

“I would think you are,” He replied as he stood straight. “I’ll let Sharon know you came by. Oh, and… the pool table is still open.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” You offered. “Logan’s taking Kayla to a Paw Patrol show.”

“Tomorrow,” He accepted. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“What happened to that friend of yours; James?” You wondered.

“Bucky. He’s around now and then.” Steve shrugged. “But not as much as I like. And he prefers poker.”

“Ah,” You took Kayla’s hand before she could wander away. “Well, I’ll see ya.”

“What time’s the show?” He asked before you could back away.

“Six.” You answered.

“Then I’ll see you at six-thirty. How’s that?”

“Six-thirty it is,” You confirmed as you picked up Kayla and turned away. “Okay, you little brat, let’s go bug your father.”

🏠

You were glad Logan was getting some time with Kayla. You wished you could go with them but keeping to your new budget, two tickets were all that could be had. The upside was that you didn’t have to sit through the cartoony mascots dancing in an arena full of hyper children.

You gave Kayla a kiss on the cheek and barely sneaked a kiss on Logan’s lips before she tugged him away from you. He strapped her into her seat and gave a smile as he climbed in the front. You smiled as they left but when they were gone, you felt restless. There were only a few times you were without Kayla; at work and during your early morning gardening sessions.

You went inside and wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes. You poured yourself a glass of wine and looked at the clock. You were suddenly very grateful for Steve’s invitation. The game would keep your mind off your listlessness.

You finished your chardonnay and rinsed the glass. You stepped out the front door and found Steve’s garage door open as he ducked beneath it to wave you over. You looked down the street before you crossed and jogged up the drive.

“Hey,” You entered the cool garage. The pool table took up much of the space not occupied by the aged motorcycle Steve had been working on for years. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, getting some practice in,” He grabbed the cue leaning against the table and another from the rack on the wall. He handed you one. “Hope you’re not too rusty.”

“You know, I’ve been playing online but it’s not quite the same,” You kidded. “What’s Sharon up to?”

“I asked her if she wanted to come out and join us,” Steve shrugged. “But she’s been on the phone with her mother all day.”

“Maybe next time,” You watched as he set up the balls in the frame.

“You want a beer or something?” He asked as he stood.

“I shouldn’t. I just had some wine. I don’t like to mix drinks… or rather, my body doesn’t.” You chuckled.

“I’m sure I’ve got some wine,” He went to the mini fridge. “Aha, pinot… grigio.” He squinted at the label as he turned around. “Sharon hasn’t touched the stuff in ages. It hasn’t been opened though.”

“Really, I shouldn’t.” You waved him off.

“Come on.”

“Is this some sort of tactic?” You teased. “To get me off my game?”

“Maybe,” He twisted open the bottle and handed it to you. “It’s open. You gotta at least have a sip.”

You tilted your head at him.

“I don’t have any glasses out here,” He grinned.

“Just a sip,” You took the bottle and drank less than a mouthful. You placed it on the metal side table against the wall and fiddled with your cue. He returned to the fridge and grabbed a tall can of beer. “Thought that stuff didn’t get to you.”

“Doesn’t, but it’s comforting,” He approached the other side of the table. “When I was… serving, the men didn’t have much to do but drink on their time off.”

“Ah,” You leaned your cue on the top of your shoe. “It’s like how tequila makes me wanna run as far as I can in the other direction.”

“I guess,” He said. “Guest’s honour. You can break.”

“Alright,” You went to the head of the table and lined up the cue ball. “Wait.” You paused as you bent over the table. “What do I get when I win?”

“If you win,” He corrected. “And, I don’t know. Twenty bucks.”

“No fun. How about… I get to try on the helmet.”

“Helmet?” He blinked.

“That old war relic you have in your den.” You said. “You know I always wanted to try it on.”

“It’s an antique now,” He said. “Rusty.”

“Like you?” You taunted.

“Like me,” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. And what about if I win?”

“Name your price,” You narrowed your eyes at the table and set up your shot.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a touch of that green thumb,” He said. “I… wanted to do something special for Sharon. Clean out the garden, replant everything that’s died.”

“That’s not really an even trade,” You mused as you hit the ball. “But it’s a bet.” You stood as the coloured balls shot in all directions. Three solids plopped into the corner pockets. “Oh, I also get a selfie in the helmet.”

🏠

You glared at the felt. Then the bottle of wine. You should have stopped at a sip but you had gotten carried away in the game. You’d also missed your last shot and set up Steve to sink the last stripes before he set his eyes on the eight ball. He called the top left pocket and you hoped he missed. Crossed your fingers around the cue.

The clack of the balls echoed in the garage and the black ball made a slow path to the pocket. It tipped over the edge and you curse. You stomped your foot and spun the cue in your hand.

“No fair,” You pouted. “You’ve been practising.”

“And… I’m sure that online pool is quite the workout.”

“Only for my finger,” You held up your index. “So… the garden?”

“Can we start this week?” He asked.

“Sure,” You smiled. “You’ll have to grab seeds or whatever. Please, anything but rose bushes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know where to begin but I’m sure I could ask someone at the greenhouse,” He mulled.

He went to the table and reached into the pockets. He pulled out a yellow ball and a red ball. He place them parallel at the other end.

“Or maybe… I don’t know, I know you’re busy but you could help me?”

“That wasn’t part of the bet,” You said. “But sure. I can do Wednesday afternoon. I hope you don’t mind if Kayla tags along.”

“Of course not,” He lined up the cue ball in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You stepped away from the table as he grabbed his cue.

“A trick I’ve been working on,” He said. “I saw it online and gave it a go. It’s fun.”

He bent over the felt and hit the ball. It hit the yellow ball which bounced off the red one and sent both of them into opposite pockets. He stood and smirked proudly.

“Your turn,” He rearranged the balls and you frowned.

“I can’t,” You argued. “I think I had too much of that wine.”

“Come on,” He said. “Just give it a try.”

You looked at your phone. It was already past eight.

“It’s not that late,” He urged.

“Fine,” You took your cue and approached the table.

Your shot was less successful than his. The yellow ball hit the red in but came to a halt several inches from the pocket. You shrugged and stood straight.

“See.” You huffed.

“Practice,” He positioned them again.

He came around the table as he placed the cue ball before you. He stood behind you as you relented and lined up your shot. You paused as he adjusted the end of your cue and neared. He leaned over you and helped you position the nose of the cue. He was almost flush against you, just for a moment before he backed away.

“You just gotta put some force behind it,” He said as he walked along the side of the table.

He stepped back to see the table. You hit the white ball and shakily retreated from the felt. The yellow and red split off and the latter plopped into the pocket while the former bounced off the edge of the corner.

“Close,” He said and went to the table. He shoved his hand in the small pocket. “Night’s not over til you get it.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #suburban au #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #dark fic #dark!fic #the little things in life

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Note

For your writing prompts, I’ve always found that the phrase “for you” has a certain gravity, so maybe something with that? :3

This was such a good prompt, which is my only excuse for why this is three days late and barely counts as a drabble at all.

jonmartin, post-S5 domesticity and parenthood

“He was showing me another room he's made it to on his game,” Jon offers as an explanation as he ambles back into the living room. “Some sort of creepy dungeon, lots of what I can only presume are zombies. He can turn into a dragon now with this magic cloak thing, it's all very sophisticated.”

Martin, whose knowledge and ability with video games both started and ended with having a go on someone's Game Boy Colour one rainy school break, makes a supportive, 'showing-interest' noise as he feels around for the remote before finding it wedged under his thigh, muting the sound of a gritty BBC drama he is clearly not enamoured by. He shuffles over to make room on the sofa. Disturbing the cat, who jumps off his knees, casting a betrayed gaze upon the offender before she haughtily goes to commandeer the high-backed chair usually taken up by Jon.

“Dragons are one of the few things that haven't turned out to actually exist, and tried to murder us.”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Jon smiles as he drops down next to him. Martin's got a beer out of the fridge now Lewis has gone to bed, and Jon leans forward to snaffle it from the coffee table, takes an slow sip, winces at the flavour and puts it back down on its coaster. “Swimming's at ten Saturday, isn't it? Still haven't fixed his goggles.”

“Half past, they had to move the rota round for some other thing,” Martin says distantly. In the background, someone on the TV has their mouth bared in shouting, and some grim-dark poorly shaved detective is holding a gun.

Martin's shoulders are set tight. He's twisting his wedding ring round and round and round, fidgety and unsettled all evening, and now he's leant forward with his elbows on his knees, half-way through a beer on a Thursday night even though he can get funny about drinking in the house on a weekday.

“You want to talk about it?” Jon asks quietly.

Martin frowns, but doesn't ask how he knows. His palm opens from clenched to fold their fingers together, his touch chilly from the condensation on the bottle.

Jon waits for him.

Martin clears his throat. He sources out the remote again and flicks the TV to standby, the dour detective vanishing morosely.

“I'd like to talk to you about something,” Martin replies eventually. “And I know that we're not going to agree on it, but I want you to at least – hear me out, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon says carefully. A frown has rooted on his own face, but he pushes the curious simmer to a lower heat and tries to be patient. “Alright. What – what do you want to talk about?”

“What happened last week.”

“Martin...”

“Let me finish,” Martin says, his tone slightly sharper. He doesn't shout, never in the house. The only time Lewis sees his dad raise his voice in anger, he's belligerently got his hands in the guts of the boiler, pride the only thing stopping him call a plumber, or else he's stubbed his toe against the side table he always manages to catch.

Jon lets out a heavy breath.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine – we – we can talk about it. You know what I think.”

“Yeah, well, I don't.”

“It was an outlier. It doesn't mean there's a conspiracy.”

“I can't see why you're downplaying this. It was a threat, and you got hurt.”

“A few bruises from the fall. Look, Daisy and Basira handled it. They were – they were a lone Hunter. It wasn't anything organised, so I don't see the need to twist myself in knots when it won't happen again.”

Martin scoffs dismissive. “Last I counted, we've had three 'it won't happens again' in the last ten years. Face it, we've been lucky. This one got too close.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Jon says, deliberately calmly. Martin'll get to his point eventually, but he'd rather cut through whatever he's been stewing in for the past several hours.

Martin throws up his hands.

“I am suggesting that we consider the very real possibility that something like this might happen again. Something worse than some mangy Hunter or clueless cultist. These things out there.... there's more than one of them who'd see a former Archivist as a threat, Christ, I just want you to take this seriously...”

“I do take – ” Jon's voice spikes before he exhales hard and lowers his tone again. “Of course I take this seriously. Of course I worry. But if someone came here, if anyone came here, I'd – I'd Know....”

“Knowing didn't stop you from getting hurt,” Martin insists. “It – it doesn't make you invincible.”

“I've never thought that...”

“We need to prepared, is all I'm saying. Your... the knowledge you get from the Eye, it's so much, it's so much less than before. So what if it's not enough, what if it tells you something too late or not at all?”

“Martin, I'm not going to get myself worked up over maybes.”

“Maybe you should!” Martin snaps.

They are both bullishly quiet for a moment before Martin holds his hands up again.

“Alright,” he presses on, lower pitched than before. “Alright, then lets deal with facts then. Fact number one: there are – there are forces out there that want to see you come to harm.”

“Martin.”

“Am I correct?” Martin repeats. His gaze won't leave Jon's. His temper's made his neck and throat go blotchy, but he's pressing his hands down too hard on his knees to stop their tremors.

Jon meets his eyes.

“Correct,” he says. Because it's what Martin wants to hear, because it's what Jon tries not to think about when the night-time drags loud and sleepless, and every noise he cannot account for takes on the guise of malevolence.

“Fact two,” Martin continues. “There is the possibility – no, no, listen to me, Jon – there is the chance, however small, that those forces, those people, could come here.”

“So what, we should install more locks? Buy more fire extinguishers?”

“This isn't funny,” Martin says waspish.

“I'm not laughing,” Jon replies dogged.

Martin lets out another aggrieved noise. He takes a moment, steeples his hands against the lower half of his face.

“That Hunter,” Martin says slowly. “Had our address on them. Knew where we lived. If Daisy and Basira hadn't sorted them out, they would have come here, and tried again. And if it can happen once, then it could happen again. A-and some of those people, the ones that serve their gods a-and want to make a name for themselves by going after an Archivist – ”

Here Martin's voice catches thready, the centre of his terrors finally excavated.

“I can't – I can't protect you from that, Jon,” he confesses. “I can't protect Lewis from that. And if someone comes here, what if you can't either? You're not – you're not exactly in the game of e-exploding people any more.”

“Been trying to give it up,” Jon replies. Martin's laugh is a little wet.

“Sets a bad example anyway.”

Jon rubs the skin of Martin's hand. He doesn't know what he can say to make this better.

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You're not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I'll at least listen.”

Martin nods, and though his lips are pinched, he squeezes Jon's hand once gratefully. He separates them, and gets up, going over to his shoulder bag slouched by the door. He'd been vague, earlier this week, when he'd gone out on an 'errand'. Jon had assumed it was something to do with their anniversary in the next few weeks.

Martin takes out a thick clump of folders from the stomach of the bag. Jon's heart drops when he sees the green-ink stamp of an imperious owl on the front of the beige folders but he says nothing.

“I have been thinking,” Martin says, planting himself back down. “About back-up plans. Last resorts, you know. If someone does come here, if they're more than either of us can handle, if we can't keep our son safe.”

He passes Jon the folders. They're stuffed wide with statements, corroborating evidence, photographs, police reports, newspaper snippets attached with paper clips. Jon reads the introductions of a few statements as he flicks through, feeling not a little unmoored by the way this conversation has progressed – Statement of Dai Williams, regarding a library in Blaenau Gwent; Statement of Michalis Charalambous, regarding an unusual wedding present – and something aches in him like a barely-forgotten hunger, twinges like an old wound.

Near the top of the pile, there's a photograph, blown up to A4 size, of a book. The backdrop of an unremarkable desk, the cover itself blue backed, scuffed and foxed with age, the silver title decorated with florid curlicues: The Shipping Forecast and Other Nautical Curiosities. There's no author.

“What's this?”

“It's a Leitner,” Martin says. Not briskly, but straight-off the bat.

Jon pushes down several reactions with difficulty. Martin knows how he feels about Leitner. Martin wouldn't bring this to him, knowing what histories have left their scars on him, and beg for Jon to listen to him if it wasn't important.

“Go on,” Jon says, and nothing else.

“This book is currently in Archive Storage, where it's been for the past twenty or so years,” Martin continues. He's to-the-point now, direct, and Jon appreciates it. “Those are copies of all the statements I could find related to it, or people who have been in contact with it, and it makes up a fairly consistent picture of ownership and exchange for at least the past hundred and fifty years, records get a bit patchy before that.”

“Which Power?”

“The Lonely.”

That makes Jon look up. Martin's jaw is set for an argument but his voice betrays him.

“Tell me,” he says.

“The statements are all mostly the same. The book gets found or left as inheritance or in library donations, and some poor sod picks it up. Specifically, what happens is it renders people invisible when they read it.”

Jon blinks.

“... you're taking the piss.”

“No. Practical research did some basic experiments to test it before it was boxed up properly, they've – there's notes there, if you want to read in detail, but basically, you read a few lines of it, and you and whatever you're holding can't be seen. It wears off after a while, depending on how much you've read. The researchers went up to about a page.”

“There's a catch, obviously.”

“It's addictive to some people. Some of the people in the statements can use it once, get the heebie-jeebies then never touch it again, some of them can't shake the urge. The – er invisibility is more tempting to those vulnerable to the Lonely, or so the hypothesis goes. They read a little more, a little more and then, they're just gone.”

“So it's dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Then why? Why show me this?”

“If someone comes here,” Martin says, “If it's – if it's the Vast o-or the Desolation or even th-the Slaughter, we can't fight them. We can't, OK, we-we have nothing that we could fight them with. So we can't fight them, and we can't outrun them, and I don't think hiding under the bed and hoping they leave is going to do much either. The best we can hope for is that we have a few minutes grace courtesy of your magical eyeballs. And that would at the very least give us time, to get Lewis somewhere safe, get out of harm's way, to go to Daisy's or something.”

“And your great plan is that we use a Leitner to what, turn invisible and sneak away unseen?”

“I'm asking you at least consider it.”

“I have considered it and it's – it's a Leitner, Martin! You know how I – They're not toys, they're dangerous!”

“I know that! Of course I know that. But so is being unprotected! We wouldn't be using it for – it would be a last resort, nothing more. You can read the statements and the reports. I've read them all, over and over again, I-I've checked and doubled checked. As far as I can tell, the turning invisible is a temporary state.”

“For the right people. What about you?”

Martin does not meet his eyes.

“I wouldn't be using it.”

“...What.”

“I wouldn't – I wouldn't be able to,” he says. Quieter, self-conscious. “Much as I like to think that I'm – no. No, it'd be, it'd be too much of a temptation.”

Jon's tone has slipped flat and hard.

“So you're suggesting an escape plan that, what, doesn't include you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Jon – ”

“No!” Jon wants to get up, to stand, to shake Martin by his ridiculous shoulders, because how dare he, how dare he. “No, how can you even ask me that?”

“Because I need to,” Martin urges. “Because it's not just us. Because if the worst happens, I need to know we have some way of protecting Lewis, that you could use that book to make sure he's safe.”

“And leave you.”

“I'm not the one they want.”

“I don't remember them being all that picky about hurting whoever was in their way,” Jon bites back, and he knows he's louder now, that his eyes are getting wet and his face hot. “You can't know that.”

“No,” Martin replies honestly. “No, I-I can't.”

Jon rubs at his eyes. The anger's boiled over and out of him at a dizzyingly come-down from furious. He listens, wondering if they've woken Lewis, but he doesn't hear the squeak of bed-springs. There's a wind picking up outside, and the cat twitches in sleep.

He doesn't feel angry any more. Just sick and scared.

“That's not fair,” he swallows, looking at the damp-blurred image of his husband's face. “That – that's not fair, to ask this.”

Martin's moved closer. Places his hand back over Jon's.

“I know,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry, but that doesn't help either of them. “I know it's not. And if there was – was any other option, I wouldn't even think of suggesting it. But I'd, I'd like you to think about it. Please. For me.”

Jon leafs through the folders in his hands without taking any of them in. Martin strokes his back soothingly, and crowds in too close, not close enough.

“I'll read them,” Jon says eventually. Wetly and unhappily. “ The statements, reports, I-I will. For you. And if – and only if they seem legitimate – I'll come with you and have a look at the book myself. And that's all I can promise you.”

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, and presses his lips to the thinning crown of Jon's hair, Jon leaning back slightly against his chest. He clears his throat. “Basira's all for performing some more clinical tests on the book, if you wanted some more concrete validation.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Jon says, feeling too tired to enquire further.

They linger on the sofa for a while after Martin shoves the folders back into his shoulder bag.

“I better put the dishes away,” Martin says.

“Leave them. I'll do them in the morning.”

Their bedtime routine is closer and quieter. Usually Martin goes up first, and Jon watches the newspaper review or the tail end of a documentary, but tonight he trails after him as Martin checks all the plugs and double-checks all the locks.

Martin pokes his head into Lewis' room, even though they said their goodnights hours ago. Jon can't begrudge him the anxiety.

“Kicked all the blankets off as usual,” he reports back as they knock elbows in the bathroom, Jon's mouth full of toothpaste, passing Martin a water glass to take his statins. Martin dutifully swallows the pill before reaching for his own toothbrush. “He sleeps like you, arms flung out all over the place.”

Jon doesn't deny it.

Jon gets into bed first, and fusses with chargers and alarms while Martin gets into a t-shirt and boxers. He gets the light and Jon follows the sound he makes as he approaches the bed in plunging darkness, the disturbance of the covers. Jon immediately curls against his shape, tucking himself tight and buried against his chest.

Martin doesn't comment on how clingy Jon is, how he knots their legs together, clutches him over-tight. On how hot the bed is going to get, on how his arm will go numb quickly from the angle. His own arms come around just as fiercely. He tells Jon goodnight, that he loves him into his hair, and Jon whispers it back into the dark and the heat, and knows it's true to the bones of him.

Neither of them sleep all that much that night.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fic #prompt fill

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 4 - Fiddleford to the Rescue

Stan started when there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming – but evidently Ford had known, because he jumped up to let them in. The person who stepped inside was a twig of a man, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The guy looked pretty tired – sorta like those people who sometimes slept under the jetty with bloodshot eyes and cans scattered around them. But this man didn’t reek of beer and cigarettes. Blue eyes darted around behind thick glasses before landing on Stan and softening.

“Ah. This is your brother, I ‘spect?” The stranger spoke with a thick accent. Stan hadn’t heard an accent like his before.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Ford was a flurry of motion, darting here and there and packing things in a big shoulder bag. “I need to go, I have to get this barrier up as soon as possible. I should be back by this evening. There’s food in the fridge, I’m not sure what bills I’ve paid recently so there may or may not be hot water, and Stanley, behave!”

With that Ford disappeared, the front door slamming behind him. Stan froze, voice squeaking in a totally cool and manly way.

“Wait – Ford? Where are you-”

Yeah, he was already gone. Leaving Stan alone with this strange man. Stan stood self-consciously in the middle of the lounge, hyper aware of those eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The stranger broke the silence first, kneeling down to be at eye-level with Stan. “You must be Stanley. I guess Ford forgot ta introduce us. Wouldn’t be the first thing ‘e forgot.” The guy smiled a slightly crooked smile and held out one hand. “I’m Fiddleford, an old… friend of ya brother’s. I’m here to look after ya for a while. Is that okay?”

“…I guess so.” Stan stepped forward hesitantly to shake the man’s hand. Despite its thinness his hand was rough and calloused, worn with work. His smile was infectious and Stan found himself mirroring it. “You can call me Stan. Everyone does.”

“Well then, you can call me Fidds.” Fiddleford’s bright eyes combed over him for a moment before the man started riffling through his duffel bag. “Now, I got some old clothes of my son’s that I figure will fit better than that shirt. You wanna give it a shot?”

Stan nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Who’s your son? Is he coming too?”

“No, Tate’s in California right now.” The man lifted a couple items of clothing. “Alright, let’s take a looksee at what we got.”

Stanford’s little brother was cute as a button. Well, twin brother apparently, not that that made much of a difference right now. The boy was all gap-toothed grins and twinkling eyes and curious questions. Fiddleford let him choose some clothes he liked – a pirate shirt and a pair of faded yellow shorts – and helped the little kid get dressed. Stan chatted excitedly the whole time.

“S’weird! I just woke up here yesterday and Ford was all old. He’s grumpier now too. So if this is the future how do we know you? When do I meet you? We probably haven’t met yet while I’m this age right? No, I think I’d remember seein’ you even if you were a kid like me! You got a mem-or-ab-le nose. Kinda like mine!” Stan poked his own pink nose to demonstrate. “’Cept mine and Ford’s are wide and yours is long. Does your son have the same nose?”

Fiddleford laughed and slipped the shirt over the squirming boy’s head. There were so many questions, he figured he’d try and answer them in order.

“Ford is grumpy now, isn’t he? And I’m a friend of Ford’s from college. This is the first time we’ve met at all, so you wouldn’t know me even as an adult with all yer memories. And Tate does have my nose, unfortunately.”

Stan blinked up at him owlishly. Fiddleford smoothed down his ruffled cowlick. “So… you know Ford but not me? Why doesn’t future-me know you?” Then Stan shook his head with a smile. “You said college, right? I bet that’s why! Pa says I’m too stupid for college. But o’course Ford got in. He’s real smart, ya know!” The kid finished proudly. Fiddleford hesitated.

“Your father says…” Stanford hadn’t spoken much of his family. Fiddleford was starting to see why. The idea of a man telling his son – his son who couldn’t be any older then twelve – that he was stupid filled his chest with fire.

Fiddleford tried to stamp out the anger before Stan could see it on his face. No sense in scaring the child. Instead he changed the subject, carefully poking at one of Stan’s hands.

“So, ya got hands like ya brother’s?”

“Oh, no, I just got the borin’ five fingers.” Stan waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Really?” Well that was interesting. “But yer practically identical otherwise! Well, I guess it makes sense that yer not totally the same, seein’ as you don’t have the same eyesight anyway.”

“Oh, we do.” Stan chirped, leaving Fiddleford flabbergasted.

“But ya don’t have glasses!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t need em ‘cause I’m not smart.” Stan’s smile faltered for a moment before recovering. “Pa says glasses are expensive and Ford needs his, so I don’t. Hey, you got glasses too! You must be smart.”

Fiddleford once again tried very hard to not let his anger show. He must not have done a very good job, because Stan shrank back.

“Er – I’m sorry?”

Darn it, and he’d been trying to get the little tyke to trust him! Fiddleford forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for. I was just thinkin’ I’d like to have a word with yer brother when he gets back.”

Stan still looked dubious, so Fiddleford tried another strategy.

“You know, I reckon Ford’s gotta have a spare set of glasses lying around. Do you wanna look for ‘em, borrow ‘em for a while? The prescription should be close enough. I got some old books a’ Tates you might like and it’ll be easier if you can see ‘em.”

Stan twisted his hands together. “I dunno. Ford got pretty mad when I messed with his stuff before.”

“He’ll be fine. Besides, I’m just as adult as him. I think I can make decisions without that worrywart around.”

Just as Fiddleford had thought he would, Stan laughed. “Yeah, he is a worrywart! An’ Ford’s let me borrow his glasses before when we were switchin’ clothes to play a prank on Crampelter. So he can’t get mad now!”

The kid seemed to have immediately forgotten about his upset. That made Fiddleford’s smile come a little easier, a little warmer.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go look for those glasses? And we’ll see if you like any a’ these books. Ya feel like learnin’ about isopods?”

“I have no idea what that is!” Stan whooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

_______________________________________________________________

It was nice, Fiddleford reflected, having a child around. He hadn’t interacted with kids since he’d last seen Tate. How long ago had that been…?

Fiddleford made sandwiches for lunch, and they ate while flipping through picture books. Stan especially liked the one with krill and whale sharks. Then the kid had started telling delightful stories about old ships and adventures on Glass Shard Beach, and who was Fiddleford to interrupt?

By evening Stan had worn himself out, and Fiddleford made him a cup of hot chocolate while he decided what to fix for dinner. Of course Ford had little in the way of food. There was some frozen and tinned stuff, but little in the way of healthy foods. Stanford was terrible at taking care of himself.

Fiddleford glanced out of the window at the ever-darkening sky. Sure, he was still hopping mad at Stanford, but… he couldn’t help but worry. Not when the man had been gone all day in the snow. And when his adorable little brother was getting antsy.

“Fidds, when’s Ford gettin’ back?” Stan whined, right on time. “You said he’d be back soon.”

Fiddleford busied himself with looking in the fridge. There were some assorted vegetables lying around, wrinkled with age but not rotten – he could make fritters. Satisfied, he started gathering the ingredients.

“He’ll get here when he gets here.” Fiddleford rooted around until he found a grater. Stan sulked into his hot chocolate. He certainly had Stanford’s stubbornness! Fiddleford wondered if it was a family trait.

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside the front door. Fiddleford tensed. It swung open, and thankfully a familiar figure trudged inside.

“Ford!” Stan squealed in delight. He scrambled from the kitchen table to throw himself at his brother’s legs. Ford, looking snow-flecked and rather frazzled, patted his head absently.

“Yes, yes, hello Stanley. Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and continued making the fritters. Trust Stanford to make a dramatic entrance. Still, he eyed the man as he took off his snow-covered coat and boots. Stanford looked… rough. Not physically, but exhaustion was etched into every line on his face.

Fiddleford tutted and poured the man a coffee. Ford blinked as it was pushed into his hand.

“Oh – thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Didja meet the unicorn?” Stan pulled on his brother’s shirt, his own tiredness evidently forgotten in his excitement. Ford sighed.

“Yes, though she still stubbornly refuses to give me any of her hair. I did manage to obtain the rest of the ingredients though, so as soon as I get the hair I’ll be able to ward the house.”

Unicorn hair? Fiddleford was confused for all of two seconds before he shrugged it off. With Stanford, everything was a surprise. You just learned to roll with it.

And now that Ford was here…

“Stan, wouldja do me a favour?” Fiddleford asked gently. Stan nodded. “There should be a blanket up in the closet upstairs, all red and gold with snowflakes printed on it. It’s my favourite one. Could you go get it for me?”

“Sure.” Stan chirped, darting out of the room. Ford made a sound of confusion.

“I don’t remember that blanket.”

“’Course ya don’t, I made it up as an excuse to get Stan out of the room.” Fiddleford put down the grater and turned to meet Ford’s wary gaze from across the kitchen bench.

“…okay.” Ford said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Stanford.” Fiddleford fixed him with a serious look. “Yer little brother’s a good kid.”

Ford sighed. “Twin brother. We’re twenty-seven.”

“Well right now he’s just seven. And you’d better not mess ‘im up. I’m watchin’ you.” He added with narrowed eyes.

Ford laughed nervously. “Honestly, what do you take me for?”

“A scientist who’s obsessed with his work and has no idea how to care for a child, ‘specially not a child who’s been abused.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Abused? I can assure you that Stanley hasn’t been abused.”

“I beg to differ!” Fiddleford said sharply. Ford had the audacity to look insulted. “With what the kid’s been tellin’ me, there’s no way he hasn’t been abused. For god’s sake, he doesn’t have glasses when he needs ‘em! And ‘e flinches when I so much as raise my voice – or my hand, for that matter. E’s got bruises all over, too. What am I supposed to think?”

“Stanley… he refuses to wear his glasses.” Ford said weakly. Fiddleford snorted.

“He’s been usin’ yer spare ones all day. Says ‘e likes bein’ able to see for once. In fact, he basically said yer father refused to buy ‘im glasses after his old pair got broken!”

“He’s been wearing my-?”

“Of course you didn’t notice. Have ya even laid eyes on the kid?”

“Of course I have.”

“So you did notice him wearin’ your spare glasses? No wonder ‘e thinks he’s stupid, he can’t read the words on a page two inches from his nose!”

Ford looked devastated. Right now, Fiddleford didn’t care. “But… no, that’s not right. Stanley always told me he hated wearing them.”

“Even besides that, what about the bruises?” Fiddleford challenged. “The kid’s covered in ‘em. And I’m givin’ you the benefit of the doubt here, because I don’t believe you’re the one who’s been roughin’ him up.”

“I – I-”

“So you’ll forgive me for bein’ a little concerned here! What kinda father would I be if I just sat back and ignored this? Yer brother’s been abused, plain and simple.”

Ford floundered. Fiddleford sighed, a little of his anger evaporating.

“Well... I suppose if ya are really twins, ya probably wouldn’t have had a hand in it. An’ I don’t know the full story. But I do know this.” He leveled a finger at Ford’s face. “That kid trusts ya, more than he probably should. An’ we’re gonna have words if you hurt him, or put him in danger, or do anything that’ll cause him harm. The boy’s suffered enough, I’ll not stand around and let it happen again. Ya understand?”

“Yes.” Stanford said quietly. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that’s outta the way, I gotta ask; why on earth didja not tell me about him before? We went to visit Shermie and his kids during that Christmas break a while back an’ no one mentioned another brother.”

Stanford flushed. “It’s… a family matter.”

Fiddleford leveled a cold stare at him. After a moment Ford sighed and averted his gaze.

“When we were teenagers Stanley sabotaged my one chance at getting into my dream college. He says it was an accident, but… anyway our father kicked him out and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Fiddleford held up a hand. ��Hang on. Are my ears decievin’ me? You’re telling me your brother, who got booted outta his own home as a teenager, hasn’t been mistreated? My friend, you’ve got issues.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by Stan’s return. Fiddleford turned his attention to the sheepish boy who was currently wringing his hands and wincing at the doorway. “Um, sorry Fidds. I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, I musta left it somewhere else. Now, didja wanna help me with makin’ dinner?”

Stan perked up at Fiddleford’s breezy tone, as if surprised he wasn’t in trouble. “Jeez! Can I?”

“Well sure, why wouldn’t you?” Fiddleford flashed the boy a smile. Stan beamed in return and scrambled to join him in the kitchen.

“Pa says cookin’s for ladies and we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well, your Pa seems to be wrong about a lotta things. Now, you know how ta use a grater? I’ll show you.”

Fiddleford could feel Ford’s gaze searing into his forehead. He flicked his attention up from Stan and cooking, just for a moment, to catch the conflicted stare. Ford looked away when their eyes met and cleared his throat.

“I’ll just – um – put these ingredients away for later.”

“You do that.” Fiddleford agreed coolly.

Stanford walked away, more subdued than usual. The sight of his slumped shoulders was enough to send a spark of guilt through Fiddleford’s chest. He knew he was being too hard on the guy – especially with how wrecked Ford was looking – but his blood boiled for this gap-toothed child with his cute curls and nervous laughs.

Fiddleford couldn’t comprehend the idea of kicking out his son. The idea was as foreign to him as the idea that they should all put sticks of butter under their hats and walk on their hands instead of their feet. Tate was his son – his boy, his child. Fiddleford was sure that there was nothing Tate could do that would made Fiddleford throw him out. The idea of Stanley and Stanford’s father kicking out a helpless teen? No matter what mess that teen had gotten himself into, it shouldn’t have happened. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in him.

No, and it most certainly wouldn’t happen again. No kid was getting kicked out on his watch. Nor hurt, even unintentionally by an oblivious scientist of a brother. Fiddleford would make sure of it.

He made sure both the Pines boys were fed before packing up his things with the promise of returning tomorrow. Stanley hugged his legs with a surprisingly strong grip – Fiddleford crouched down to return the hug properly.

“I had a real good time today. We’ll have to do this again some time, huh? Now, you got my phone number? Good. Call me if you need anything. Especially if that brother of yours gets into any trouble, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Stan saluted enthusiastically. Fiddleford laughed and ruffled his hair before glancing up to meet Stanford’s eyes. Ford was hovering in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to join them.

Fiddleford took pity on him and offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Stanford. Take care of ya brother.”

Ford smiled back nervously. And maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

_______________________________________________________________

Stanford couldn’t smother the huge yawns that bubbled out of him. Curse this sleep deprivation! It made everything harder than it had to be. His sentences kept being interrupted by his own body’s involuntary reflexes.

Stanley followed him like a baby duck – a rather apt description, actually – while Ford bustled around the house. Ford sighed in annoyance when he very nearly tripped over his brother yet again, upon doubling back to retrieve a piece of equipment he’d forgotten.

“Stanley, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Stan glanced away and rubbed his arm. “Well, I guess. But every time I go to sleep I get these weird dreams. I dunno, I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you?”

Dreams – dammit, Ford had forgotten to warn his brother! He dropped down to be at eye-level with Stan, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“Uh, what-?”

“You’re having odd dreams, correct?” Stan nodded so Ford continued. “Rest assured, they won’t be able to harm you, so long as you never make a deal. If you come across anything triangular or yellow while in a dream you must not talk to it. It will talk to you and try to be your friend. Don’t trust anyone with yellow eyes, even if – no, especially if that person is me. Don’t talk to it and never shake its hand. Do you understand?”

“Um, yeah, but why? This is all soundin’ like Ma’s predictions.” Stan perked up. “Can you tell the future too? Does that mean I can as well?”

Ford sighed. “No, I can’t tell the future.”

“…can you make the weird dreams go away?” Stan questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, when I manage to get that unicorn hair – though I fear it may be a hopeless endeavor.” The weight of the day’s events – how could he ever hope to be pure of heart with all the wrong he had done? – sat heavily on his shoulders. Ford lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “Go to bed, Stanley, and remember what I said about people with yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, never make a deal, I get it.” Stan paused, eyes flickering to the journal resting in Ford’s pocket and lighting up. “Can you tell me some more stories from your book before bed? Yesterday we got to the hidey-thing!”

“I don’t have time to read you stories, I have important work to do.”

Stan pouted. He looked up at Ford with those big brown eyes that were bigger than usual. It was then that Ford noticed the glasses – yes, Fiddleford had mentioned them, hadn’t he? Stan was wearing Ford’s spare glasses and they threatened to slip down his nose at every movement, far too big for him. They also had the added benefit of making him look very, very cute.

“How about I lend you my journal?” Ford relented. “You can read it by yourself before you go to sleep. I can tell you other stories later.”

Stan hesitated. “…yeah? I can borrow it?”

“So long as you don’t damage it, you may.” Ford dropped the book in his brother’s hands and turned to gather up an armful of equipment. “Go along now.”

Stanley scurried off to read, and Ford descended into the basement where his work waited.

When he emerged at seven thirty the next morning, Stan was gone.

#writing #gravity falls #rewind #chapter 4

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sterekchub · 4 years

Text

Written for "get-beached" Weight Gain Summer Challenge Week 4: Sundae Special ~1500 words Prompts: Broken AC, Ice Cream Vendor, Snack Shack Part 1: Might not be finished....

Peter’s Place hadn’t been in his top ten places to work after college, but with Peter being in the hospital indefinitely, that left Laura, Cora, and Derek to run what was left of their family business. The property was a hodge-podge of mini-golf, arcade, bumper boats, go-carts, and the bane of Derek’s existence, a Snack Shack. He and his sisters had split up the day to day tasks: Laura was handing the finances, Cora trained the staff and walked around as an intimidating manager, and Derek was charged with repairs and maintenance.

The job suited him well. He could avoid customers and most of the staff while he busied himself repainting the go-cart track or repairing the vintage arcade games Peter had so carefully collected. His one mistake had been not getting out of the way fast enough when a young man had tripped and fallen over his toolbox. Derek instinctively had braced himself, breaking the young man’s fall, and found himself momentarily stunned by the whiskey color eyes and mole freckled face. The moment was broken by one of the man’s flailing arms hitting Derek squarely in the nose.

“Dude, I’m so sorry! I was here for an interview? With Cora Hale? I couldn’t find the office or anything and thought I would ask.”

“Interview?” Derek asked dumbly, feeling his nose to ensure it wasn’t bleeding or broken.

“For the Snack Shack attendant? Man, I really hope I’m hired. When did you start working here? Good job? Is the pay okay? My internship ended and I have to find someway to pay for textbooks next semester.”

“Are you a freshman?”

“What? No! Going to be a senior this fall, double major in criminal justice and history.”

Now that the pain in his nose had subsided and Derek was standing upright, he could see this guy had the look of a college kid. Young, bright eyes and the unmistakable look of someone who had packed on at least the freshmen fifteen. Probably closer to accomplishing an early senior fifty the way his shirt stretched across his rounded chest and soft paunch rested over his waistband.

“You’re hired.”

“I – I appreciate that but you can’t just hire people.”

“I run the place. Derek Hale. Cora is my sister.”

The man stared at him in shock for a second before enthusiastically shaking his hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek offered to lead him to the office. He was never going to hear the end of it from Cora.

******

“Derek, we have another complaint.”

“Not again,” he groaned. “Cora is just making things up.”

“Don’t care. You hired him – he’s your problem.”

Derek took the complaint form from Laura and stomped out of the room. Stiles – whose real name on his new hire paperwork was unreadable, making the silly nickname his official nametag, had to be doing this on purpose. He had only been their employee for a month and already had more work-orders and mishaps and complaints filed against him than of any other employees. But, as she and Laura kept constantly pointing out, Derek had hired him.

And the complaints Cora had filed were clearly a poor attempt to set them up.

The first complaint – suggestion – were Stiles’ attempts to optimize the little snack hut. It was a small building with a few glass windows to order from. There was a cash register and stool in front, with a soft-serve ice cream machine, a cooler for drinks and some novelty ice creams. It was centrally located on the property, which gave Stiles a fairly open view to see Derek walking around doing regular maintenance. Stiles always had a cheerful wave and a cold water for Derek when he stopped by, increasingly more often, to chat.

It was during one of these times he saw Stiles struggling to push the entire register to the opposite side.

“What are you doing?”

“Optimizing! If you move the register to the shorter side, and stick the cooler behind it at more of an angle, you would have room to put in a soda machine and a hot dog machine.”

“We don’t have either of those.”

“I put in a complaint,” Stiles shrugged. “I figure in about two months you’d break even on the machine and be profitable by September.”

Derek was taken aback that Stiles cared about the business enough to worry about their profits. “That’s not what those forms are for.”

“I’ve had mothers demanding sodas that I don’t have. That’s employee harassment and definitely a complaint.”

“Not a valid complaint.”

“Fine. I’ll keep being yelled at then, happy?”

“No,” Derek said grudgingly. “I think it would be a good idea to have more options. But next time check with me before you try to move the heavy machines.”

Stiles pulled up the stool and sat down. “Move away then, Big Guy. I’ll admire the view.”

If Derek bent over and stuck his ass out a little more than he usually would have done moving equipment, no one would know. Once everything was arranged to Stiles’ liking, Derek was using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It had cleared up a surprising amount of room in the small building for room. It has also placed the soft serve machine within arm’s distance of the register.

“Sure you aren’t doing this so the ice cream is closer to you?”

“It’s for efficiency,” Stiles argued. “You try to keep up with dozens of grubby little hands demanding soft-serve.”

“You have ice cream on your shirt.”

“Free-ice cream comes with the job! I’d be stupid to turn that down.”

Derek bit his tongue. Cora and Laura had no idea he had told Stiles that as part of their “benefit package” he was welcome to help himself to food while he worked. It really was no big deal, each cone only cost them a quarter at most. Which was good, because Stiles easily cost them a few dollars each day. Every time Derek passed the Snack Shack, Stiles was eating.

Which was undoubtedly what led to the second complaint.

***

“Can you please give your boyfriend a bigger uniform?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Please, I see you two flirting all day, it’s disgusting.”

“We’re just talking.”

“Well next time you talk to him, mention he should wear a bigger uniform.”

“What’s wrong with the one he’s wearing?”

“Derek, I know you’re hopeless infatuated with him, but how have you not noticed he has a split seam down the side of his pants and his shirt is clearly a size too small. Unless –” Derek could feel himself turning red as Cora smirked, “ – oh my god you’re into that. Is that why you installed the soda machine? And the popcorn and hot dogs?”

Derek could only splutter in response as Cora laughed. Accepting defeat, he grabbed the uniform off the desk and spent his short walk to the Snack Shack wondering how to politely tell Stiles he was too fat for his clothes.

Luckily, Stiles seemed already aware of the problem.

“Are those for me?”

“I- yeah. Cora thought – ”

“Dude, thanks! I didn’t want to admit I was getting too fat for this one.” Stiles smiled widely at him, proudly resting a hand on his doughy belly. The movement made his shirt rise up a few inches over his protruding love handles. His shirt was stretched so tightly the outline of his bellybutton was visible. It seemed too much to attribute to only some weight gain, Derek bet that, given it was almost noon, Stiles was already well-stuffed. Derek had become pretty familiar with Stiles’ eating habits. As soon as he clocked in, Stiles somehow stomached a morning root beer float and hot dog or two. After that, he never saw Stiles without an ice cream in his hand, unless he was serving a customer. When Derek stopped to join Stiles on his lunch break, despite his offers that Stiles could bring his own lunch and keep in the staff fridge, he seemed content to gorge himself on more hot dogs.

“I’ve gained at least fifteen pounds since I started working here.”

“It looks good on you.”

“

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prettyboongi · 4 years

Text

A Sweet Mess

Reader x Kim Seokjin

1.6k+ words

Fluff, Angst (with some soft smut)

Summary: To cure your homesickness, you decided to whip yourself your favorite childhood treat. But it doesn’t go exactly to plan...

[Note: Funny story: I got this idea from my boyfriend. This was somewhat inspired by a real life accident involving me and some root beer. He even suggested the story should involve Jin (which he won’t admit but I know he likes Jin the most). So I’m gonna dedicate this to the man that has to be put up with my dumbass on a daily basis lol. I love you honey!]

It’s been five months since you decided to make the big move to South Korea to start your new career and new life with your longtime boyfriend, Seokjin. Despite already getting used to your new life, the feeling of homesickness would sometimes sneak up on you and cover you like a heavy blanket. After all, you did leave behind your friends, family and everything else you associated with home. Whenever you did start to miss home, you did your best to not bother Jin about it; Jin was already stressed out about work as it is, you didn’t want to add on to the burden.

Unfortunately for you, tonight was one of those nights when your longing for home was especially bad. It was in the middle of the night and you and Jin were fast asleep. That was until you woke up from a dream, a dream of you having fun with your family like old times before the move. Instead of waking up from cold sweat or gasping for air as it happens with your usual troubling dreams, you woke with intense feelings of melancholy. Although you regularly contacted your family, called your folks twice a week and texted your favorite sister every single day, it still wasn’t the same as being with in person. You felt tears starting to bubble up, and you wanted nothing more than to wake Jin up and cry into his arms. But you remembered that he has his own issues to deal with and you didn’t want to make them worse. So like the big girl that you were, you sat yourself up, wiped your wet eyes and headed towards the kitchen. There was one thing that cheered you up during moments like this and it was indulging in your favorite childhood treat: a root beer float.

Arriving at the kitchen, you flip the light switch that brightly illuminated the entire area. You had to squint your eyes in order to get used to the light. You first opened the freezer and got out a pint of French vanilla ice cream. After setting it on the counter, you opened the fridge and got out a single sized bottle of root beer. Once settling into Korea, you remember how hard it was to come across your favorite soda and when you did actually find some, you took the chance to stock up on it.

You were scooping generous globs of ice cream into a glass mug when you were started by a loud yawn. Looking up, you saw your sleepy boyfriend walking into the kitchen.

“What’re you doing up?,” he asks, his voice thick with grogginess. He opens the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

“Oh, I was having problems sleeping,” you sheepishly answer, “I thought having a late night snack would help me relax a bit.”

Jin looked over to what you were making and, the second he laid eyes on the root beer, his face instantly twisted in disgust. “Ugh,” he spats out, “I’ll never understand why you like that stuff. It’s so strong.”

“If by strong you mean delicious and heavenly, then yes it is strong,” you sassed. Jin rolled his eyes as he took a sip from his water. “You sure you don’t want some? I can make you a tiny float.”

“Um, I think I’m good but thanks for the offer, hon.”

“Suit yourself,” you say as you reached out for the root beer. Taking his water, Jin was heading back to the bedroom when he heard you shriek. He immediately runs back to the kitchen to make sure you were alright. Instead, he finds you stunned and soaked with the brown fizzy drink. The sudden stream of root beer initially hit your face, ultimately having it seep through your white top. The surrounding area where you stood was also a mess but it seemed like you took the brunt of it.

“Goddammit!,” you belted out, “I just took a shower too!” Your anger turns into embarrassment once you hear your boyfriend burst in laughter. The sight of you was so hilarious to Jin that he had to steady himself on the wall to keep from collapsing on the floor. “It’s not funny, Jin!,” you cried out while blotting the excess root beer off your face and neck.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he replied, “I’m sorry, baby, it’s just- pfffft!”, but he couldn’t even finish his sentence, breaking into another fit of laughter.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Your intention was to just have a nice, late night pick me up, not have the whole thing literally explode on your face. And with Jin witnessing your blunder and laughing his ass off, it didn’t make things any better.

Utterly defeated, you flung your head down as you felt the tears you’ve been holding for so long start to spill out.

Finally done reeling from laughter, Jin hears your silent sniffles and walks towards. “Y/N, what are you crying about?,” he asks in a tone that was more stern than concerning.

It takes you a moment before you finally answer. “All I wanted to do was make a fucking root beer float,” you blubbered, “but I couldn’t even do that.”

“Y/N, I know you and I know for sure you wouldn’t cry over something as stupid as this.”

You didn’t respond to his remark, you just kept your head down away from his gaze. Jin suddenly spins you towards him and tightly holds you to his chest. Worried you might mess up his own clothes, you stammer, “No, Jin, I’m sticky-I don’t-”

“You don’t have to act so strong all the time, Y/N” he interrupts you. His voice is now gentle and soothing. You stood there speechless as Jin continued to hold you, caressing your hair. “I know it’s been hard for you with the move and everything. I know how close you were with your family. And I know I’ve been tense with work and I’m sorry for attentive enough with your feelings. But you should know that it’s alright to cry and you’ll alway have me to cry on. Never forget that.”

The love and sincerity that came with Jin’s words hit you so hard that you finally let out all of the pain you’ve been feeling these past months. You tightly held on to your boyfriend, sobbing loudly into his broad chest. Jin didn’t mind the fact that you were still wet and sticky from the soda, he just calmly stroked your head with one hand while rubbing circles on your back with the other. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he cooed, “You’re safe with me.”

“I just miss them so much,” you said in between sobs.

After a while, your crying finally died down; while there was still a part of you that felt brokenhearted, you felt so much better being open with your feelings. Jin pulled an inch away from you to check your face. He wiped off your tear streaked cheeks with his thumbs before planting a lingering kiss on one of them. His kiss slowly moved down to your jawline and eventually your neck. Despite expressing his dislike for root beer earlier, he found himself savoring in the sweet, sticky taste on your neck. He travelled up and down your neck with his soft, plushed lips, which made you lost in his warm kisses. It was until you felt the tip of his tongue slide up your throat that made you alert of his intentions.

“Jin, what’re you doing?”, you asked, your breath slightly hitched. But he didn’t answer you. He looked down at you with desire in his eyes and swiftly scooped you up in his strong arms.

“Whoa!” you exclaimed as he carried you towards your bedroom. Once there, he sat you gently on the bed. “Jin, w-,” you tried speaking but he interrupted you again, but with his lips landing on yours. Responding instantly, you closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. You felt him poke your lips with his tongue, permission to gain access to your mouth, and you happily obliged. When breaking away for a moment, Jin grabbed the hemline of your damp shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your naked torso. With your guidance, he then laid you down on the bed.

“Let me take care of you, my princess,” he says invitingly while hovering over you, gazing into your eyes. He helps you slide off your pajama pants and panties before, once again, crashing his lips onto yours. You moan into his mouth as you felt him caress your soft skin with his nimble hands. Breathlessly and with hot tears in your eyes, you muttered softy, “I love you so much, Jin…” Jin responds, “I love you too,” before spreading your legs and entering himself in your warmth. You didn’t understand how your dumb accident into this but you honestly didn’t care. The combination of Jin’s passion and your vulnerable feelings made for an unexpected yet extremely intimate night for the both of you.

Hours later, you woke up around 6’ o'clock feeling rather relaxed and uplifted. You felt Jin’s long arm wrapped around your waist with his bare chest on your back. Not daring to wake up Jin and ruined this beautiful moment, you snuggled closer to him and soon fell back to sleep.

Even as time passes, you know there will always be a part of you that misses your old life. But you also know that with having Jin by your side, you’ll always feel right at home.

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azo-dye · 4 years

Text

hey lover, won’t you treat me right

you can read this here or on AO3. Enjoy!

---

“Hey, are you still going out tonight with that guy you’ve been talking to?”

Cas looked up from his book. He had been pointedly told that he wasn’t allowed to help with dinner and was sent to read in the living room to ‘stay out of the way and keep Dean company’. Dean was referring to the latest guy Cas had met through online dating, and the latest reason for Cas feeling vaguely guilty about not reciprocating feelings. “Oh, no. I told him I just wanted to be friends.” He frowned, “Don’t put too much tomato in it!”

Dean huffed and waved him off. No one told Dean how to cook, especially something that he’d made a thousand times from scratch. “You didn’t even give him a chance, Cas.”

Cas shrugged,” He was... annoying to say the least. He texted too much. The happiest I was with him was when he was ignoring me or busy.”

“Well, did you tell him that?”

“No, but I know the worst thing is feeling like you’re annoying someone you like, and I didn’t want to put him through that. I texted him last night.” Cas went back to his book. It was one thing to talk about his love life with his best friend and roommate. It was quite another to dive deep into his deep-rooted issue with finding a suitable replacement for... someone he actually wanted.

Especially when that person was currently making spaghetti four feet from him.

“And how did he respond?” Dean asked, staring hard at the vegetable he was dicing.

Cas lowered the book again. “Well, he... hasn’t answered yet.”

Dean looked up from where he was cutting a final tomato with a universal ‘yikes’ expression. It was an unfortunate end to his brief relationship with Patrick, but it had to be said. He’d rather Patrick think he was a bastard now, than lead him on and have Patrick assume they were headed towards mutual love and affection.

“So anyway, I have to assume that he doesn’t really want to be friends then.”

“Hey, Cas, don’t take it too hard. He’s missing out.”

Cas considered, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not... sad, or anything.”

Dean chuckled. “Heh. Ouch. Tough break for him.”

Cas shrugged, turning back to watch Dean work.

Dean gathered all his chopped vegetables together in a neat pile on the cutting board and transferred them to the pot where he was making sauce in a neat flourish, evident of all the times Dean had been in charge of home-cooked meals. “What was so bad about this guy? Did he smell? Ask you to make a blood pact?

Cas looked away from the tantalizing sight of Dean’s hands. “No, he... wanted to cook me dinner.”

Dean looked up from the pot of spaghetti noodles he was now stirring.

“Oh, you’re right,” Dean said, gesturing with the pasta spoon. “Definitely a good thing you curved him. Absolute lunatic.” He bent over to take a taste of the now-simmering sauce, a soft smile on his face.

“Well! It just... makes me uncomfortable. I mean, he could be a serial killer.” Cas grinned playfully, finally giving up on reading and marking his page to step away.

“Don’t you think if he was going to serial kill you, he’d have done it by now? He’s got a lotta ground to cover. This is LA. He’s gotta move quick if he wants to make even the slightest impression on the LAPD.” Dean nodded towards the fridge where their salad sat. Cas had insisted on a salad to go with the carbo-load that was Dean’s favorite and famous Spaghetti Night. It was a rare thing for Dean to allow so much green at a meal, but Cas was always somehow able to convince him.

“I dunno,” Cas pulled out the salad and turned to the cupboard to start gathering plates. He placed a healthy amount of salad on each, making sure to push it to the side to leave ample room for the absolute heap of pasta Dean would place on each. “He just... he texted me all the time, and he always wanted to know how I’m doing and what I’m up to, and it gets old telling him I’m doing the same old things every time. I don’t do much during the day.”

“Sure you do, yesterday you made that cool greenhouse thing out in the backyard.” Dean was referring to the monstrosity built out of thrifted window panes in the far corner of the yard. Cas had seen the idea online on Friday, and by Saturday was cruising through every yard sale and thrift store in the county looking for windows. The frame was easy to put together once Dean had gotten the drill sorted out. It wasn’t much, but now Cas had a great place to put some of the many plants they had around the house.

Cas shrugged. “Right, but I can’t tell him that. He wouldn’t care, and then I’d have to explain every piece of why we needed one and he wouldn’t want to hear that story.”

“Look, I’m not saying you didn’t do the right thing by being honest with him, but it just sounds like maybe you didn’t like him all that much in the first place if you’re able to be so casual about it.”

“I know,” Cas sighed. “I’ve gotta stop doing this to guys. Before him it was Nate, and Collin. I’m a mess.”

Dean spooned a frankly frightening amount of pasta on a plate. “Nah, you’re not a mess, just a bit careless with your dirty socks. You wanna try some sauce or just butter?”

“No, I’ll try it. You worked so hard on it. A little bit of sauce, please. Not too much.”

Dean smiled and rolled his eyes, dripping the perfect amount of homemade marinara on top of the pile of spaghetti. They sat down to eat and Cas twirled his fork in the noodles. The sauce was great. While the base was tomato, it wasn’t overwhelming or acidic like tomato can get in inexperienced hands. Garlic and mushroom had space in the sauce as well, making it perfectly well-balanced.

Cas stood up. “I’m getting some more sauce, this is really good, Dean.”

“Thank you, pickiest eater in the world. That is a compliment far greater than you know.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Dean piped up with his mouth full. “So, like, what—are you just gonna chalk it up as a loss and move on or what?”

Cas shook his head. “I’m deleting the app, I can’t keep doing this to people when it only serves to piss me off and disappoint other people.”

Silence fell again for a brief moment. “Have you considered maybe it’s not you?”

“Thank you, Dean, but scientifically speaking, it has to be me. I’m the only constant in this string of nearly identical outcomes.” Not much else could explain it. Cas was just... bad at love. Bad at being in a relationship. Bad at getting on with his life.

“Maybe you just need to date better people. Maybe... people you already know?”

Snorting, Cas scooped up the last on his pasta. “Come on, everyone we know that’d be even sort of willing to put with me are already married, have kids, or both.”

“Well, not everyone...” Dean muttered, mostly to himself.

Cas chewed thoughtfully. “I think I just gotta face facts. I’m not built for relationships.”

“Kinda lonely outlook.” Dean wasn’t wrong. They were renting the house together, but that could easily change once Dean found a nice girl or boy or... person to settle down with. He was a good looking guy, good with his hands, nice laugh—it wouldn’t be hard for him at all. Cas could very easily be alone, very easily.

Cas shrugged. “A fact’s a fact. It happens. People grow up and just... never find love. I mean, it’s kinda sad but... I’ve got other things in my life.” That was less true. For all that Dean and Cas got along and had in common, he never understood why Dean was alone and chose to hang out with him so often.

Dean snorted. “I don’t know how much a roommate in a shitty starter home counts for, Cas.

“Well, maybe my purpose here is to make sure that roommate is happy then, yeah?” Cas picked up his dish and set it in the sink. He kept his attention towards the sink, concentrating on filling it with soap and water so he didn’t have to see Dean’s face of pity. He wasn’t sad about it. Not really.

Well, he would probably end up being okay.

Dean pushed back from the table to set his dish in the water by Cas’s hand. He busied himself with the leftover pasta on the stove, pulling a plastic container from the cupboard above the range. Dean would probably insist Cas take it for lunch tomorrow.

“Well, what if the roommate wants something specific to make him happy?” Dean asked, sounding strangely formal.

Cas blinked and turned towards Dean, surprised to see him flushed to the tips of his ears. He squinted.

“What does the roommate want?”

If possible, Dean blushed even harder and ducked his head. How curious. Cas felt a strange tingle in his palms. He had a sudden vision of pressing in close and watching Dean take a surprised breath. He shook his head slightly.

“He—I— uh, heh. A beer is what he wants.” Dean said, face brightening in a way that made Cas squint harder on suspicion. Pasta container in hand, Dean switched around Cas, hiding the fridge for a second. He emerged having swapped the plastic container for two beers, one of which he offered to Cas. Hands still wet, Cas gestured for Dean to sit the bottle down to the side of the sink. Dean popped his open, took a swig, and set it down next to Cas’s beer. He picked up a dish towel and got to drying. Together, they steadily and silently cleared the table and counter of all the dishes, leaving their little kitchen tidy once again.

Afterwards, Dean plucked his beer from the counter and took another sip. Cas cracked the lid off of his and did the same. He leaned against the sink and tilted his head as he considered Dean. He was still a bit pink and he wasn’t looking at Cas... or anything really in particular.

“Dean... are you feeling alright?” He almost looked nervous.

Dean blinked. “Huh? Oh yeah, just... thinkin’.”

“Careful with that.” Cas teased.

Deans mouth quirked up in a half smile before falling back to his thoughtful expression.

“Cas, you really think you’re gonna end up alone?”

Oh. Dean was worried he’d have to be saddled with Cas forever. “I dunno. I’m mostly over-dramatic. It’s not looking good right now, though. Kind of a downer.”

“But I mean, you’re young still. Plenty of time to settle down with someone.” Shit, he really did look worried. Maybe he was worried about his own prospects, being single at their age as well.

“Dean, if you’re secretly worried about yourself we can go to a bar or something. I’m not overly concerned about it—“

Dean wasn’t done and talked over him. “And you’re a great guy, you’re smart and funny and... you’ve got nice hair,” Dean finished haltingly. “I just think you’re selling yourself a bit short is all.”

Cas blinked, feeling a slight flush on his cheeks. “Well, thanks but I think the real issue is more with my shockingly horrendous commitment issues and all that.”

They drank in silence, steadily ignoring the other. All this silence tonight was starting to get deafening in Cas’s professional opinion. He was about to open his mouth and change the subject when Dean did just that. “Did this guy... what’s his name?”

“Patrick.”

“Did Patrick ever kiss you?” This question caused Cas to pause. It was an innocent enough question, but the way Dean asked—anxious eyes, and twitchy fingers—like he didn’t really want to ask but was dying to know.

Cas had to tread carefully here, as to not pull too quickly. He might be unsure with guys he met online, but it there was one man he’d climb like a tree with no second thoughts or regrets, it was the one standing in front of him, distractedly shredding the artisanal label off his beer bottle.

“Oh I’d never let him get the chance. Too weird.” He silently dared Dean to call his bluff.

Dean sighed and looked up at Cas, expression guarded. He set his beer down on the table behind him and took a step towards Cas. The tingle in his palms kicked up, spreading up his arms and across his chest, flooding up his neck and to his ears.

“And you know, right away? Who you’d like to kiss?” Dean asked like there was any possible way Cas would turn him down.

“I—definitely. I know within the first half hour of meeting someone if I’d like to—like to kiss them.” Even Cas was stumbling now. He didn’t dare move and shatter this strange, wonderful moment.

Dean was close now. Close enough to see the apprehension in his eyes and catch the subtle tremble in his fingers, hanging loose by his sides.

“Does that feeling ever change?”

“No, once it’s there, it’s all I can think about.” Cas’s gaze tripped between Dean’s mouth and his eyes. Everything was buzzing now. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but he knew things weren’t like this with Patrick. Or Nate. Or anyone else he had been on a date with.

It was special for Dean.

Their chests were nearly touching now. Dean was so close. The heat coming off him was incredible, and Cas wanted nothing more than to get closer.

“Me too,” Dean murmured. “Once I want to kiss someone, it’s all I can think about, too.”

Cas often though about how green Dean’s eyes were, sometimes annoyingly and distractedly often, but now that they were boring into his, it was hard to think about anything else.

Except maybe his mouth. Or his hands, slowly coming up. Shit, this was going exactly where he thought it was. Right here in their shared kitchen.

“I’m gonna kiss you, Cas,” Dean said, drawing in a breath. “And if it’s not what you want, we can pretend it never happened. I won’t make it weird, I promise. I just have to—“

Cas pushed up to press his mouth against Dean’s, hands coming up to fit along his jaw. He watched Dean’s eyes flutter shut before closing his own. Dean gripped his t-shirt before sliding his hands around and up his back. Their lips moved together, pulling and giving back, wet heat between them. He pulled back after a second, an audible smack when they parted.

“I don’t want to push too far—“

“Dean Winchester, kiss me again. Please. It’s good.”

Dean grinned and yanked him back in by his collar, pressing him back into the counter. Cas felt the frenzy build, and he pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucked on the tip of it, before reaching up to press thumbs to the bolt of Cas’s jaw, opening it further. Cas reached down and slipped his fingers back down into Dean’s back pockets, hauling him closer.

When they finally had to surface for air, they were both grinning.

“That wasn’t weird, right?” Dean had the audacity to ask, breathlessly.

“Definitely weird.” Cas answered, cheekily.

“You’re not gonna ask to be just friends later, right?” Dean sounded like he was mostly kidding but with a touch of real anxiety behind it.

“No, but suddenly it makes sense why everyone else didn’t compare.” Cas said, pressing a smooch to the side of Dean’s jaw. “You’re not just doing this because you feel bad for me?”

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Cas on the ass. “Been wanting to do that since I met you, dummy. I’m glad we had this chance to finally straighten out that I’m the only one for you.”

“Yeah, probably.” Cas whispered. “Wanna go make out on the couch?”

Dean smiled.

#my fics #Destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #you know who really hates Tinder?#me I hate Tinder #my work #I haven't written anything in so long #and now I'm just churning out stories #my notes are FULL

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westgateoh · 4 years

Text

A scene from a long fic I’m working on. Felt like sharing because Bruce and Jason. Encouragement is helpful if you like it. Thanks for reading (sorry about the spacing)

“What happened?” Batman growled, and the wind of the rooftop swirled his cape around him, like it was whipping him. He ignored it. “You’re favoring your right arm.”

Jason would deny it, but he was using the only arm that worked at the moment to hold a goon by his windpipe against the wall while Bruce zip tied the guy’s hands behind his back. From the whimper Jason heard, Bruce wasn’t taking any chances. “Dislocated shoulder in the fight. I’ll be fine.” He stepped back so that Bruce could shove the guy to his knees and tie his ankles. Jason would be fine, too. He turned to the wall, shoved his gun in its holster, and lined up his shoulder. He’d put his own shoulder back plenty of times. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he’d done it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt Bruce pull him back from the wall.

“Stop.”

Jason turned to look at him.

“It’s harder to do it yourself. Let me.”

Something in Bruce’s voice was softer than usual, more like a request than his usual demands.

It would be easier to have Bruce do it, so he nodded, and Bruce pulled him a little so that Jason’s back wasn’t against the wall.

He put one hand on Jason’s shoulder and then gripped his elbow. “Deep breath and hold it.”

Jason complied.

Bruce wrenched and Jason clenched his eyes through the pain and then it was done. Bruce still held Jason’s arm. “Better?” he asked.

Jason stared at the gloved hand on his arm, but he didn’t pull away. He just nodded.

“Good. Will you come back to the Cave and let Agent A do a scan to make sure everything’s stable in there?” Bruce was still holding his arm, and Jason couldn’t stop staring at his hand. “Hood?” Bruce says, his voice soft, so the guy on the ground couldn’t hear him. “Are you all right?”

Jason was years away, his vision filled with the memory of the first time he broke his arm on patrol with Bruce, when he was laying on the rooftop in the chill of October as Bruce stood over him, brushing his gloved hand through Jason’s hair and saying, “You’re going to be all right, Robin. It hurts now, but we’ll get you back to the Cave and fix your arm right up so it doesn’t hurt as badly. You’ll be all right.” And Jason believed him immediately, and let Bruce pick him up and carry him down the rickety fire escape to the Batmobile, where he laid him gently in the backseat and then put the car on autopilot so that he could hold Jason’s good hand the whole way home.

Dragged back to the present by the smell of asphalt and garbage from the alley below, he looks up at Bruce. “I’m fine,” he says, and pulls his arm away. “I have to go home.”

Bruce frowned. “Does your current home have a decent med kit?”

Jason brushed off his concern. “Yeah. Tim restocked it for me last week. It probably even has root beer lollipops,” and he didn’t say it to hurt, but Bruce flinched, clearly remembering the jar of root beer lollipops Alfred let Bruce keep in the med bay when they’d found out they were Jason’s favorite. Bruce would sneak them to Jason sometimes when he was sick, like they were carrying out international espionage or something by getting them past Alfred.

Jason blinked at Bruce’s reaction and shook his head. “You need anything else from me here?” he asked.

Bruce let go of Jason’s arm and stepped back. “No. Go home and rest.” He paused. “Oh, and add tonight to your casefile on the Marineli group. I’m certain it’s connected.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Bruce seemed to shake himself out of thought, and he took a step toward Jason, who couldn’t help his reaction of stepping back so now he was against the wall. He tried to lean and make it look intentional and casual, but Bruce took a step back quickly, like he knew he’d accidentally boxed Jason in.

“Come to dinner tomorrow?” he asked, and Jason closed his eyes, thankful that the lenses kept the action from Bruce. “Dick’s going to be there.”

“No, thanks,” he replied, and Bruce stiffened. “I’ll check in before patrol if you want, since so many things seem to be overlapping right now.” He paused and looked at Batman standing in front of him – they only had a few minutes before the police arrived at the scene and Bruce really still didn’t want the GCPD to know how closely he was working with the Red Hood, Jason understood that. He looked, though, and saw Bruce reaching out, trying to get Jason home, trying to help him.

It had been long enough since their last big fight, long enough for Jason to see how Bruce was trying to be there for him, trying to get Jason to come into the sphere of the Bats enough for him to want to stay, for them to be a family again. Jason saw that. He even wanted it sometimes, but thinking about things like family made Jason’s skin itch, made his chest tight, and made his nerves sing. Looking at Bruce practically vibrating out of the Bat suit, though, was enough to make Jason stop and think. “You want to get some pancakes?” he asked, rolling his bad shoulder slowly, keeping it loose.

“What?”

“Pancakes. There’s a new diner just outside the Narrows. I’ve been wanting to try it. I could use your ear for the Singali case, too, if you want to talk for a bit.” He could hardly believe his own words, but he found himself holding his breath waiting for Bruce to answer.

Bruce finally nodded. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you there,” he said, and his voice dropped the Batman growl entirely, and he turned and disappeared over the edge of the roof.

Jason stood still for a minute and finally shook his head. “What the fuck did I just do?” he muttered to himself, and then he made himself move. He needed to change clothes.

Jason ordered a cup of coffee and an order of French toast before Bruce finally got there, sliding into the booth and pulling his faded black Gotham Knights baseball hat a little lower over his eyes. He was wearing a grey hoodie, dark jeans jacket, and torn jeans with green Converse and Jason had to admire his ability to move entirely unlike Bruce Wayne or Batman.

“I ordered already, sorry. I was really hungry,” Jason said, shoving a bite of French toast into his mouth. Their waitress, a tall redhead, came to the table and poured a refill for Jason and a cup for Bruce, who ordered some scrambled eggs and hash browns and a glass of orange juice. Jason asked her to bring him some eggs and bacon, and Bruce hid a smile behind his coffee cup.

Jason raised an eyebrow after she left. “Diner orange juice, B? Pretty big risk.”

Bruce shrugged. “Feeling a little run down. Could use all the vitamin C I can get.”

Jason blinked and swallowed a weird feeling of panic that surged at the thought of Bruce getting sick. The first time Bruce had caught the flu when Jason was a kid he’d been convinced Bruce was going to die and leave him the way his mom had, and he pestered Alfred to take Bruce to the hospital for three days straight and had fought nightmares for a month after it happened.

Bruce was fixing Jason with such an odd look right now that Jason wondered if he remembered that, too. “I’m okay,” he said.

Jason just nodded.

The waitress brought the rest of the food and they ate in comfortable silence for a bit.

“Damian made some hummous at my place last week that was better than any restaurant I’ve had here in the states,” Jason finally said. “Has he been cooking with Alfred?”

Bruce nodded and swallowed his food. “Yes. They’re on a mission to recreate every food Damian can remember from Egypt. The list on the fridge is pretty long.” He paused and added, “Some are more successful than others. Tim added some dishes from Russia that he apparently tried on a trip with his parents as a boy and now it’s a significant mission. Dick wanted to add some Romani dishes, but Damian says they have to master his own list first.”

Jason grinned. “Throw on Pork-n-Beans from Park Row for me when you get a chance. That’s some fancy cooking.”

Bruce snorted and Jason’s own smile widened. They chatted about food for a few minutes, and that led them to Damian’s tastes, which led them to Damian’s pets. Jason’s been wanting to ask about this for a while.

“A cow, B? Really?”

Bruce just chuckled. “God help me, I didn’t mean to let him end up with a menagerie, but it’s a better outlet for him than anger, which usually ends with he and Tim breaking something in an honest-to-goodness brawl.”

“They still fight?”

“Not as much as they used to, but Tim is nothing if not expert at button pushing, intentional or no.” He finished his toast and added, “I think the last time they fought the old Tiffany lamp in the den was the victim.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “And Al let them both live?”

“Their chore list increased a great deal for next month.”

It took Jason a minute to catch up, but when he did, “Tim doesn’t even live there full-time anymore. He still has chores?”

“He does after they broke that lamp,” Bruce said with a shrug.

Jason laughed, and Bruce’s chin snapped up at the sound, like he didn’t see that coming. He grinned, too, after a moment.

When the waitress brought them their bill and they finally wandered out of the diner, Jason realized that they never did talk about their case.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #red hood #westgate fanfic #my fic

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

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Part Two of the lifeguard/ blood moon thing? I like that universe

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts!

Title: Uncharted Waters [P2]

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

(Read Part one here)

Electronic music hissed and pounded, the windows of the small house shaking with the tempo. Lizzie couldn’t bring herself to exit the car. Not with the group of people crowded on the front step, taking easy gulps of whatever cheap alcohol filled red plastic cups. With each wary glance towards the Chevy, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

Josie reached across her in a fluid motion, turning the key until the engine didn’t purr anymore. “People wouldn’t be staring if you turned off your headlights.”

“They’re staring because I almost let a kid drown.”

Lizzie kept her eyes forward. She was sure that she had the license plate of the car parked in front of them memorized. WTV-2869. It was an obnoxious shade of yellow that had once been white- Virginia is for Lovers, it read, but she wasn’t feeling any of it.

Kaleb was accustomed to throwing the end of the summer parties filled with alcohol and at least three bad decisions. It was a celebration of a good season and a flaunt of money that each of them had struggled to save up over the past three and a half months of being crammed in hot plastic chairs and mopping up fluids no one wanted to identify, not fully.

“That was almost a week ago, Lizzie.” Josie’s voice was tender and her fingers traced the seatbelt across her chest. She wanted to unclip it and pad up the front steps until she ran into the other girls that worked at the snack shack. All of them smelled like fried dough and artificial cheese but Lizzie never mentioned it. “I’m not saying you should get over it, it’s scary, I know. But no one else is holding it against you.”

Lizzie scrunched up her nose “Hope Mikaelson is, even though I apologized and thanked her for saving my ass.”

She finally conceded after a pointed glare from her twin, because yes, she had been talking about it non-stop for the past couple of days. Lizzie couldn’t shake the odd feeling she got when they walked past each other at the park or ended up being the last two in the locker room again.

The auburn-haired girl had switched all of her shifts to early mornings and refused to make eye contact. Lizzie had the deep and running feeling that Hope Mikaelson was avoiding her like the black death- and the only explanation she could conjure up was a fit of running anger from her own lack of awareness when manning the wave pool.

Both girls exited the powder blue car and breathed in the last summer breeze the season had to offer. There was a hint of autumn in the air that made her want to fold into herself with a good book. The grass vibrated with the sound of the latest pop song, neon lights flashing against the dirty windows. Kaleb knew how to throw a party, and a small part of her admitted that.

Lizzie stopped short of the drive and blinked up at the blanket of stars. The moon, she had noticed, was finally at its full peak. It shone bright like a crimson ornament in the sky, hung expertly on the best branch.

“It’s kind of cool isn’t it?” Josie smiled softly, craning her neck “And spooky.”

Lizzie tore her gaze away and growled “I wish people would stop saying that. Come on, if I absolutely have to be here, I can’t do it sober.”

And maybe Josie was right; she didn’t’ feel the looming eyes of her coworkers prosecuting her for her mistakes. No one even dared a glance at the two of them, not right away. MG stood against the mantel with his own cup of mystery liquor, and he gave a slight dazzling wave.

The pungent scent of weed leaked from the upstairs floor and greasy pizza littered the granite countertops in the kitchen. A few lifeguards loitered by the fridge, laughing quietly about the Polaroid’s tacked up with alphabet magnets.

Lizzie wandered over to one of the counters and fished through the ice bucket filled with alcoholic lemonade and bud light. She opted for the off-silver can, pushing off the extra ice and water. She was content with a slight buzz and staying to herself in the corner, Josie rushed off once she found her usual shift leaders crowded around a table converted for beer pong.

Jed was lingering at the edge of his pack of friends, hand wrapped around a glass bottle and eyes flashing towards her every once and a while. Lizzie pretended not to notice and instead started to scroll through her camera roll like it was something more engaging, setting the nearly empty can on the counter.

“Hi Liz,” He had moved closer, smelling of aftershave and sweat and whatever masculine scent his car had adopted. “I didn’t think you would show.”

Lizzie snapped her gaze up and shoved her phone in her pocket. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“You nearly let a kid die?” Kelsey had pushed herself close to the island in the middle of the kitchen, running a hand through dirty blonde hair that threatened to be greasy. She lifted the oil-stained lid of a pizza box before frowning and letting it fall back down. “I’m sure a party beats a jail cell.”

“Oh well, it’s never too late.”

She shoved herself from the counter, fully intent on joining MG next to the fireplace. Even if she did just stand there and listen to his off-handed conversation about who would best win in a fight between Superman and the Green Lantern. Jed took a step to block her path, giving a wolfish grin.

“Okay, Jockstrap, maybe you should get out of my way.” She knew her voice had gotten darker with the amount of patience she had left. People had never classified her as friendly, especially when she had a saint for a sister, but she had adopted the persona of intimidating.

Kelsey laughed, taking a long gulp of her own drink, “Sweetheart, we just want to know how on earth you even passed your entrance exam?”

Lizzie felt her nails dig into the palm of her hand because she knew she was a damn good lifeguard. She was human and she made mistakes, never had it been one that dire before and her mind was still grasping at that. She had studied for weeks and passed with flying colors- but she wasn’t about to give Jed or his little lackey the satisfaction of her fighting back.

“Leave the girl alone.”

Both lifeguards tore their predatory gazes away from Lizzie and situated them on the entrance of the kitchen; Hope Mikaelson seemed to stumble upon them, once again saving the day. Lizzie felt her blood boil because she had it handled. Much unlike the situation at the wave pool.

“Hope?” Jed had taken a half-step back “I didn’t’ think you were going to come tonight.”

“Funny, I was under the same impression.”

Kelsey swallowed loudly and lifted her chin in defeat, maybe even acknowledgment before the two of them stalked off and out of the kitchen entirely. Hope’s eyes were dark, darker than she had ever seen them before. Darker than that night in the locker room. She let out a sigh that was deep enough to echo a growl.

“I didn’t need your help.” Lizzie protested.

“Oh really? It seemed like you did. Jed and Kelsey would have eaten you alive, trust me.”

Hope turned away at once and left the kitchen through the hallway entrance. A small passage lined with photos of Kaleb’s family, one on the beach and two graduation shot’s. Lizzie pretended to ignore the fact that there was none of him. She followed her quickly.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” Hope asked innocently.

“Swooping in like I’m some damsel in distress and you’re the hero that saves me from certain doom. I’ve got it covered, okay?” Lizzie reached forward and grasped at Hope’s wrist, trying to stop her halfway through the corridor.

Her back was suddenly against the drywall, the picture frames shaking at the strong impact. Though she had a few inches on Hope Mikaelson, she felt her heart rate spike. The other lifeguard had her pinned, a hand splayed next to her head and a dangerous hint in her stare.

“Don’t touch me, Saltzman. Not tonight.”

Lizzie gulped in the scent of vanilla and something metallic that she couldn’t’ place. Her voice came out a slight whisper and Hope’s impossible gaze flicked down to her lips. “What’s so different about tonight?”

“Coming here was a mistake.”

Hope tore herself away from the situation and pushed towards the front door. Through a group of people too stubborn to move. Lizzie blinked twice and tried to clear her head of the intoxicating allure that she had never registered before. She followed her again, instant relief washing over her once she was away from the stuffy house.

Anger still bubbled like an unchecked stew. What Hope had just done was shockingly intimate and her skin tingled where her hands had all but lingered. She glanced up at the moon sparingly and padded onto the walk where she searched either direction, but no Hope.

A thicket of woods surrounded the back of Kaleb’s house and for some pulling reason, Lizzie decided to brave it. The neon light of her cellphone was enough to make up for what the Blood Moon didn’t- and really, it wasn’t so hard to move along the wet trees and the subtle sounds of crickets.

“Hope!” she called out, breaking the near silence.

Lizzie shouted out a few more times before she stumbled into a clearing surrounded by stars. The stretching grass reached her knees and swayed like a crimson ocean in the scattered light. A deep pit formed in the center of the blonde's stomach; because maybe this was a terrible idea. The hairs on her arms stood up at attention. She didn’t feel alone.

She scanned her eyes against the tree line as the wind picked up until they landed on a set of eyes. Too low to the ground to be human, glowing like the moon above as they bored into her. She had read somewhere that in the face of an animal you had to make yourself look bigger but all she wanted to do was shrink.

Lizzie was rooted in her spot, helpless as the creature slowly stalked from its home in the shadows. Large and black and bigger than any type of dog that she had spotted before. Its eyes were a dark red and a deep growl erupted from the wolf’s chest. Lizzie felt like her own was on fire.

Another, smaller wolf, that was spotted in gold followed, its stance strong and offensive. Now would be a good time for her to run, or to cry, she wasn’t sure which instinct would latch onto her first but with the way her eyes felt heavy she considered it was the latter.

“Good doggie,” Lizzie held her palms out and lowered them because she saw it in a Chris Pratt movie about dinosaurs once. But the animals kept approaching and her legs felt like Jell-O. “Nice doggie.”

The larger one snarled and crouched lower to the ground. Its tail tucked and nose crinkled, and suddenly it was increasing its speed. Lizzie dropped to her knees and clenched her eyes shut, and she waited for impact.

For the warmth of blood and the sound of her own screams. The thought of News Vans and police officers and yellow caution tape flashed in front of her instead of some poetic movie of the good parts of her life. Maybe they wouldn’t even find her body because it would be picked clean to the bone.

Instead, she breathed deep on the scent of soil as she felt it work its way under her nails. There was another noise, one that was louder than her own heart. A yelp of fear low enough to only come from the animal lunging at her.

She propped one eye open and saw the black wolf on its back, hissing out in what could only be described as palpable fear. The yellow one had its tail tucked and eyes averted, golden and flashing in the light of the moon.

Lizzie dug her heels into the dirt of the clearing and pushed herself back a couple of inches, propping up on her elbows. Another wolf, smaller than the black one and so gray it was almost white like snow, emitted a loud and commanding rumble.

She felt her hands dig right into the roots of the grass as if she gripped it for stability. The black wolf rose from its position and let out a huff of air before dashing back into the cover of the trees. Inky and all too consuming.

The newcomer sent out another warning growl before the second animal scampered away entirely. But Lizzie could still feel the fear in the air like electricity as the white wolf shot an accusing glare at her, leaking with the annoyance of something larger.

The hair on the wolf’s back suddenly smoothed out and its ears were flat, head dipping and brilliant golden eyes shrouded with worry.

Lizzie conjured her words “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She sat and stared at the creature for a long moment, feeling the sting where her palms had scraped against rocks and dirt. It cocked it’s large head to the side as if questioning her, and took a daring step forward.

“You’re not so scary, huh?” She leaned up a little bit and the wolf let out a huff of air as if to protest the statement. “Oh? And you can understand me too.”

Maybe this was a fever dream, she realized suddenly. She had fallen in the woods looking for Hope and had hit her head on a log or a rock. Someone would come looking for her eventually and she would wake up in a hospital bed with enough ammunition to get even with Hope Mikaelson for saving that kid.

“Lizzie!” The call of her sister broke the world that they were in and the wolf took a few ample steps back. Those brilliant marigold orbs scanning the tree line.

“Wait, don’t-“

But the wolf had already caught wind of the scent and was rushing in the opposite direction of the way it carried. Fluid and so strong in its motions that Lizzie was entirely sure that none of this could be real.

Her sister, covered in muck and dirt, sprouted through the trees, nearly falling over herself. Lizzie felt bad for the worry on her face and the pure fear that soon followed. “MG said he saw you run out of the house and go into the woods- what are you doing out here?”

“I needed some fresh air.” She didn’t even buy that.

“Then why are you on the ground?”

“Looking at the moon, you’re right. It is kind of cool.”

Josie suddenly got a pensive look on her face as she squinted at the apple-red color in the sky. She shook her head and reached a hand down to her sister, not minding the dirt or the possible blood that coated her own palm. She pulled her to her feet and glanced around apprehensively.

“Come on, it’s creepy out here and I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Lizzie didn’t’ answer, instead, she followed Josie and hoped that the shorter of the two knew where she was going. But her nerves eased as the electronic sound of the party's music started to fill her ears once more. She couldn’t help but agree;

This was too much excitement for one night.

#hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #lizzie x hope #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #Legacies #legacies fanfic #legacies fanfiction

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