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arabellamonkey · 2 years ago

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with the floor shaking under our feet

stevetony I after moving into his new home and he meets his neighbor and his annoyingly loud music, steve learns not everything is as it seems I written as a gift to @perlmutt-perl

also on ao3

When he moves into his new home, the last thing Steve’s expecting is to find himself having to stand his neighbor’s music while he finishes assembling everything.

He’s still in the process of arranging his new office —deciding where to hang the paintings, how to arrange the shelves, what to fill them with— when he hears it for the first time. It’s coming from the apartment next to his. He doesn’t recognize the specific song, but he does recognize it as rock. Probably from the 80s, though he could be wrong about that. He’s always been more of a jazz guy.

Biting his lip, he tries to focus on the task at hand, trying his best to forget about the music. At some point, when he’s managed to almost assemble half the shelf in the time he expected to have finished assembling it whole, he decides to put on some headphones with his own music. At that instant, he’s grateful to Buck for having insisted on gifting him a pair of headphones instead of allowing him to continue using his old small earphones.

He puts them on, chooses one of the carefully curated playlists, and presses play.

It doesn’t take him much to get back into the headspace he needs to finish assembling his studio.

By the time he’s done with it, it’s already time to eat. But since he doesn’t have anything in his fridge yet, he decides to eat outside for once; he forgoes going shopping just out of laziness. There will be time for that later.

He’s almost ready to go when he notices the absence of music in the background. He wonders if that means the impromptu concert was just a one-time thing.

When he goes out, he sees two people in the hall. One of them is an old woman, while the other is a guy that must be close to his own age; he’s smaller than him, probably barely reaching his own shoulders, and the only thing he can see from where he stands is his brown hair as he nods to whatever the woman is saying. In theory, there shouldn’t be anything out of place about the scene, but weirdly enough, something’s off.

Confused, he approaches them just to get a better view.

They’re standing in front of the elevator, with the woman speaking in a weird way while the poor guy forces a smile and looks to the elevator longingly, as if hoping for the conversation to just end.

“My grandkids left yesterday…” She is saying loudly —so much, Steve can barely repress the instincts to just cover his ears—. But that’s not the only weird thing about it; what confuses Steve even more is the fact that she’s speaking so slowly, Steve can’t help standing there, confused by the scene in front of him. “And to be honest, I’m kind of glad. You know how kids are… Always with the music so loud… you know, right? Right ?”

The poor guy frowns a bit and just nods, clearly unsure about what to do about the situation; both the way the woman is speaking and the things she’s saying.

Steve’s wondering about how appropriate it would be to introduce himself now when the choice is taken away from him. The guy lifts his eyes just in that moment, and his gaze collides with Steve’s in a way that’s unmistakable.

Help, please.

At least, that’s what the poor guy’s eyes seem to be trying to say without a single word. He has a greatly expressive gaze, Steve thinks as he decides to approach them. He’s shocked to find out the guy is barefeet, with his feet curled up as if trying to cope with the floor’s coldness. The fact that he has a garbage bag in one hand makes Steve suspect he wasn’t planning on spending much time out.

“Hi,” he says, his voice way more cheerful than he was going for, but the woman doesn’t seem to take that into account, so neither should he. “I’m Steve. Um, I’ve just moved in.”

“Oh, yes, Gladys said something about a moving truck!” The woman says, turning to look at him and giving her back to the other guy as if it isn’t the rudest thing she’s ever done to someone. Steve blinks once, surprised, when the woman says: “So you're the one that’s going to have to stand his hellish music, then?”

“Uh, whose?” Steve asks. He looks over her shoulder to find the guy looking at the floor with a frown in place. He doesn’t seem to realize Steve’s question was directed towards him in an attempt to include him in a conversation he suddenly seems to have been excluded from.

“His, of course,” the woman says in what Steve can only describe as a sneer. “He’s been embittering our existence since he moved in here a year ago with that horrible music. Every single morning, from eleven o one.”

Steve’s eyes threaten to get out of their sockets when he realizes she’s talking about the guy behind her. What’s more, she’s talking about him as if he weren’t standing right there. And the guy isn’t batting an eyelash, seeming bothered by the whole situation but not specifically about the words the woman has just said.

She doesn’t seem to realize there’s anything wrong with her words or behavior, and Steve suspects no one in the building has said anything so far —be it out of fear or misplaced respect for the elderly—, but she’s made a mistake.

Anyone would have thought having spent the last ten years of his life in the Army would have gotten him rid of this instinct, but he’s never quite managed to keep quiet when he witnesses an injustice. And what this woman is doing to their neighbor?

It just doesn’t feel right.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he starts saying, which makes the woman laugh playfully.

“Oh, dear, you can call me Sunset. I’m not that old-”

“ Ma’am ,” he says, flatly, “if you have any problem with our neighbor, you could just tell him so instead of giving him the cold shoulder and make him stand there, clearly uncomfortable, as you talk about him.”

“Ah, but he doesn’t even realize we are talking about him,” the woman —Sunset— says, lifting her chin as if thinking that will make Steve feel intimidated by her. “He’s deaf, you see, so why bother?”

Realization shakes through him, mixed with something he hasn’t felt in a while: rage. Things start making sense, falling into place as he looks at the poor guy again. His frown has deepened even more and he’s playing with his hands now in a nervous manner.

Steve shakes his head and surrounds the woman until he’s in front of him.

He tries to come up with a conciliatory smile —one that doesn’t betray how he’s bristling inside— as he says, “hey, I’m Steve, your new neighbor. What’s your name?”

He doesn’t talk slower than he’d usually do, and he’s still crossing his fingers mentally that he hasn’t screwed up anything by not doing so, when the woman starts saying, “I told you, boy, he doesn’t…”

“Tony,” the man before him answers. He’s biting his lip as he does so, still playing with his hands. “I’m Tony.”

Steve has the instinct to turn around and lift an eyebrow in the woman’s direction; instead, he ignores her and widens his smile to Tony.

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” he says. “Do you know any place that serves good food around here?”

And the smile he gives him? Well, that’s worth earning himself the hatred of that woman a thousand times.

***

After that first meeting, Steve gets used to seeing Tony from time to time, and every time he does so, he takes advantage of the situation to learn small tidbits about him. For one, he learns that Tony hasn’t always been deaf, and that’s the reason why he speaks so fluidly despite being almost completely deaf now. He says it’s partly because he remembers how his own voice used to sound, as wild as that sounds to Steve.

He also learns that, despite being able to afford a cochlear implant, he’s decided against it for the moment. When Steve asks why, Tony just shrugs and says, “it’s more peaceful like this. Maybe someday, though.”

Steve doesn’t press the matter.

At some point, after weeks of dancing around the subject —weeks of seeing how the way Sunset treats Tony is no exception among the rest of the neighbors—, he ends up asking about the music.

And once Tony starts talking about music? Well, he can’t seem to stop; and Steve doesn’t want him to, especially not after seeing how happy that specific topic seems to make him. He tells him about his favorite groups —most of them from the 80s—, about his favorite songs and why they hold that place. He has lots of things to say, and at some point Steve asks him if he’d want to go have coffee so they can talk with something warm between their hands instead of standing in the corridors pretending they’ve met by coincidence.

“And how do you manage to listen to the music?” Steve asks him one day, when their afternoons sharing coffee have clearly turned into something more; when they haven’t dared put a name to it quite yet.

“It’s, um, it’s a bit weird, I guess,” Tony says, taking a sip from his coffee —black with just one sugar— and sighing. “Okay, you know I’m always barefoot when I’m at home, right?”

“Mh-hm,” Steve nods, taking a sip from his own tea and lowering the cup so Tony can read his lips. “Does it have any relation to that?”

“Yeah, it does,” he says. “Uh, I think it will be easier to understand if I show you, though.”

“Fine by me,” Steve answers, as if he hasn’t been thinking about how Tony’s place might be for the last months. Since he learned he’s an engineer for some tech company and Tony confessed he sometimes brings work home (yes, Steve really wants to see if Tony has any robots around).

They finish their drinks while chatting about different things and, once they’re empty, both of them get up and go to Tony’s home. As soon as they cross the door, Tony takes off his shoes and gestures at Steve so he does the same. Steve does so while looking around, his gaze filled with curiosity as he looks around.

Tony’s home is similar to his distribution-wise, but apart from that, it’s quite different to his. For one, he’s decorated the walls with posters of all kinds and even some schematic or another —Steve keeps himself from asking about one of them, the one drawn on a napkin, deciding on asking about it another day— instead of paintings like Steve has done.

He follows Tony to his living room, and it takes him a couple of seconds to process what’s before him. Tony is crouched down in one corner, the one in which he has positioned two shelves full of CDs and vinyls and even some cassettes; surrounding the shelves there’s half a dozen speakers distributed on the floor.

Interesting.

Tony looks at him over his shoulder with a smile and gestures for him to approach.

“Choose,” he says as Steve crouches beside him.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Is there anything here you like?”

“Hm,” Steve hums, scanning the shelves. He’s more of a jazz man, sure, but he knows some good songs that Tony will probably have in there. It takes him a bit to find it, but he does. “Can I?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony nods, looking curiously at the Vinyl of Bruce Springsteen Steve’s chosen. “You like the Boss?”

“I contain multitudes,” is everything Steve answers while placing the vinyl and dropping the needle expertly where the song begins.

He turns to look at Tony as the first chords of Two hearts begin to surround them.

“So?” He asks, approaching Tony. “What’s your secret?”

Tony smiles, shortening the distance between them until their toes are touching. “Close your eyes,” he orders. Steve obeys as Tony’s arms surround his hips, his head resting on his chest as he whispers. “Do you feel it?” Tony asks after a couple of seconds.

Steve stands there in silence for a couple of seconds, listening to the Boss sing about dreams and love and looking for the right one as he holds who he thinks might be the one for him, and, suddenly, he gets it.

Even as he listens to the song just as he’s done every other time, he realizes he’s getting something new out of it, something he had never experimented before: the floor shaking under them with every beat, every chord driving directly into his stomach.

Smiling, he looks down at Tony, who’s looking at him with his face slightly tilted; his smile when Steve nods is priceless, the kind Steve would bottle up if he could. The kind he wants to spend the rest of his life drinking from.

When he kisses Tony the first time, the floor is shaking under their feet.

#stevetony #stony #stevetony fic #stony fic #my writing #my fic

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b-a-pigeon · 2 years ago

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What From the Water Rises #1

Check out yesterday's intro post if you missed it—but tl;dr, @fellamarsh and I have a new project consisting of interconnected shorts taking place in the same fantasy world, and we're planning on releasing them for free on a biweekly basis!

If you like what you read, you can also follow us on Patreon to see our public posts (or become a patron if you want access to exclusive content & lots of other perks!) or subscribe on Substack to get the stories straight to your inbox :)

* * *

That night, Phaeon guarded the prince in silence.

For any other monarch, this was the norm; royals inevitably came to ignore the constant presence of their guard, and Phaeon’s training had emphasized the importance of disappearing into the background. In the prince’s antechamber, especially, he could’ve vanished among the clutter with little effort. The narrow space was almost overwhelmingly ornate, its walls crowded with ancient tapestries, paintings, and mirrors in gold-lacquered frames all the way up to the high, curved ceiling, which was itself inlaid with bright patterns of tilework.

It would have been easy for him to press his back against the wall and pretend he did not exist.

But the prince, unlike his relatives, always wanted to speak with Phaeon when he stood guard—sharing something he’d read, asking about what happened outside of the palace walls, inquiring about Phaeon himself. It was one of his little quirks, his quiet rejections of etiquette, like the way he insisted upon oiling his own hair, and demanded the royal guard sit while watching over him.

That night, though, he had yet to say a word after they greeted each other. He wasn’t ignoring Phaeon, which would have been easy enough to accept—but instead staring unsettlingly at him through his reflection in the vanity mirror, working a thin oil into his dark, wavy hair from the roots.

Phaeon recognized the silent demand to meet his eyes and did so, though he secretly wished the prince would turn away. It was inappropriate for someone of his station to look so directly at a royal, even through the barrier, even on the prince’s orders. It felt wrong, just as it felt wrong to sit on a cushioned stool with his sword leaning against the wall, rather than standing with the weapon heavy and secure on his hip. He’d learned to cope with that by reaching out to touch his sword every few minutes—and now he was coping with the prince’s scrutiny by occasionally letting his attention drift upward to the line of portraits depicting his ancestors above.

Circled by the gold frame of his mirror, the prince struck Phaeon as the most beautiful and most intense of them all. His features were so soft, so delicate—but his eyes were keen and piercing.

He was studying the prince’s face, running an absent finger along the curve of the pommel, when he finally spoke.

“You talked to the king about me today.”

Phaeon could not decipher the tone of his silky voice beyond recognizing that this was not a question. “I did, your highness.”

“What about?”

He hesitated, glancing up at the portraits again, weighing the expectation of confidentiality with the king against refusing the prince’s request. Certainly it was worse, in theory, to defy the king—but the prince was the one here to witness him, and Phaeon had to admit he was curious. “The king asked if I, or any other member of the guard, might teach you swordsmanship. He didn’t say why.”

At this, the prince’s sharp eyes fluttered shut; his fingers stilled where they ran through his hair and dropped to his lap. He breathed out a slow sigh. “He’s putting me on display, then,” he murmured.

“I’m not sure—”

“What’s the point of swordsmanship?” the prince asked derisively—though his glare softened as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean no offense. It’s a noble art, and it would be an honor to learn from you.”

“The honor would be mine.”

The prince ignored this obligatory show of deference and said, “If he wants me to learn, it’s for ceremonial purposes. Staging a public victory as a show of strength, or something.” He reached up to braid his hair, his nimble fingers working slower than usual. “A few days ago, one of the kitchen servants told me I’m expected to attend a dinner with some envoy next week; someone came up to my room to measure me for new clothes, but refused to tell me what they were for; my tutor has suddenly become much more concerned with my elocution. You know what all of that means.”

Phaeon did not, in fact, know what any of it meant, nor how to respond. The prince had slipped into the candid tone that subtly prompted his audience to do the same, but their conversation felt too strange for Phaeon to abandon the comforts of formality.

The prince half-turned, catching Phaeon’s eye from the corner of his; though Phaeon, on instinct, lowered his gaze to the floor, the prince must’ve recognized his ignorance in that glance alone.

“He wants to prepare me for the throne.” His lips pressed together in a bitter smile; the motions of his fingers, as he braided his hair, grew quicker and more aggressive. “It’s incredible that I made it almost to twenty-two without even a hint of my public debut—but my time is up. He wants me to be visible now, and he’s preparing to introduce me to the populace as the next king. It’s all happening soon.” The thin smile twisted into a grimace. “It won’t be long before he starts searching for a suitable wife so I can produce an heir of my own.”

With each word, Phaeon’s uncertainty mounted. Why would discussing his duty to continue the royal bloodline make the prince frown like this—make his voice sound almost hollow, as if in despair? The prince so rarely brought up his future, and on those infrequent occasions when he addressed it, Phaeon politely pretended not to notice his hesitance or insecurity. This resentment was something else altogether, and the only answer that came to mind was uselessly vague. “As is your birthright.”

The prince sighed with displeasure and lapsed back into quiet. After finishing his braid and tying off the end with a ribbon, he opened the top drawer of the vanity to return the crystal vial of oil. Phaeon watched, as still and silent as he was meant to be, while the prince examined the contents of his drawer and began to halfheartedly rearrange them, pulling out little pots of kohl and multicolored glass containers of powders and oils.

It was almost like he was stalling, Phaeon thought, reaching out to run a finger along the carvings on his sword’s hilt for reassurance; for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were the clinking of glass and the crackling of the fireplace on the wall between them.

Then the prince abruptly broke the silence. “Phaeon, what do you know about Ezu-anvashe’s island?”

Phaeon’s hand froze on his sword, startled by the drastic change of subject. “I know it’s a dangerous place,” he said, barely managing to keep his voice even, “full of criminals and wizards—”

“I’ve been doing some research,” the prince interrupted, “and I’m starting to doubt the narrative we’ve heard.” He slammed the drawer of his vanity shut and met Phaeon’s eyes through the mirror again, his jaw set. ��Would you check the hallway for me? I’d prefer our conversation remain private from here.”

Phaeon’s training overtook his blank confusion. He stood, lifting his sword and clipping its scabbard to his belt in one fluid, practiced motion, and crossed the room to its sole exit. There was no one in the hall, as he expected; nobody came to the prince’s private chambers except to guard him. Still, he lingered in the doorway, taking in a slow breath to steady his heart. Something strange was happening; the prince was up to something, and not one of his typical schemes, either. He was being too vague, his choice of topics oddly disjointed, leaving Phaeon no room to glean what he was after.

When he shut the door and returned to his post, he found the prince leaning forward on his elbows, narrowed eyes searching Phaeon’s face through the mirror.

“The records from the earliest explorations of the island still exist in the archives of the imperial college,” he said, as if there had been no interruption. “I bribed someone to hunt them down a few months ago, and now I have everything—all of the reports sent from those first settlers to my grandfather before they declared their independence from Sehmera. Since then, I’ve had a courier intercept letters to the king on my behalf—and I caught a few from some distant cousin of mine, an ex-viceroy from one of those expeditions who never left.”

The prince’s eyes were bright with excitement as he spoke, but Phaeon was too wary to find his intellectual curiosity as charming as usual. “His descriptions of life there have been very… illuminating. It’s not half as violent as we’ve been told.”

An expectant pause followed, like the prince wanted Phaeon to express his curiosity—but, still nervous in unfamiliar territory, he was careful to keep his interest purely practical. “May I ask why the king is corresponding with a resident of Isle Ezu?”

“Oh, it’s not a correspondence, as far as I’m aware. I doubt any of those letters even make it to the king. They’re all about trying to convince him to open trade, which is too absurd to acknowledge. Even if he wanted to legitimize it as a state by trading with them, Ezu-anvashe would never allow it.”

“I’ve heard the sea god is volatile.”

The prince frowned, drumming his fingers on the surface of the vanity—impatient as he always was when he recognized the way his servants were trained to speak to him, repeating and lightly elaborating on his points rather than truly responding to them. But Phaeon could not guess what conclusion the prince was angling toward with enough accuracy for a meaningful reply, anyway.

“Not volatile, I don’t think,” the prince said. His frown had vanished—but enthusiasm no longer shone in his eyes, either, leaving him expressionless. “I’ve read enough by now to understand that his motives are consistent. It offends him when we travel through his domain for what he considers petty human desires—conquest, profit. As long as our causes are pure, and we play by his rules, he’s perfectly accepting.”

“I see,” Phaeon said, failing to glean any insight from the prince’s impassive face. He would have to guess where this was headed. “Are you suggesting, your highness, that you might delay your debut by… visiting this place?”

The prince laughed humorlessly. “I’m not suggesting anything. Certainly the king would never permit me to vacation there, and we couldn’t exactly send an envoy. It’s just interesting to learn about the roles the gods play. Did you know, on the island, there aren’t any real leaders other than their patron god? They have elections, but their positions only last three years. They have no kings—and no money, and no wars.”

“No laws, either.”

“There are laws! Fewer than we have, but there are some, both divine and human. I don’t mean to suggest it’s perfect. It’s a flawed place—but so is this one.” With that, the prince finally broke eye contact, studying the hands he’d interlaced on top of the vanity; Phaeon, unable to hide his confusion now, was grateful for the reprieve. “It would be unwise of me to critique the empire my ancestors have built, wouldn’t it?”

Phaeon chose his words with great care. “To critique without purpose, perhaps, but using those critiques to improve—”

“If I’m going to become king, I have to first accept that I have no freedom here. Do you understand?” He grew softer, quieter as he spoke. “I can talk about change all I want, but my future is set in stone: the king will find me a suitable wife so I can have a son, and abdicate the throne as soon as I am eligible. I’m not ready. Not now—and I don’t think I ever will be.”

“I’m sure it’s frightening to have so much responsibility.” Phaeon’s head spun; none of this made sense, and he knew his words were useless, but he kept stammering them out. “The burden—your sacrifice—”

“It’s not about that. I’ve studied statecraft long enough to recognize that I cannot rule over this empire. I’m no warrior—or maybe I’m just a coward. But there is no empire without war; we’ve pushed too far, too hard, and now if we relent on the borders we’ll be swallowed up, colony by colony, until Sehmera is destroyed and I’m killed along with it. I can’t preside over that bloodshed, and I can’t accept my death knowing how many others would first die in my name.”

“You’ll make an excellent king,” Phaeon said, because he had to.

“I won’t.” The prince spat out the words, but his tone softened when he said, “There is no need to lie to me. Please, Phaeon, forget your duty to defend the empire for one moment and listen to what I’m telling you. I cannot and will not be king; after all these years, you know me well enough to understand why. I’ve made the decision to reject it.”

Phaeon’s lips parted, but he could not manage even the most banal of polite responses. What other option had the prince imagined? To continue the bloodline was his obligation; as the king’s firstborn son, he was the true and only successor. His anxieties were understandable, but rejecting his responsibility could only mean one thing.

The horror of this realization must have shown on his face, because the prince’s expression tightened with anticipation.

He meant to abandon the throne, ending a dynasty spanning centuries out of childish fear.

“This is high treason,” Phaeon breathed.

The prince sighed and shook his head, looking almost disappointed. “Yes, it is. You can tell the king if you’re so concerned with my defying him. I might do it now, if I were you. Stay too long and they’ll consider you complicit, won’t they?”

Phaeon suspected this to be true—but he remained firmly in his seat, despite the consequences. He wasn’t sure why. A decade of training in the royal guard and a lifetime of loyalty to Sehmera screamed at him to run straight to the king, throw himself to his knees, and confess everything he’d heard, begging mercy for them both. At the very least, he should have implored the prince to swallow his misgivings and take the secrets he’d revealed to his grave.

Surely, though he’d sworn an oath to protect all three, his loyalties to king and country should outweigh his commitment to the prince—

But Phaeon stayed, and could not imagine doing anything else. He stayed, knowing his presence here for the death sentence it was, letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment and not caring.

“You mean to abandon your destiny,” he said quietly.

The prince spun around on his stool to face Phaeon—who froze under the blazing intensity of the eye contact, of the starkness of his fierce beauty seen directly, his conflicted mind going blank with shock. “I mean,” he snapped, “I believe my destiny lies elsewhere.”

“Where? Ezu?”

“Anywhere. Not here. I can’t do it, Phaeon, and if I want to live, my one chance at freedom is running away before it’s too late.”

“Your highness, if you want to change the empire, you can do that by becoming king,” Phaeon urged, almost dizzy with desperation to change his mind. “You can reshape the empire to your desire. That’s what it means to be king! You have responsibilities, but you also have ultimate power.”

With a bitter laugh, the prince said, “It’s truly not possible, I promise you. I’ll spare you a lecture on statecraft, but there will be no more empire for me to rule if we stop waging war. I could handle responsibility, Phaeon, but I can’t live with being at the helm of a machine that runs on blood.”

“Who taught you all this?”

“I concluded it myself from everything I’ve learned. Nobody could’ve taught me; questioning the empire would be treason. Do you see my problem here? What does it say if the second most powerful man in this nation doesn’t have the freedom to interrogate the necessity of bloodshed? I can’t stand it—any of it. Setting aside my moral objections, I’m a captive here. If I want my freedom, I have to let them put me on display, like an object—and get some poor stranger pregnant before she has the chance to decide if she wants to. It’s all so horrible. It’s suffocating.”

“I hear you, your highness,” Phaeon said, his voice shaking, “and I understand your discomfort, but please consider everything you would have to give up. Even if you were allowed to live, after defying the king—once you leave here, you’ll have nothing.”

“Of course I understand,” the prince said coolly, gesturing at their surroundings with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “The entire problem is that all of this is the spoils of war. Do you want me to tell you what I’ve learned in the dispatches from the frontlines? Do you want to know what our army is doing to civilians in the colonies?”

Phaeon did not need to be told; he already knew. When he thought of the sweet, sheltered prince learning the realities of war, of conquest, his breath caught in his chest. There would be no changing his mind. “Your highness—”

“Should I read you the reports from the viceroys, out in the borderlands, bragging about impoverishing and enslaving people on their own land?” Below the prince’s practiced calm was an unmistakable fury; his dark eyes blazed, their unobstructed intensity as overwhelming as looking into the sun.

“To be frank—if I’m entertaining the idea of you leaving—I’m not sure you do understand all it would entail,” Phaeon said, a harsh edge to his tight voice, all his courtesy stripped away under the prince’s radiance. “Never mind wealth, you would have to work to survive for the first time in your life. You’re guaranteed nothing in this world if you aren’t a prince. Not food. Not shelter.”

“In Sehmera, perhaps, I would die in the streets and no one would care—but that’s not how things work on Ezu.”

“Ezu!” Phaeon groaned, screwing his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a shaky breath; the prince said nothing, but Phaeon could feel the sharpness of his gaze as he attempted to collect himself. “You know nothing of that place beyond fifty-year-old dispatches and letters from some mad viceroy, correct?”

“I know about their patron god.”

“But their god isn’t always watching! Would he be able to stop them from kidnapping you for ransom? Killing you on sight?” He dared to drop his hand from his face, to look up at the prince again—and found his eyebrows raised in surprise at Phaeon’s vehemence.

“I’ll disguise myself.” His tone was gentler now; Phaeon felt a flash of guilt for letting his emotion overwhelm him. “I can abandon my identity. Nobody outside of the walls of this palace has seen me in over a decade. They haven’t even learned my name.”

Perhaps—but the prince looked royal, his skin the pale color of sand, flawless and uncalloused. Everything about him was soft and youthful in a way that spoke to his isolation as well as his station. “They might guess. You don’t look like a commoner.”

“Well, viceroys are living happily on the island, so as long as I’m not taken for a crown prince, I assume it won’t be a problem.” The prince’s brow knitted as he studied Phaeon’s face, so far beyond the point of polite composure that he could not imagine how distressed he looked. “I’ve done my research and thought this through. I understand you think I’m being foolish, but—but could you give me a moment to explain myself?” When Phaeon gave a weak nod, he said, “Come here, please.”

Without thought, Phaeon obeyed, lifting his sword and approaching the prince to kneel before him, face pointed toward the floor. The prince dragged his chair toward him, leaning forward—coming close enough that Phaeon could’ve reached out and touched him. Close enough that, when the prince leaned forward and his long braid fell over his shoulder, Phaeon could smell the lightly floral scent of the oil in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” the prince whispered. “I don’t want to frighten you. Please look at me.”

Phaeon could not—but the prince’s soft hand cupped his jaw, lifted his chin so their faces were impossibly close. Those eyes were now more imploring than intense.

“Listen. I’ve thought about this for so many years, and the island presents my best option for escape. As soon as I swear my allegiance to Ezu-anvashe and commit to living on his land, according to his law, I belong to him. If the king were to send men to claim me—to attempt to take ownership of Anvashe’s possession, one of his precious few worshippers—he would retaliate. He’ll capsize ships to protect his land, his people. He always has.”

Phaeon swallowed hard. It was never easy to argue with the prince when he was so sincere, but he had little recourse. “Your ancestors conquered gods before.”

“One god,” the prince corrected him. “One god, whose domain was limited to the original Sehmeri territory—not the entire ocean. I am going to take refuge with Ezu-anvashe, and I’ll find my freedom there.”

“But if any of the people on the island who are hostile to the empire—and there are many, displaced by our imperial efforts, exiled by your father, forced to flee to continue practicing their cultist rituals or magic—”

The prince’s eyebrows shot up. “You know a lot more about the world than you’ve let on.”

“It’s my job to know your enemies.”

Though he looked thoroughly pleased by this, the prince shook his head. “They won’t find out.”

“What if they did? I’ve sworn to protect you, your highness—and in the interest of keeping you safe, I cannot allow you to run away to some lawless place to seek the mercy of a mad god.”

“So come with me.”

How difficult it was to suppress the first instinct to obey—to swear he would follow the prince and keep him safe no matter where he went.

“You can come with me,” the prince added when Phaeon said nothing, “or you can flee elsewhere, but you can’t stop me—and either way, you shouldn’t stay here. You’re a traitor now.” The prince straightened in his seat, averting his attention to the fireplace. “I haven’t just told you this because I trust you, but also because I don’t want to betray you. I knew you wouldn’t defy me—”

“Did you?” Phaeon murmured.

“Of course.” He looked back at Phaeon, his head tilting to one side. “I was certain you’d listen; I suspected you might even help me—but in telling you, I have sealed your fate. You will be the last person to see me before my disappearance. If they don’t kill you outright for letting me leave, they’ll torture you into confessing all that you’ve heard, and then they’ll kill you for withholding it.” The prince’s jaw tightened; his pale hands seized the loose fabric of his pants, clenching into fists. “You can refuse my request to join me. I’m not your prince anymore—or, if I am, it’s just for the night. But please, take my advice and run. If not with me, then anywhere else.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“I know.” A faint note of desperation crept into his voice and shone openly across his eyes when he said, “So tell me you’ll come.”

Phaeon’s breath caught in his chest. Never before had he felt so conflicted. Logic and emotion struggled within him; the instinctive loyalty instilled by years of service would not allow him to accept, but when the prince looked at him with such hope, it was impossible to imagine doing what his duty demanded.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his defenses wane. How typical for the prince to cling so stubbornly to an idea that sounded good in theory, and carefully construct his arguments to dismiss all criticism. How utterly unsurprising that this boy, hidden behind lock and key with little company but his books and teachers, was so naive and yet so capable of arguing his position with ironclad confidence.

“Your father always said you were overeducated,” Phaeon murmured, partly to himself. “Now I see what he meant.”

The prince let out a startled laugh. “How can he complain when he chose my tutors?” he asked, flashing a slight, nervous smile. “He could’ve curated my books better.”

“Not with you bribing servants to raid the college’s library on your behalf.”

“I never bribed, I just asked,” the prince objected, as if his favor was not a reward in itself. “To the point, though—I notice you have not yet said no or run for help. Should I take this as acceptance of my offer? Will you come?”

“It’s… it’s a lot to consider,” Phaeon said, though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. No amount of stalling would coerce the prince to abandon his grand plan—and he, himself, had already made his decision by staying. “You are asking me to choose between my sworn loyalties.”

“It would be wise to choose your country over me.”

“I know that, but I still can’t.”

“No?” Some of the tension melted from the prince’s body. “Well, I’ll tell you my plan, at least. I already stole some peasant’s clothes from the servant’s quarters and planned to cut my hair; maybe you could do that for me. We might consider cutting yours, too—if you decide to come, that is. Obviously, you won’t be marked as royal, but it might draw attention.” He reached out to tap one of Phaeon’s coiled red-brown curls; his touch was so gentle, so tentative, it made Phaeon hold his breath until his hand withdrew.

“Tonight,” the prince continued, “I’ve arranged a disturbance to draw the guards from their posts on the eastern side of the building, about an hour before dawn. The people responsible for that distraction don’t know who requested it, or why, by the way—just that they’ll receive their payment only if they succeed. I can slip out then; it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve snuck past the guard, so I’m not worried.”

“Tonight?” Phaeon echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes—I’m sorry. I really couldn’t risk telling you until the last minute. Do you have anything you need to take care of before we go?”

Of course, his answer was no; Phaeon’s highest priority was the prince, and even if he cared to say goodbye to his colleagues and mentors in the guard, he could not tell them where he was going or why. But his hand, out of habit, went to the iron hilt of his sword as he considered—and he ran his fingertip over the inlaid jewel shining from the pommel, remembering with a shock of disappointment that it was not his to take. “I can’t leave with a sword of the royal guard. I’ll have to exchange it for another from the armory.”

The prince nodded, but his brow knitted with uncertainty. “Phaeon, I know we’re talking about our plans, but—but you haven’t said yes yet. Would you tell me, for my sake?”

“Yes.”

Just saying the word filled him with relief and terror in equal measure; it brought his entire future into sharp clarity. No longer one of many guards serving a future king in this palace for the rest of his life, but the prince’s sole protector elsewhere—and an enemy of the state, besides, a traitor with no choice but to die or flee.

He said it again, stronger: “Yes. Of course. If I may be honest with you, your highness, I am still not convinced this is wise—but I’m sure it’s too late for me to change your mind, and I will not allow you to leave without me.”

“You have my eternal permission to be honest with me,” the prince said, half-smiling, ��but my final order to you will be to never call me ‘your highness’ again. We’re equals now.” His eyes brimmed with such shining gratitude that Phaeon could hardly bear to hold them; it would take some time for him to accept the prince as an equal, as a vulnerable human like himself. “I’m sure you’d like to prepare, but could I have another minute of your time before you go?”

“Of course, Azarion.”

His eyes widened for a moment at hearing his own name, but he grinned before turning back to the vanity and searching through one of its drawers. Phaeon watched him, unguarded and shameless, trying to wrap his head around the reality that they were going to run away together—that he would see this angelic face up close, without a barrier, every day, and keep the prince all to himself. Was this, he wondered distantly, the selfish desire that made him stay?

The prince—Azarion—made a triumphant little noise and whirled back to face Phaeon, a thin pair of scissors dangling from one extended finger. “Will you think I’m childish if I ask you for this? Will you humor me anyway?”

“I’m sorry—what are you asking for?”

“Oh, do you not remember?” Azarion frowned, lowering the scissors. “When I was young—young enough that I could play with other children, I mean—we’d exchange locks of hair when we made promises.”

“Really?” Phaeon tried to mask his distaste at the faint whiff of magic in the ritual. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Yes, really! I’m not sure if it’s true, but they say that’s how we used to make oaths, back when Sehmera had gods and magic. I’m not saying this is a spell, but—but it’s something sort of mystical, and it feels right, if we’re putting our fates in the hands of a god.” He glanced down at the scissors as he ran a finger along the parted blades. “And I don’t mean to imply I don’t trust you, but if we’re letting each other out of our sights…”

He trailed off—and, without waiting for Phaeon’s answer, pulled a perfect lock from the ribbon binding his braid and snipped off the tip. He extended it toward Phaeon, who gingerly accepted, holding the loose curl between two fingers. “What do I do with this?”

“Hold on to it for now—and give me some of yours, too. Maybe we’ll throw them into the ocean once we’re on the island.” He shrugged, holding out the scissors. “I don’t know if it matters; I think it’s the symbolism that’s important.”

Phaeon just stared for a moment, then tucked the prince’s hair into the pouch on his sword belt and accepted the scissors for himself. Absurd as it was, he kept his expression solemn as he cut off a coil of auburn hair from behind his ear, then dropped it into the prince’s expectant palm. Azarion wrapped his fingers gently around it and nodded, equally serious.

“Now you can go exchange your sword. Make sure nobody follows you—but of course, I don’t have to tell you that. Remember, our opportunity to escape will come an hour before dawn.” He glanced up at the enormous wooden clock on the mantel, frowning. “We have a few hours, I suppose—but return soon. We’ll need to disguise ourselves, and I need your help finding something valuable enough to bribe a sailor to drop us at Ezu.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Phaeon promised, and turned to leave.

Part of him had wondered whether some sort of spell would be broken along with their eye contact—if, when he wasn’t looking directly at the prince, the commitment to abandoning his life, his king, his country, might waver.

But he found his conviction growing stronger as he crossed the room and reality began to descend over him. The faint twinge of sadness that he would have to persist without his favorite sword was his only regret as he pushed out of the room, heading down the hall and sealing his own fate.

#what from the water rises #b pigeon #fell a marsh #my writing #queer fantasy #lgbt fantasy #fantasy stories #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short fiction #free stories #free short story #short story #queer authors #indie authors #authors on tumblr #queer fiction #free to read

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Note

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

============================

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #genshin childe #childe #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons

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padme-parker · 4 years ago

Text

Mizpah // the darkling x reader // ch 4

summary: The Darkling and Alina talk. You get a tour of the Little Palace.

warnings: cussing, getting drunk, maybe some violence maybe not. not proof read either </3

AFTER showing you to your room, the Darkling hurried back to Alina. Inside, the sun summoner had been pacing relentlessly. What did he mean we weren’t together? The girl understood that the two had shared nothing more than a kiss. He didn’t owe her anything, so why did she feel like this? Hearing the door swing open made her stop in place.

“Forgive me, Alina.” He started. “But I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have kissed you that night.” Aleksander didn’t know what he was saying. He knew that he had to have the sun summoner by his side, and he didn’t know how to execute his plan if he didn’t have her. Truthfully, there had been some part of him that enjoyed indulging in her. He had convinced himself and Alina that it was them against the world, which he had believed. Until you showed up.

On the contrary, Alina was seething. She didn’t know whether to be angry with herself or the Darkling. “But you said-” She let the words die on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t recall what he had said exactly. All she knew was that he made a promise that they would save the world, together. Had she interpreted his words and actions wrong, the girl didn’t know. She left Mal, she just let Mal walk out of her life for a man she had known for less than a year. A man who had promised her everything yet nothing. “Saints, I…”

“I really am sorry.” Alina knew something was off, the Darkling never apologized for his actions, deliberate or not. He had no problem taking up lovers in the past, so what had made him change his mind? He seemed so ready to give himself to her.

The sun summoner gave him a weak smile, “No, I understand.” She could feel the tender strings of her heart snapping. How could I let myself fall for someone like him so easily? She began to berate herself. She quickly excused herself, not wanting the Darkling to see the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. As soon as she shut the door, she paused. Willing herself to calm in order to go to her room. On the other side of the door, the Darkling approached it yearnfully. He had risked everything for a whim.

With a sigh, the Darkling left the war room and headed to his sleeping quarters. He took a short bath before putting on his sleep attire. He found himself falling asleep to the thought that you would soon be in his arms.

THE DARKLING had been roused from his sleep, your screams echoing in the barren hall. Hurriedly, he threw open the doors of his room and gathered his oprichniki before entering your room. He ordered his guards to survey your room as he made his way to your trembling figure. He desperately wanted to reach out to you. To take you into his embrace and kiss your forehead until you stopped crying. But he couldn’t, not yet. It was still too soon. After no threat was found, he directed his guards to leave the two of you alone. He finds himself crouching down to you, his hand hovering over yours, asking for permission. He didn’t want to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state like this.

With the nod of your head, he takes your hands into his, unconsciously rubbing his thumb along the soft skin of your palm. He does his best to subdue the emotion in his face as he sees the raw skin of your neck. His mouth seemed to dry, his throat feeling like the sands of West Ravka. With caution, he traces along the lines of your birthmark, noticing the shudder you had so deeply tried to suppress.

“I can call for Genya, if you’d like that.” You knew what he was insinuating. As humiliated as you were by it growing up, you wouldn’t get rid of it or try to hide it. Not anymore, not ever again.

“No.” You said sternly. The sunlight had completely changed the way your room looked. In turn you observed how the rays of light painted your room in a warm, welcoming tone. You had managed to finally calm yourself, his presence oddly enough brought you comfort. You should’ve been scared of General Kirigan, The Darkling, Starless Saint, or whatever it was he went by. He was a ruthless man who was willing to do anything he could to end the war. But was that not a good thing? You asked yourself. He would risk everything to end the war. Ravka needs someone like him. He certainly did far more for your country than the King ever did.

A realization came over you as you stared at him, a smile coming to your lips. “I think it’s time for that tour you promised me.” The Darkling lent his hand out to you, and you gladly took it. You dusted yourself off, pretending like nothing had happened. “Give me a second to get dressed.” Without waiting for his reply, you took the same undershirt and trousers from yesterday, and changed in the bathroom. Before leaving the room, you made sure to throw your raggedy soldier’s jacket over your shoulders.

The Darkling started with the obvious, his sleeping quarters and the war room. He had told you how the sleeping quarters connected to his war room wasn’t actually his bedroom. He found it too much of a hassle to move from the war room to all the way down the hall in order to sleep every night. The next room he showed you was his own, but he never granted you entrance.

“I don’t go in there often, it reminds me of..” His eyes briefly met yours, he cleared his throat and looked away. “..someone.” There was a flash of something, some emotion, that you couldn’t pinpoint. But if one thing was clear, whoever this person was really hurt him. You tried not to press on further as the curiosity got the best of you.

“I didn’t peg you as someone who would settle for a relationship.” You said as he started to lead you away from his room.

“I’m not.” He said solemnly. You could tell he wanted to say more. That there was something that wanted to escape his lips, but he didn’t allow those words to leave them. He took his time explaining the halls and rooms of the Little Palace.

“This is where the Corporalki practice, I don’t recommend going inside.” He stated. Their practice room had no windows, unlike the many other rooms within the Little Palace. You could only imagine the horrid smell in there. Perhaps they convinced a squaller to air it out once in a while.

The next room he took you to was where they all gathered to eat. He told you how Grisha were separated into their own tables. The Darkling had sat in the middle, while the Corporalki and Etherealki were seated to the right and left of him. However, it wasn’t often he made an appearance here. He usually ate in his war room.

After showing you the inside, he then took you outdoors towards the garden. He had managed to avoid large crowds inside, but due to nearly everyone training outdoors, there had been some people who stopped and stared as you walked past. The lake had begun to freeze, some Grisha ice skating on the shallow side where the ice froze first. The others had been practicing their magic. It had mainly been the Etherealki who practiced outdoors. Eventually everyone had to come outdoors though to train with Botkin.

“Perhaps I could train with him too?” You asked. Afterall, you were in the First Army. It would be a waste to sit in the palace and do nothing while you could be training and brushing up on your skills.

“If that’s what you want, sure. All Grisha are permitted from using their powers while training with Botkin. I can assure that you’ll be given a fair fight.”

“Oh, I won’t be the one needing a fair fight.” You mused, peering at your knuckles, remembering all the fights you had gotten into at Keramzin after Alina and Mal came. You’d come a long way from that damned orphanage.

“Well, I guess that concludes our tour of the Little Palace for now.” The two of you walked aimlessly, trying to make conversation. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a small hut, encapsulated by the trees.

“What’s over there?” You asked. The Darkling looked in the direction you had pointed to before swiftly leading you away.

“That's where Grisha go to train one on one with a teacher.” He explained. “I have a meeting to get to, but I can walk you to Alina’s room if you’d like.” The Darkling had hoped you accepted his offer, and tried to hide his disappointment when you had told him you’d like to walk there on your own. As you left, the Darkling kept his gaze on you the whole time. And if only you had turned once, you would see the longing he had so desperately tried to keep back.

The walk back to Alina’s room had been uneventful since Grisha were off training, including Alina. As you return to her room, you traversed about. You were sure she wouldn’t mind you looking around. You and Alina had grown accustomed to sharing most things while growing up. Everything from food, toys, even to Mal. As you neared her desk, you noticed a red book that she failed to hide. The cover had a beautiful gold design and lettering on it, Istorii Sankt’ya, it displayed.

“The Lives of Saints.” You whispered as you flipped through the pages. You were confused as to why Alina had this, she was never one to believe in the Saints growing up. Surely there was no way she had converted to a believer in a matter of months. Then again, faith was a strong thing that could cause Kingdoms to rise and fall. You’d heard of the whispers, some calling her Sankta Alina. As you continued to flip through the pages, you abruptly stopped, one of the images catching your eyes.

Depicted was an image of Sankt Ilya in chains. Behind the Saint was a white serpent that splashed in the waters. At his feet was the stag you’d been tasked with tracking down. And in the background behind the Saint’s left shoulder was a bird. Your fingers traced over the antlers of the Stag, trying to recall why you’d been tasked with tracking it in the first place. You’d heard about all the myths. The Stag, the Sea Whip, and the Firebird. If the Stag had been more than a myth, more than a children’s story, then did that mean the Sea Whip and the Firebird were real too? If so, what could the Darkling possibly want with them.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled you, making you drop the book in your hands onto the desk. You quickly seated yourself on the chair in front of the mirror, trying to seem inconspicuous. Alina came in through the doors alone.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my sun summoner. How are you my friend?” You played off, which Alina squinted her eyes at.

“What do you want, y/n?” The question made you roll your eyes, letting out a huff as you got up from the chair.

“What, I can’t visit my friend while I’m staying as a guest here?” You noticed the furrow of her brows, reminding you of the conversation that you, the Darkling, and Alina had last night. “What happened to Mal? Why’d he leave?” You whispered, knowing she was still hurt from the events that took place.

“I.. He..” She began, the whimpering in her voice evident. “We got into an argument, he told me I had changed since I left. That the kefta and jewels made me different. He told me that he saw how the Darkling looked at me. One thing led to another, and then he just left.” She explained, a single tear falling from her eye.

“Did you?” You asked, “Did you like the way he looked at you?” You clarified. Your eyes never leaving hers as she stared at you.

“I thought I did. There was something that was luring me to him. I thought I wanted to be with the Darkling, and then something changed within him. Maybe I took his words the wrong way. But either way you're the only person I have left now. Mal is… gone. The Darkling probably only wants me here to get rid of the fold.” She sighed. You tugged her into her grasp, feeling her body let out small sobs.

“Mal will come back to us, he always does.” You assured while stroking her hair. “Now can we get something to eat, I’m starving.” She let out a laugh as she wiped away her tears. She walked towards a bell that had been sitting upon a tray. She rang it once, signaling a servant. Right after, a young servant had knocked on the door. Alina had promptly opened it and asked for a meal for two to be brought to her room. The servant obliged, bowing before leaving once more.

Soon after the servant had returned with a cart full of food. She served you several small plates of Zakuski, a pitcher of Kvas, along with some pickled herring on top of crackers. You grimaced at the selection placed in front of you.

“Well they’re certainly feeding you ...something.” You giggled. You gravitated towards the Zakuski as your other hand went to pour a glass of Kvas.

“The General orders we have a balanced diet, or something like that.” She replied. “Since when do you drink?”

“Ever since I got stationed at Caryeva.” You shuddered thinking about your time there. “It was my only escape. I remember that night, it was a quiet night, but it didn’t stop the Shu from attacking and capturing Grisha.” The words seemed to just slip from your mouth, it was the first time Alina had heard about what your time was like down in Caryeva. “I tried to fight back, to help the Second Army. Hell, I even suggested that they take me with them. But they spared me because I wasn’t Grisha. Of course I didn’t come out unscathed.” You said, referring to the scars she’d seen yesterday. “And ever since then, I’ve been drinking because why the fuck not.” You raise your glass in a toast before downing it in one go. You reached for the pitcher again as Alina began to talk about her experience here.

“It wasn’t easy at first. It still isn’t. Some of them still don’t believe I’m a sun summoner, that I’m doing some kind of illusion. But surely the Darkling would’ve killed me if I wasn’t what I claimed he was.”

“Can I see it?” You interrupted, while you only got a glimpse of her at the fete, you had yet to see her powers one to one. In an instant, the room is filled with a bright light. You set down the Kvas in order to shield your eyes. A smile came onto your lips, “I can’t believe it, my best friend is the sun summoner.”

“Whenever you return to the First Army, you can’t mention that you know me. Someone will use that against us and try to get us both killed.” She warned, “While we're on that topic, how long will you be staying?”

“Well, he did say I could stay for as long as I’d like; as long as you permitted it.” You said, taking another gulp of your Kvas. You could feel it begin to take its effect, a slight warmth blooming throughout your body while your cheeks were tinted with a light blush. Time seemed to pass quickly as the two of you continued to catch each other up on what the other had missed. Soon enough the moonlight had taken over, leaving you with nothing but candles and lanterns to light up the room. And Alina of course.

“Alright, I think it’s time I head back.” You announced, getting up from your chair seemed to be a difficult task made obvious by the wobble in your knees.

“Maybe you should stay here for tonight.” She tried to convince you.

“I think I’m fine, Alina. Besides who would miss out on being able to sleep across the hall from that hunk of a man.” You snickered as Alina stuck her tongue at you. “What, I know a hot man when I see one.” You admitted.

“Yeah well, good luck trying to get into his pants.” She countered, a smirk on her face. She walked you to her door before giving you a quick hug and wishing you goodnight. As soon as she closed the door, you were alone again. Even in a hall filled with people, you had never felt more alone, more out of place. At least with the First Army you were surrounded by fellow soldiers, while here you were surrounded by Grisha who didn’t know you even existed.

The journey back to your room consisted of you constantly hugging the wall for stability. You thought you hadn’t drunk that much but the effect of the Kvas had just started hitting you more harshly. You’d probably woken up a Grisha or two with your annoying giggling while you mumbled to yourself. Before you know it, someone is walking up to you, their arm supporting your waist as they rest your arm atop their shoulders.

“Oh, hello Mr. General, sir.” You tried to salute him, but failed miserably. You could see the corners of his mouth slightly turn up as he tried to fight it.

“I assume you had a good time?” He questioned as he made his way back to your room.

“Yes, it would’ve been better if you were there.” You suggested, wagging your eyebrows. Sooner than you’d like, you arrived at your door. The Darkling gently laid you onto the bed as he went to take off your shoes, leaving them at the foot of your bed. He lit the lantern that had been placed on the side table. Before he could leave, you grabbed his hand.

“Thank you for walking me back. Goodnight..” You didn’t know what came over you, but the words left your lips before you could even think to stop, “..my darkling.”

If you had stayed awake for a few more seconds, you would’ve seen the genuine smile that came to his face. His fingers stroking your hair, tucking some behind your ear.

“Goodnight, my darling.”

A/N: sorry this took so long lol. I was quite busy over the weekend. I usually post every other day. But my question is if y'all like shorter, more frequent updates, or longer updates. Obviously the longer updates wouldn’t be posted every other day. Most likely once a week though. However I enjoy writing and posting every other day because it keeps me motivated.

Mizpah tag: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost@telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff @hollandsweetie

S.a.B. forever tag: @deceivedeer

#shadow and bone #the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #alina starkov #mizpah

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stephreynaart · 3 years ago

Text

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

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This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

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It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fan fiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #melody #mabel pines #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #pop pop au #poppop!stan #dad!soos #dad!stan

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Update - Harry Styles

i’ve been deep inmy harry feels and this thought just wouldn’t leave me alone so i had to write it. im thinking about starting a taglist for harry, i think i’ll write more about him in the future. let me know if you’d be interested in the taglist!

word count: ~5.9k

masterlist

Sequel: The best present

Harry is not that into YouTube videos, has never really been, which is kind of ironic seeing the number of videos on the internet that is about him. The man himself who makes everyone talk online feels weird seeing someone talking on his screen, looking into his soul as if they were right there with him. But today he felt the sudden urge to be like his peers and get lost in random rambling videos from strangers, who felt the need to put themselves out there.

He has made a mean cup of tea for himself, made himself comfortable on his couch with his laptop balancing on his thighs and now is opening up his browser to unwind in an unusual way. As YouTube opens in front of his tired eyes, he stops when he tries to type in the keywords he is searching for. What is he looking for really? He thinks to himself trying to remember what he heard from his friends when they talked about funny or interesting videos. One thing is for sure, he is trying to avoid watching videos of himself in any content. He has had enough of him for the day, it’s time to focus on someone else, even if he doesn’t know the person.

He scrolls through several pages of many different keywords until he settles for a video where a girl talks about how her latest moving day went. Starting off Harry feels weird listening to her talk about such personal things as where her bed went in her room, how she packed all her stuff to fit them in the boxes, but soon enough this feeling settles and he starts to realize it’s kind of relaxing.

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall down a rabbit hole and by the time his tea empties out from his cup he is intensely watching a guy rant about his boss at Subway while doing a mukbang. The latter is a new discovery for Harry, he has never heard of it before, but he can see why some people find it satisfying.

The video ends, Harry checks the time and sees that it’s already after midnight and he hasn’t even realized how fast time flew by.

“Alright, just one more,” he mumbles to himself scrolling down the column of the recommended videos until his eyes stop at one particular upload at the very bottom.

July update for my Sammy, ready the title and an eye-catchingly beautiful girl is smiling from the thumbnail. He finds her breathtaking, the lack of makeup, the worn out hoodie she is wearing and the many various plants in the background makes it appear she is sitting in the middle of the forest.

Harry finds himself clicking on the video before he could even decide consciously to watch it. The screen loads and the girl appears in front of him, this time in a much larger size.

“Hi Sammy, welcome back to our channel,” she starts with an angelic little laugh as she pulls her shoulders up to her ears as if the camera is making her shy. She has no reason to be shy, Harry thinks to himself. His second thought is about Sammy, he is one lucky guy to know this angel and have her think about him. “It’s Y/N here, your one and only sister,” she adds.

Sister. The word brings Harry relief and he is surprised to feel this way, but he has no time to think anything of it because she starts talking again.

“Here is my July update, I’m sorry I’m a little late, but we got back from Oregon yesterday. Aunt Ella is sending you kisses and hugs, she missed you at the barbeque, or maybe it was just your helping hand at the grill,” she chuckles to herself, probably recalling the memory.

Harry has no idea who Aunt Ella is or where she lives in Oregon, but the way she talks about it makes him feel like he is part of the family a little.

Y/N carries on and starts talking about everything that has happened in July. Painting the shed at her parents’ home, buying a new armchair, one her cat absolutely adores and refuses to sleep anywhere else now, she went to the hairdresser to get a trim, but not too much. She tells about her plans for August, how she is thinking about going to the farmers’ market more often, and she has been playing with the idea of adopting another cat.

“I think Henry has been feeling a little lonely lately. He could use a buddy,” she tells the camera, her eyes moving to the side from where a weak but moody meow can be heard as an answer. “Yeah, I think he agrees,” she chuckles and Harry finds himself smiling at the screen.

At the end of the video she asks a few questions from Sammy, how he has been doing, if his wrist feels any better, even asks about a friend called Matthew. Harry wonders if she has ever gotten the answers to her questions and where Sammy saw this video. What is he doing that made her want to do an update on YouTube?

When the video ends Harry clicks on her profile faster than he would willingly admit to anyone and it’s like he opened the gate to paradise. Tens and maybe hundreds of videos are queuing on her page, monthly updates, birthday wishes, short story times about family gatherings, news and happenings in her life.

Harry gets lost in her tales. He watches video after video, noticing the smallest details about her, almost mentally taking notes about her updates, finding anything and everything she talks about so interesting as if he knew those people and places she mentions. He comes to realization that Sammy is her older brother who is serving somewhere in the military. Y/N is making the videos to update him about her life even if she knows most of them doesn’t get to him until weeks later, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. He also learns that Sammy sends them back lengthy emails once a month and always ends them with a joke they made up with his mates at the army. Y/N loves them even when they're not even funny, she never fails to mention that she smiled reading them.

Hours pass by and the rising Sun peeks inside the window pulling Harry back to his own reality, shocked that he just spent the whole night watching her videos and didn’t even realize how deep he has gotten in her life. Lucky for him he has nothing planned until the afternoon, so shutting his laptop he sets it aside and heads straight to bed, but lying between his silky sheets he catches himself staring out the window, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now. From what he collected she lives somewhere in Spokane and has family in Seattle and Portland, which puts her quite a few time zones behind him. He finds the thought of them going to bed at the same time despite the distance a little funny. He lies in bed for quite some time before he finally drifts off to sleep with a particular girl on his mind, who doesn’t even know he is thinking about her.

“Do you think you can fall for someone you have never met?”

Harry’s question catches Mitch a little off-guard, but he is kind of used to his random bits of thoughts. Pouring some sugar into his coffee he follows the wondering singer to a free table in the corner.

“Isn’t it what all your fans feel?” he answers with a question, earning a surprised look from Harry. He hasn’t thought about this side, now the situation is kind of ironic, he supposes.

“Y’re right,” he nods stirring his coffee around in the small cup.

“Want to let me in on your thoughts?”

Harry feels a little shy to admit how he has watched all of her videos in the past few days, 207 to be exact and now he feels an oddly deep connection to this girl he has never even seen outside of a screen. Last night he dug up her Instagam profile, and even though she is not posting as frequently as she does on her channel, it was a refreshing change to see her in different settings. Chilling at a lake, having drinks with her friends, playing with her parents’ puppy, it amazed him that she has a whole life outside that small portion she lets him see in her videos.

Hesitantly, but he tells his friend about his latest hobby, if it’s not too weird to call it that, while his friend patiently listens and nods along his words while sipping on his morning coffee.

“D’you think I’m crazy?” Harry sighs leaning back in his seat, looking at his friend and colleague for validation that he hasn’t lost his mind entirely.

“Definitely not,” he chuckles shaking his head. “It’s like falling for that girl in school you know so much about but never really met.”

“Only that I’m stalkin’ this poor girl.”

“This is not stalking. We both know it’s far from that.” Harry nods with slight relief that his situation doesn’t seem as bad as he has been feeling lately. “Have you gotten in touch with her?”

“And what am I supposed to do? Comment on her video that I think her cat’s a cutie and I watched all her videos in three days ‘cuz I think she’s beautiful and I find her voice soothing?”

Mitch lets out a soft chuckle at the oddly specific answer he just gave and finds it amusing how interested his friend has grown about someone in such a short time.

“Maybe phrase it a little different.”

“So you do think I should reach out?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Use your personal YouTube, leave her a nice comment. Maybe she’ll reply.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” he chuckles. “Just go with it and you’ll see. You are obviously interested in her, it’s better than just sit and watch her videos.”

Harry agrees. It wouldn’t hurt to try to reach out to her, possibly in a not too creepy way. Maybe just a sweet comment on one of her videos and if she replies… Well, he doesn’t know what comes after, but he’ll figure it out.

Y/N updates regularly. Usually once a week and mostly it’s Sunday when a new video gets uploaded. This next Sunday Harry finds himself checking her page occasionally through the day to see if there’s a new update, but it seems like she is missing today. Right until he is driving home and gets a notification from the app.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video! It reads and Harry’s heart beats a tad bit faster. He thinks about pulling over to see it right away, but he tells himself that would be a bit too much, so he is forced to wait until he is in the comfort of his home.

Finally sitting on his couch he opens up his laptop and clicks on the video that has the title: September update.

Y/N sits in her usual spot, Henry in her arms as she is gently stroking his head with a warm smile on her face.

“Hi Sammy! Welcome back to our channel,” she greets him with her usual words and Harry loves how she calls the channel theirs. “This is my September update, even though not much has happened,” she breathes out, eyes wandering to the window besides her and Harry wonders what she sees from her window every day. Does she live in the city? Is it an apartment or a house with a backyard? Are there any trees or does her room have a terrible view, maybe just another house next to hers?

She starts her talk about the month, which she spent mostly with working, a little shopping and meeting her friends. She tells him about her planned trip to the local shelter to see possible new kittens to add to her household and Harry feels himself growing excited about it. He even thinks about what kind of cat he can see get along well with Henry even though he has never even met him.

“Anyway, mom and dad miss you, I miss you too. I loved your joke about ducks in your latest email,” she chuckles sweetly, bringing a smile to Harry’s face as well. “Mom is excited to see you at Christmas, our cousins will come to Portland as well. Maya can’t wait to play Jenga with you, she said she’s been practicing.”

The video soon ends as Y/N tells Sammy how much she loves him and eventually turns the camera off.

He straight away moves the cursor to the beginning of the video and as she starts talking again he scrolls down to the comment section that’s entirely empty. There are only two views on her video, usually a hundred is the max, but she doesn’t seem to care about the views, it’s more about the message.

He clicks to type a comment, but his hands stop above the keyboard as he tries to think of what to write. Mitch was right about taking a chance at reaching out, but what is he supposed to write exactly? Everything that comes to his mind sounds so creepy and scary, and he knows it’s weird that he formed such a deep connection to an unknown girl online. At last he starts typing.

“Hi Y/N! I’ve stumbled across your videos the other day. Love how you keep your brother updated, it’s such a nice gesture. I hope life treats you and Sammy well, you truly deserve it. Good luck with finding a buddy for Henry! Love, an admirer of yours, H.”

He reads it back several times, deleting then retyping it again until he decides to just go with it. A rush of adrenaline washes over his body when he sends the comment and it’s officially out there. Secretly he wishes she would reply right away, but moments pass by, then moments turn into minutes and nothing happens. His comment stands there alone and he has to realize that maybe she will never even reply or even see it.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he shuts the laptop down and goes on to do his things, but he finds his thoughts wander over to her from time to time.

He has a busy day ahead of him the next day, quite a few meetings and a fitting. He checks back for a reply in the morning, but it slips his mind the moment he leaves from home and his phone rings right away. Throughout the day he basically barely has time to check his emails, his other notifications are just sitting patiently on the bar, waiting for him to acknowledge them. It’s way past five in the afternoon when he finally have some time for himself after his fitting. He is sitting in his car, people walk past him without even realizing who is sitting behind the tinted windows. Scrolling down he gets rid of everything that doesn’t seem urgent until his eyes stop at one particular notification.

“Y/N replied to your comment,” he reads it out loud, just to make it real, as if he is seeing it wrong and saying it with his own mouth brings it to life. He quickly taps on it and the familiar video opens up and while Y/N starts talking again the screen jumps down to the comments where, in fact, there is a reply from her.

“Dear H! Thank you for your heartfelt comment! I always forget it’s not just my family who sees these videos, but I’m happy you found them interesting enough to watch a few of them.”

“A few?” Harry huffs to himself feeling a little ridiculous he has watched all of them.

“I hope I didn’t bore you too much. Thank you for the well wishes for me, my brother and Henry too. He is sending his love to you. Y/N xx”

The comment was posted three hours ago. The thought that she has acknowledged his existence with not only reading but also replying to his comment brings him extreme joy. He reads her words over and over again, looking for any clue that would give away that she found his comment weird, but it seems like she was more surprised and happy that someone else saw her video besides her brother. Harry starts to type his reply without hesitation.

“Bore me? You saved me from watching another “what’s in my bag” video the other day. It was a pleasant change. I love your plants, by the way. Your room always gives off the most relaxed vibes. It reminded me I should have more of them in my home. H”

Harry smiles to himself posting his comment, the fear of appearing like a stalker long gone from him, the interaction is making his inside blossom from joy. For his biggest surprise a reply appears just a few minutes away and Harry reads Y/N’s new lines with deep hunger.

“Those videos suck the life out of me every time! I might be having a problem with buying too many plants, but I can’t help myself. They truly bring peace to me just by looking at them. I’m glad you are planning on buying some more, you won’t regret it!”

Harry is dying to reply, but he doesn’t want to look too eager and needy, so he opts for just liking her comment to let her know he read it and agrees. He locks his phone and puts it aside with the widest smile on his face as he starts his car and leaves his parking spot.

Two weeks pass by. In those two weeks Y/N uploads two more videos, one about her time with her grandparents, for a change it was filmed at their home and they even said hello in it. Harry feels wholesome seeing her with her granny and grandpa, it’s clear she cares a lot about them. The other video is just a short one where she has met some of Sammy’s old high school friends and she had a check in from them, sending a sweet message to him through the video. Harry doesn’t doubt how much these little things mean to Sammy, even if he doesn’t get to see them right away. Seeing Y/N alone boosts his mood every time she uploads a new video, he can only imagine how they make Sammy feel.

He leaves comments on her videos without a second thought and she replies to all of them, a lot of the time almost immediately. These are the highlights of his days without exception. Knowing that she has anything to do with him just fascinates him and he is starting to realize what his fans feel towards him on a different level. Whenever he sees the notification that she has replied to what he wrote or that she uploaded a new video he flies right to her page to check it, no matter what he is doing. Some of their comment threads turn out pretty lengthy, almost like a chat conversation and it has Harry wonder how they could maybe move it to somewhere else from the comment section.

He wants to ask for her number, but figures it wouldn’t be the best idea. Regardless of how much he enjoys their short little conversations, the situation is still weird and complicated and he doesn’t want to forget that.

But he is pleasantly surprised when she brings it up herself, to move the conversation to somewhere else.

“Would love to discuss that more with you. Up for exchanging IG names?” her question reads and he blinks a few before he fully comprehends that she wants to talk to him more in private. However there’s no way he can send her his real Instagram profile and making a fake one would be way too suspicious. Opening up the private messages he sends her a short, but informative message.

“I don’t use Instagram, but feel free to text me,” and then his phone number.

He sits at the dinner table anxiously, waiting for his phone to light up from a new text, and just a few minutes later it finally comes.

“Hi! It’s Y/N,” he reads from the notification and he saves the number right away.

“Hello! Save me as Harry. I haven’t even told you my name yet, how rude of me!” he replies chuckling to himself.

“Will let it slip this time. Harry. What a nice name!”

“Is it what you thought about from the H?”

“It was one of my theories. The other one was Hayes, but Harry fits you better.”

“You haven’t even seen me, how do you know what name fits me?”

“I don’t know. You had a vibe. There are many great Harries in the world, you seemed to fit between them!”

Harry wonders if she is thinking about him without even knowing that… it is him. He wants to ask her, but decides not to. Instead, he is enjoying that he can now reach her immediately and not through a comment section. He never thought this would actually happen.

The texts never stop. They have so much to talk about! Their entire life to share, millions of thoughts and so much to discuss! Harry is not proud of the time he has spent with his eyes glued to his phone, but he wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to her for anything. Their friends are not blind to the change in him, but Mitch is the only one with a guess about why he has gotten so addicted to his phone.

“Is it the girl from the videos?” he asks Harry one time when they are at the studio, having lunch break. Different food boxes are scattered around them, on the table and the couch. Harry’s phone just light up from a text and he immediately dropped his lunch to type a response.

He glances up at his friend with a shy smile nodding his head. He hasn’t talked about his newly funded friendship with Y/N yet, it feels like as if he tells it to anyone it might evaporate into just a dream.

“So you reached out, huh?”

“I did,” he nods returning to his food once his message is sent. “She’s great.”

“Does she know who she is talking to?” Harry’s lack of answer tells enough about the truth to Mitch. “You can’t hide forever, especially if you are planning on meeting her.”

“I know,” he answers shortly. “But I just don’t know how I could even bring it up to her without sounding like a mad man.”

“She’ll need proof.”

“M’not ready to show m’self to her. What if it changes everything?”

“Then it wasn’t worth it,” he simply tells him.

Deep down Harry knows it’s the truth, but he is not ready to be robbed from the joy she is bringing him. He has never felt such a deep connection to anyone before and they haven’t even met. It’s just a version of her he is seeing on the screen, not her real self. But it feels real to him and he wants to keep this reality to himself for just a little longer.

“I wish I could hear your voice, Harry. You are one big mystery to me, you know that?”

He forgets to breathe for a moment as he reads her message, lying in bed one evening, getting ready to sleep, but he wanted to check in with her before ending the day.

“You know so much about me already,” he types back.

“Not enough, I feel like. Sometimes I’m afraid Nev and Max are about to show up at my door and tell me that I’ve been catfished.”

He chuckles at her words, though he completely understands her fear.

“What do you want from me then?”

“Send me a voice message so I know you are real. That would put my suspicion to sleep. For a while…”

Harry hesitates for a long time until he decides just one voice message couldn’t hurt. Just a short one where his voice is not that recognizable so his cover won’t be over immediately.

“Good night, Y/N,” he tells into his phone and then send the recording to her.

He watches the status change from delivered to read and a couple of minutes go by before she finally responds.

“Thank you. Now I know that you are real. I hope I’ll hear your voice in real life one day.”

“I hope that too.”

His time spent undercover is coming to an end and he knows it’ll happen soon. It’s been weeks since they started chatting, almost an entire month and she’s been hinting her will to see his face and though he has been putting it off, he knows it has to happen.

Fate is playing under his hands, because he is traveling to Seattle for a few days, exactly when Y/N is traveling there to visit her parents.

“I hope you know you can’t leave without meeting finally,” she wrote when she found out they are going to be in the same city.

“It never even crossed my mind!” he wrote back chuckling to himself, however it brought him extreme anxiety that he is now going to be forced to come clean about who he really is.

He spends his whole flight to Seattle making up possible outcomes for their first official meeting. Not all of them end well and it’s just fueling his fear that he might lose her for not telling her the entire truth.

But she is a smart girl, she’ll see your reasoning, he tells himself, however he can’t entirely convince himself that it will be the case.

In hopes of squeezing in more than just one meeting into the weekend they agreed to meet almost first thing after he lands. So after checking into his hotel he heads into the city to finally meet her in real life in a local café she suggested for the occasion. Arriving to the place he is running a little late and she already texted him she’ll be waiting for him inside. Harry is wearing a beanie with shades to try to keep up his cover and it seems to be working, no one has approached him yet.

Stepping inside the cozy looking place his eyes roam around and immediately finds her sitting in the corner, pouring sugar into her coffee, not even paying attention to the door at the moment, but truth is she’s been intensely staring at it in the past ten minutes she has been there.

Harry takes a deep breath and nods to himself before heading in her way, hands shaking nervously as he stops at her table.

She glances up at him with innocent eyes, a smile spreads across her face as she sees that her mysterious Harry has arrived and she doesn’t recognize her until he finally takes his sunglasses off.

Harry watches her face turn from happiness to surprise then utter shock as she realizes who is standing in front of him.

“You are… my Harry?” she asks, confusion laced through her voice and Harry can’t ignore how she called him her Harry. He likes the ring of it.

“M’orry if it’s a little too much f’you, I really didn’t know how to tell ya.”

Keeping his eyes on her he pulls out the other chair at the table and takes a seat across her while she is still staring at him with a shocked and puzzled expression sitting on her face. Then she looks around in suspicion as he wiggles his coat off his arms, before her eyes settle on him once again.

“It’s not an episode of Catfish, right?” she asks making him chuckle.

“It is not, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird, but this was literally the last thing I was expecting,” she admits leaning back in her seat. “I believed things like this only happen in movies.”

“Not just there,” he smiles, slowly relieving that she is still sitting there and hasn’t ran out. It’s going way better than he expected.

She needs a little time to put the whole picture together and befriend the thought that she indeed just developed a friendship with Harry Styles through her videos for her brother. The absurdity is still shocking to her, but the more time passes by with him still sitting there, the more she finds peace with it.

Once the shock and surprise is gone they slowly realize they are seeing each other in real life finally. Harry feels overwhelmed, she is even more breathtaking than in her videos and through texts. He is mesmerized by her whole being and could listen to her talk in person forever, he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Time stops existing as they sit at the little café, talking for hours even though that’s all they’ve been doing through texts, but they just can’t get enough of hearing each other, seeing each other’s reaction and be able to see each other and not stare at a screen while talking.

Unfortunately, time never stopped just for the two of them and soon she realizes she needs to head back home. Harry doesn’t want to let go of her just yet so he offers to give her a ride, thanking himself for getting a rental for himself upon arriving. Y/N accepts the offer so the two of them head back to her parents’ home, soaking up the last minutes of their precious time spent together.

“Thank you for today, I really loved meeting you finally,” she smiles at him once they are parked on the driveway.

“I hope I didn’t shock you too much,” he chuckles scratching his chin.

“Just a little,” she admits before they both get out of the car and walking around it she stops in front of him, after a moment of hesitation she opts for a hug that he returns more than happily.

It feels as if her frame was perfectly sculpted to fit in his embrace and Harry can’t imagine how he could go this long without even seeing her in person. He knows it’s gonna be utter misery to be away from her after they leave the city.

“Will I see you before you take off?” she asks letting go of him. Harry looks down at her, the urge to kiss her growing bigger with each passing moment, but he is not sure if it would be appropriate to give it a try on their first time meeting.

“I’m free tomorrow for a lunch,” he tells her and she nods smiling.

“Then I’m free too,” she chuckles.

There’s an awkward moment where they are not sure what else should be done or said and the more they wait the weirder it’s getting so Harry clears his throat as he takes a step back, sad that he has to leave without feeling her lips on his, but he is not trying to be too greedy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles walking back to his car. Y/N waves after him and sitting back to behind the wheel he takes a moment to himself to collect himself after everything that has happened today. His hands curl around the wheel and he is about to start the car when someone knocks on the window. Y/N is smiling at him through the glass and he rolls it down curiously.

“I just…” she starts hesitantly, her eyes wander down to his lips and Harry knows what’s about to happen, but it still catches him by surprise.

Y/N leans in through the window and presses her lips to Harry’s, capturing them in a sweet, long awaited first kiss they both have been dreaming of for quite a while. Harry smiles into the kiss, bringing his right hand up to cup her cheeks as they stretch the moment for as long as possible. Whenever one pulls back the other brings them back for just one more kiss that turns into two more, then three… It takes a long time for them to finally let go of each other.

“See you later, H,” she smiles backing out of the car and running up to the front door, smiling wildly as she waves in his way one last time before disappearing in the house.

Lying in bed that evening Harry is scrolling through his Instagram feed when he finally realizes he can now follow her without a worry. He is quick to find her profile again and hit that follow button. He is happy to see she was already following him.

He is just about to put his phone aside and go to bed after such a busy but exciting day when a notification pops up on the screen.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video!

He taps on it quickly and her smiling face greets him from his phone’s screen.

“Hi Sammy! It’s me again. Welcome back to our channel,” she starts with a shy smile. The setting is new this time, he supposes it’s her parents’ home this time. “This is going to be a short video, but I wanted to tell you about something. Or someone.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat when he thinks about where it’s heading. He listens to her voice holding his breath.

“I met someone today. We’ve been talking for a while, but I could finally hug him today. His name is Harry, and he is a wonderful man. I think you two would get along well,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I love spending time with him and I hope he feels the same way. Actually…” Her eyes move up straight to the camera, something she doesn’t do often. She usually stares out the window or plays with Henry while talking. “I think he is watching it right now. Hi Harry!”

“Hello, Beautiful,” he greets her back with a smile as if she could hear him.

“I wanted to tell you how amazing you are making me feel. I hope I didn’t disappoint. I was so nervous to meet you today, I hope I lived up to what you imagined me to be.”

“You were so much better than that,” he answers again.

“Anyway… I hope you feel the same way. You are the first guy I’m talking about in an update, so appreciate it!” she tells him and he chuckles lightly. “I’ll see you soon, H. But until then… Know that I’m thinking about you.”

“M’thinking about you too, Angel.”

“Sammy, I miss you as always. I hope everything is well, can’t wait for your next email. I love you,” she smiles before the video ends.

Harry heads straight to the comments. This time he doesn’t leave a lengthy one, just a short line, but it has everything he wanted to tell her.

“I feel the same way.” The comment reads. Just a few seconds later comes the notification and he smiles sweetly at his phone.

Y/N liked the comment.

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f1united · 4 years ago

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Zoo - DR3 Imagine

Daniel Ricciardo Imagine

Summary: You and Daniel are having a family day and talk about the future :)

Word Count: 2.9k

Please let me know if you have any f1 requests, I am more than happy to write anything for you!

As much as you loved watching Daniel race, you were grateful that you were able to spend some time with him now the season had ended. Although you were lucky enough to attend many races, your work schedule wouldn’t always allow it and you also wanted to still have time on the weekends to catch up with your friends and family.

You’d decided to spend this Christmas in Australia, it was your first away from home, but you were loving the warm weather and seeing a bit more of Daniel’s family. You had met them plenty of times now and were so thankful for how well you got on with them. It was late last night that Daniel had climbed into bed with you, he had been out seeing some of his old friends, leaving you to have the house to yourself that evening.

You loved spending time with Daniel, but it was nice to have some alone time after the busy race weekend. You had a nice long bath and a mini pamper session before painting your nails in front of the tv. You were so tired that you can barely remember him coming home, only noticing when the bed dipped beside you as he pulled you close to his chest.

Your early night may have been the reason you woke up so early the next morning. You weren’t really a morning person but had got a bit better at it over the years. Daniel’s family were coming over for breakfast and then the plan was to go to the local zoo. His nephew loved animals and when you had suggested the idea everyone couldn’t see why not, plus you hadn’t been to a zoo outside the UK and wanted to see if it was any different.

You rolled out of bed and into the shower. Your shoulders relaxed as the warm water hit your skin. It wasn’t as nice as the heat from Daniel’s body, but then you didn’t think anything could ever beat that. You stepped from the shower onto the fluffy bathmat, quickly wrapping yourself in a towel to dry yourself off. You walked into the dressing room opposite the bedroom and slipped on a nice summer dress. You rummaged through the drawers to find some nude underwear that would be discreet under the light colour of the dress but were unsuccessful, realising they must be in the utility room drying with the clothes you had washed yesterday. You placed your towel in the wash basket and made your way downstairs.

The view from Daniel’s kitchen was beautiful, the white rectangular island stretched for metres and looked across to the dining table and lounge area where you’d often have company. The folding glass doors separated you from a huge garden, some of his nephew’s toys were littered around the patio from when he’d last visited and the paving stones drew your eyes towards the pool.

You were lucky to have met Daniel, it had always been you dream to work in Formula 1 and you were beyond grateful to have had the chance to join McLaren in your early 20’s. Of course you knew who Daniel was, and he grew to know who you were. Working mainly at the office in the UK, you didn’t often see him to begin with. You weren’t too annoyed about it, as you fancied the pants off him and found it hard not to blush anytime he even looked in your direction. Your team was more in the background, didn’t attend races and just focused on the work at hand so when a few of your team members began getting invites you were slightly confused. You’d spoken to Zac Brown about it, he had interviewed you for your role and you had got on very well with him ever since. He had just said that your hard work had been noticed and smiled as you left his office.

Your team was overjoyed with the invites to races, it was something all of you had always spoken about. You were more of a family unit, you saw each other for hours on end every day and had grown so close that summer barbeques and birthday get togethers happened regularly, they made great drinking partners.

Whenever you’d see Daniel at a race, you’d wish him good luck as everyone else around him would too. However, you didn’t know he’d noticed how your eyes lingered on his body slightly longer whenever he was in his race suit or how you intensely stared at his hands when he ruffled his hair after he took his helmet off. It wasn’t really new to him, someone was always watching, but something about it being your eyes had got his attention. It made him slightly nervous if he was honest, but the thought of you watching meant he wanted to go out there and do the best he could in the hope that if he saw you after the race you might congratulate him with a smile on your face, and even the thought of that gave him butterflies.

Even though you were unaware of this, there was never a time he’d finish a race and you wouldn’t congratulate him. You’d grown up watching him race and just thought he was brilliant. A mixture of his personality and nonstop smile along with his determination meant that even in a race where Lewis Hamilton might even be about to win a championship, you would still be watching his car. Whether it was in 2nd or 16th, that’s where your eyes would be. Some of his crew has started to pick up on it, although the people you worked closely with sometimes joked about your little crush on him they never mentioned it outside of the group. As much as it was all fun and games, there was a mutual understanding that this was a professional environment and things like that weren’t to be joked about around management, and especially the drivers. It wasn’t any comments they’d noticed, they would tell Daniel after races how you’d been shouting at the screens just as much as they had, often louder. How you’d cheer when he overtook someone, even if it only meant it was for a single point.

Sometimes he’d question why they told him these things, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice and they all rolled their eyes at him. They’d noticed how he’d look for you after a race, craving the smallest conversation from you and how he would instantly start paying more attention if he heard your name mentioned. They would poke fun at him and wind him up where they could but at the end of the day he understood he was there to race, and that’s what he did.

You were emptying the dishwasher when his arms snaked around your waist and kissed your shoulder before resting his head on it and whispering a small morning into your ear.

“I’ve been calling down for you, what has you in a little world of your own?” he questioned as you both swayed from side to side lightly.

“Nothing” you smiled as you placed the bowl you’d picked up on the side and turned around to face him.

“You sure about that?” he smirked as your eyes found his. “That smile suggests otherwise” It was true, you were grinning from ear to ear.

“Just thinking about when I first started coming to the paddock, and now here I am in the kitchen of the best-looking driver in Formula 1” he let out a small laugh as you spoke. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a small peck on the lips.

“What can I say? I’m great with the ladies” you playfully smacked him on the arm and frowned before laughing and turning your back to him to continue unloading the dishes. He moved his hands down from your waist to your arse as you bent over to grab something off the lower shelf. Then to your surprise he lifted the bottom part of your dress up.

“Daniel!” you laughed as you shot up and turned around again.

“You seem to have forgotten to put on underwear” he winked at you

“That isn’t my attempt to seduce you” you giggled as he started kissing your face. “It’s in the utility room”

“Lame excuse” he continued kissing you, starting to trail down your neck. Just before he could do anything else, the doorbell rang. He looked at you and groaned as you let out a laugh.

“I’ll go and put some underwear on while you let them in” you unwrapped his arms from around you and left a kiss on the corner of his lips as you made your way across the kitchen and he headed towards the door.

“Or don’t” he responded.

“I’m not really planning on flashing anyone accidently today” you replied. You heard him laugh as he opened the door and greeted his family. His parents and sister’s family made their way into the kitchen as you came out the utility welcoming them all with a hug. It had been a few months since you’d last seen them as you hadn’t been able to make it to all races.

“It’s so lovely to see you” his mum spoke as everyone began sitting down on the sofas. You were nervous when you first met his family. The age difference between Daniel and you wasn’t huge, but it had certainly gained some media attention. You didn’t want his family to think you were with him for his money and fame or even think that you were too immature to be with him. You had never brought it up with him before you’d met his parents, but he could sense you were nervous and knew why. He knew there wasn’t anything for you to worry about but didn’t say anything as he didn’t want it to play on your mind. He was right though, they loved seeing the two of you happy together and could immediately see how genuine your feelings for one another were.

“I’ve missed you guys; I’ve been looking forward to today for ages” you smiled. It was true, you loved spending time with his family. You had a relatively small family but that doesn’t mean it drama free, there was always something going on and here you felt slightly more relaxed. Daniel loved that, for years he couldn’t imagine bringing someone into his family in case they didn’t get along but when he saw how well you fitted in he couldn’t help but watch and smile.

“Y/N” his nephew shouted as he ran through the kitchen towards you. He held him arms out for you to pick him up and you placed him on your hip.

“How are you little man?” you asked

“I’m okay, look!” he said pointing down to a scrape on his knee.

“Oh no, how’d you do that?” you asked

“I fell over out there on the drive” he explained.

“Shall we put some cream on it?” you asked, “we don’t want it to get dirty do we?” he nodded his head as you spoke and carried him over to the medicine cabin and sat him on the worktop before grabbing some antiseptic cream out and rubbing it into his knee.

“Look Uncle Daniel!” he shouted across the kitchen to get his attention as he showed him his knee that now had a plaster on.

“Wow, Auntie Y/N has fixed you!” he gasped making the little boy giggle as you picked him up and put him down on the floor so he could explore wherever he wanted.

“Auntie Y/N?” you questioned Daniel as you began to get food out of the fridge for breakfast. You spoke quietly, you had never been called that before and didn’t want his family thinking that you were the one who wanted to be called that.

“What’s wrong with that?” he replied as he grabbed the eggs and bread from the cupboard next to you.

“Just haven’t been called that before, I don’t want him to think he has to call me that”

“He always calls you Auntie Y/N” Daniel said casually which caused you to freeze a bit. You had been dating for about 3 years now but hadn’t really considered that his nephew had grown up with you around and didn’t know any different. You continued to place the bacon next to the stove and grabbed a frying pan out from the drawer below.

After breakfast was over, you all headed to the zoo and spent the day wondering around visiting all of the animals. Seeing Daniel with his nephew made you smile, they had so much fun together. You also secretly loved when he went into dad mode like when he was making sure that he’d had enough to eat or drink and making sure he had enough sun cream on and wasn’t too hot. It made you excited for the future, not that you had spoke about it in much depth. You both wanted kids but hadn’t discussed when, you just figured it would happen when it felt right.

You all headed back to the house after the zoo, it was getting quite late, so you’d all ordered a takeaway. Daniel’s parents left not long after while the rest of you had some drinks, agreeing that they would all spend the night in the spare room so his nephew could stick to his routine. You didn’t drink much, only a gin with dinner. You wanted Daniel’s sister and her husband to have the chance to get a little bit drunk so agreed to stay sober in case something happened to the toddler and someone needed to be able to drive.

He was currently asleep leaning against your chest while you were all sat on the sofa’s chatting.

“I’ll put him to bed” Daniel’s sister went to get up from the sofa, but the sudden movement sent her head spinning slightly and caused her to sit back down. Everyone let out a little laugh as you volunteered yourself to carry him to the room and make sure he was settled for the night. As you carried him upstairs he stirred a little. Placing him in the bed he started muttering about the animals from today, you spoke back quietly, careful not to wake him even further as you stroked his head lightly and he drifted back to sleep. As you got up to leave, you jumped at Daniel standing in the doorway.

After shutting the door slightly so the noise from downstairs wouldn’t disturb him, Daniel spoke up. “I thought I’d see what was taking so long” he was slightly drunk, his eyes a bit drowsy compared to their normal alertness.

“I’ve been gone for about 2 minutes lover” you replied as he embraced you in a hug.

“I know I just like seeing you with him” now he was just being soppy. You laughed and took his hands into yours as you stepped back.

“I like seeing you with him too” you winked.

“Maybe,” he whispered as he hugged you again, “we should give him a cousin” he lifted you up as he spoke, and you wrapped you legs around his waist. He started walking towards the stairs but then walked past you towards the bedroom.

“Daniel Ricciardo we have visitors’ downstairs” You laughed as he carried you into the room and placed you on the side of the bed.

“They won’t hear if we’re quiet” he suggested as he ran his hand up your thigh.

“No but they’ll definitely know what we’re up to” you ran you fingers through his hair as he leaned over you before pulling him into a kiss. You continued for a minute or two until you could feel him starting to get hard against you. “We can continue this when everyone’s gone to bed” you voice was almost a whisper, you wanting this as much as him but not wanting to be rude to the couple sat downstairs, although if you’d have been drinking too you were sure it would be a completely different scenario.

It wasn’t until late the next morning after waving goodbye to his sister, brother in law and nephew that Daniel had mentioned your conversation from the night before. You both headed back upstairs to the bedroom, you were meeting some friends for lunch and both needed to get ready.

“I wasn’t kidding yesterday” You were doing your makeup in the ensuite mirror as he dried himself off from the shower. You were concentrating more on his body in the reflection than where you were spraying your setting spray. “I want to have kids with you”

With Daniel being older, it played on his mind that by the time you wanted kids, he’d be too old. He hadn’t wanted kids when he was your age and expected you to feel the same but he also didn’t want to be an old dad, he wanted to be involved with as much as he could for as long as he could. Even you thought you’d be a bit lost for words when having kids were mentioned. When you were younger you had wanted to have a secure career path and always imagined having kids in your late twenties, maybe even early thirties. However, things were different now. You loved your job and you had the man of your dreams alongside you.

“Let’s have a baby then”

#daniel ricciardo #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 masterlist #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lando norris #mclaren #george russell #imagine #one shot #formula 1

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annieharkness · 3 years ago

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Glimpses: Part 12 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: Will you be able to go with Kathryn?

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This is a little shorter, I know, but I hope all of you still enjoy it. Look at this little tag list we have going on now!! - I might actually get a little emotional that so many of you are still reading this little story. With all that being said, here we gooooo. xx

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl

Don't forget to check out the new official Playlist! :)

_____________________________________________________________________________

“You can’t take her.” Jennifer is walking up and down in Kathryn’s office. She arrived here right after you had left, ready to plan to thrip to New York, as well as the upcoming project. Kathryn shifts her focus from her hand to her manager and huffs.

“NO. Kathryn, no. You know it yourself. First of all, she is a distraction. Yes, you like her, I KNOW, but this is not you. This is not how you do your job.” Jennifer looks at her boss with pleading eyes.

Running her fingers through her long mane, Kathryn bites the insides of her cheek. “you’re right, I know you are, but at the same time…”

“NO BUTS, Kathryn.” Jennifer interrupts her, prompting Kathryn to shoot her a short glare.

“…but at the same time I haven’t been this happy in years.” Thinking back at the time you spent with her, a small smile creeps onto her face.

Jennifer gets it. She understands Kathryn’s point, but as her manager it’s her job to secure the actress’ job, which is why she needs to make sure there are as few distractions from work as possible included in the trip.

Placing a hand on her arm, Jennifer looks at Kathryn with warm eyes. “Sweetie, I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either, because I know how good the time with her is for your heart. But we can’t have this. Not now. Not during your shining moment. Yeah?”

Slowly but surely, Kathryn starts to nod as she can feel the sadness rise in her chest.

Meanwhile, you and Alex are having the same conversation back in your room. She tries to talk sense into you and talks animatedly to her phone, as you try to find a way to accompany Kathryn.

“Honey, you simply can’t. There is no way. It’s during the exam phase. You can’t be abroad for that.” She shakes her head.

Considering your options, you try to talk against her. “I could ask for online exams.”

“… there is a multiple hour time difference - you can’t be serious, Y/N.”

“I could postpone exams?” You raise an eyebrow.

Alex shakes her head harder now. “NO GIRL. No. Kathryn wouldn’t want you screwing up your education for this. You have leftover classes, exams to write and then you’ll have to write term papers you have to prepare for,” you take a visible breath. “Yes love, I am aware you could write those on set but we all know you wouldn’t. It’s better for you to stay.”

You want to argue. You really do. But there are a few things holding you back. First of all, you know Alex makes a valid point. Second of all, you don’t even know where you are standing with Kathryn. What are you to her? What is happening with her? The lines are so blurry that it’s hard for you to see, so you think it might be better not to assume and make a fuss about all of it.

Lastly, you don’t even know if she wants to have you by her side in the first place, because, again, it’s not like she is your girlfriend or anything. Not that you wouldn’t want her to be.

So, just like Kathryn does with Jennifer, you agree to what Alex says and make your decision to stay, even though it hurts your heart just as much as it hurts hers.

Given the fact, that she has to leave for New York right the next morning, it’s not possible for you to see her again. You think back at the soft kiss she planted on your lips as you left her house under yesterday’s hot afternoon sun. You feel so good with her and you can’t stop to think back at how beautiful her eyes look up close - even more beautiful than on all her pictures that Alex and you have been sending back and forth whenever Kathryn did a new promo shoot.

It’s late afternoon as you’re lying on your bed and stare at the ceiling, a random Marvel movie running in the background. Alex has been trying to hype you up all day, but, given the fact that Kathryn is gone for an unforeseen time, you still feel sad.

You turn off the movie because you can’t seem to concentrate and connect your phone to the speakers to play some music. You remember that you can sit on your windowsill that’s facing the backyard and and decide to sit down and watch the birds in the tree outside your window as you open Spotify and it starts playing the last song you stopped on. “She” by dodie fills the room and you don’t think you related to a song like that ever before.

It really describes the feelings of uncertainty that you have right now. It doesn’t help that you never really took the chance to talk to her about all of not. Not properly, at least. This mistake leaves you with this endless feeling of emptiness that seems like it’s eating you up from the inside as you don’t even know if she feels the same in any way.

Your phone chimes and you nearly fall off the windowsill as you shoot up to reach for it. It’s the group chat you thought had died a while ago that you joined right after Kathryn appeared on Wandavision.

Apparently, news of Kathryn’s casting already sank through and everyone is screaming about it. Unwilling to share any knowledge, and also way too careful with it, you want to put your phone away as it chimes again and your eyes widen.

You immediately click the message.

“New York is wild! Haven’t had time to get to you yet. Seems like everyone and their mom wants to speak to me today. Just left my second meeting and now I have to leave for a work dinner in a few. How’s the day going back home? xxx K.”

A bright smile creeps onto your face as you realize she uses the “everyone and their mom” phrase that you use so much whenever you describe difficult situations to her. You decide not to reply immediately - you don’t want her to assume you are sitting on your phone just waiting for her.

Instead you opt to create some art and grab your supplies. There is an empty canvas behind your bed and you feel like there are enough feelings trapped in you to create something cool on it.

Your mom works long on Mondays, so you haven't realized just how much time has passed as you perform the last of the night and call it a day. Your picture is colorful. Very much so. The acrylic paint hasn’t even dried yet, but there are already tons of ideas floating around in your head about what to do with the artwork from here on out. Maybe you should get some fine liners and work out the edges, maybe do some highlighting as well, you don't know yet.

Just as you want to put the brush aside your phone lights up on your bed. You can't pick it up just now because the slowly drying paint sticks to your fingers and you anxiously reach for the closest paper towel to white it off as best as you can. Not expecting anything, you finally reach for your phone and pick up the call before reading the name - an automatic reaction to late night calls from Alex.

You are greeted by a very familiar, yet unexpected, face. Kathryn smiles into the camera and adjusts the lights around her. She is clearly in her pjs, with no make up on, her hair open and messy, falling off her shoulder. You can see she is wearing a loose gray shirt and your whole body starts tingling as you realize it's the shirt she gave you to sleep in last weekend. Immediately, your brain runs wild and you try to figure out if she packed this exact shirt on purpose or just grabbed the one that was available easiest as she was probably in a rush.

Luckily, Kathryn interrupts your train of thought. “Hey! Hiya hon! I just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re alright because you haven’t replied to my message.”

For the first time you look at the clock. It’s 8.30pm and you haven’t had dinner yet.

“Shit.”, you mutter and your hand flies to cover your mouth immediately.

Kathryn, who hasn’t heard your muttering, looks confused. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”

You smile thankfully. “Yes! Yes it is. I guess I was just wrapped up in my art and you pulled me out of it and I always need a minute to adjust. I’m fine. It’s late though and I haven’t eaten yet. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Good. Do you want me to order you pizza or something. Because I totally would.” She reaches for a notepad.

“Alright Mom…” she looks at you for a moment and you can’t tell if she is shocked or amused or anything really because she stopped reacting completely and just stares at you. Right when you are about to start panicking about the situation she bursts into laughter.

“I mean I’M SORRY. How dare I offer pizza.” She continues laughing. You love this. This is easy and light and you realize once again just how much you enjoy her company. Gosh, you miss her already.

You remember her message as you make your way downstairs. “How was dinner, Kathryn? And the rest of your day? Tell me about it!”

For the next 10 minutes, as you prepare your own dinner, she tells you about her day and the plans for the next few weeks. The two of you laugh and make jokes and for a moment it seems like both of you have forgotten that you won’t see each other for a while. After she finishes talking, you fall into a comfortable silence and just look and smile at each other for a moment.

“I like you, you know?” She is the one to interrupt the silence. “Spending time with you makes me really happy and I’m sad you can’t come to Europe with me. I need you to know. I wish I could’ve taken you with me.”

Your heart melts and your hands start to shake as you realize Kathryn might indeed feel the same way. You put the knife, that’s in your hand from making dinner, aside. You’re unable to answer right away and fight for the right words, so she continues on with her short monologue.

“I just wanted to call tonight to check in and see how you are doing since I had to kick you out so abruptly last night and maybe we can do this from time to time, check in on each other? I would love that.”

Check in on each other? Why is she so vague all the time? For a moment you thought she’d confess her feelings for you but here you are again, uncertain of what she really thinks about you. You smile, though, and try to keep it calm because you don’t want her to get annoyed with you already.

You realize it’s getting close to 9pm, which means it should be about midnight at her place. Taking responsibility, you send her off to sleep and have a short dinner followed by some reading yourself.

Before Kathryn hangs up, she promises you to call again before leaving for Europe completely. She also wants to know if you want a souvenir from NYC (why is she so cute?) and tells you to call her anytime you need something or someone. With that, she shoots you the brightest smile and leaves you to it.

The ecstatic feeling you felt when you talked to her fades quickly as you come down from the call. Suddenly, your home feels all quiet and lonely and the silence is killing you. You walk back up to your room to sit on your bed and stare out of your window to enjoy the night sky. The tree right next to your room is slowly moving in the wind as its branches scratch the glasses surface.

You decide to call it a day as the week ahead is full of work and school and the weekend was eventful, so you change into comfy clothes and get ready for bed immediately. You fall onto your bed a few minutes later just as your phone lights up again.

"Good night, Sweetheart. It was great seeing your face. xxx K."

#kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #Kathryn Hahn x You #Kathryn Hahn fan fiction #Kathryn Hahn Fanfiction #groupie #groupie au

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serendipityjxmn · 4 years ago

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Mr. President

Chapter 15

TW: None

Words Count: 1.3k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 16

It’s awkward with him. Very awkward ever since the little drama in the kitchen and that is two days ago. You sigh, because you know you can’t just let the atmosphere tense and leave it as it is. It’s your fault anyway for bringing Clara Kim into the conversation. You know you have no right to pry into his personal matters. You’re only his wife on papers.

You caring for him doesn’t give you the right as well, it’s all on your part so you just smile bitterly, thinking that you’ve brought this upon yourself.

But he’s still your husband. And you still have another half a year to go with him. So you ought to do anything to fix, whatever relationship you have with him.

That’s how you find yourself pushing the cart in a supermarket. Jimin’s birthday is in another two days and you’ve planned everything out for his birthday. You smile a little, reminding yourself to thank Irene for her ideas.

“You okay?” Irene asked back when you were still working at the company.

“Huh? What? U-um.. yeah.”

“You sure?”

You sighed. “Actually, no. It’s um.. my boyfriend. He- his birthday’s coming and I completely forgot about it.”

She smiled kindly. “That’s understandable.” She laughed. “So you’re worried what to get him.”

You sighed in resign.

“You know.. they say the simplest way to earn a guy’s heart is through their stomach. At least that’s what my mom said. And she’s still happily married with my dad. With us three annoying kids.” She laughed.

Now that hit hard. You smiled bitterly, wondering if you would ever experience that too one day. Starting a real family. You’ve been married for a little more than five months now. There isn’t much time left..

You shake your head. You’ve no time to dwell on such depressing thoughts when you have so much things to do now. As soon as you get home, you quickly start cooking all his favourite dishes, kimchi jigae included as well as seaweed soup, typical for birthdays. You even baked a chocolate cake which you aren’t entirely sure if it’s edible. You don’t have much experience baking a cake but you hope this might do although you almost burnt yourself once in the process.

Judging by the smell of it as well as the texture, it seems fine. So you proceed to decorate and write ‘Happy 25th birthday’ with icing on top of it. Once you’re done, you quickly set the table with all the dishes and the cake. You even make an attempt to hang a balloon on the corner of the dining area. You wipe a sweat beading on your forehead.

This is a tad bit too exhausting to be done alone and under a pressured time frame and constant fear of Jimin walking in in the middle of preparation.

He won’t think this is too much.. right? You suddenly think once you sit down and look around the decorated dining area.

After all you’ve been married for half a year now. Even if you don’t have a real marriage with him, you can still celebrate birthdays as.. friends..? Or a mere housemate..?

You shake your head, trying not to ruin the moment.

It’s almost 8.30PM now. An hour had passed since you’ve finished setting up the table. You keep on glancing at the clock, wondering if your husband would be home late. An hour drags into two. You think the cake is going to melt soon. The dishes are going cold too.

You suddenly feel like laughing at yourself. Wondering what on earth are you doing to yourself. Waiting pathetically when your husband might rather be out celebrating with someone else instead of you. With Clara Kim perhaps. The mere thought makes you smile bitterly.

You’re just about to rise from sitting and throw everything away when you hear the sound of the front door opening. As if you didn’t just wait for two hours, your inside starts to get excited again and you find yourself impatiently waiting for him to appear at the threshold.

When he finally appears, you put on the brightest smile while saying ’Surprise!’ at him.

He looks momentarily frozen as he looks at you and then around the dining area that’s filled with decorations.

You bite your lips unconsciously when he doesn’t say anything even after several moments passed.

Then he takes a few steps forward, closing in the distance between the two of you and you’ve no idea why the large area suddenly looks so small when he approaches you. He stops a few footsteps away from you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He snaps suddenly and you flinch instantly. Definitely not the kind of reaction you expected.

“I- I thought.. we’ve been married for half a year now..” you begin.

“So you think we’re actual husband and wife now?” He hisses and you recoil at his words. “Do you wanna know why you’re here?”

You look down. “Because I owe you.” You answer quietly.

“Ah yes.. that.” He smiled a smile so sinister you suddenly find yourself very afraid. “But the real reason, baby, is because you’re nothing.”

Looking up, your eyes widen at him. “W-what?”

He smirks. “Six months ago, I had to marry anyway, one of the stupid condition my father set as his so called heir. They had their choices of daughter in law oh- believe me they do. But I convinced them to let me choose on my own. Made up all sorts of bullshit how I’m so in love with you, you with me.. You wanted to know why I’m marrying you.. is because you don’t have a powerful background.. and when the time comes-“

It doesn’t take long for you to understand. “You can just throw me away.” You finish for him.

He smiles, like he’s satisfied with your answer. “A powerful family can be a mess. I prefer it neat and clean.”

He throws the words at you as if you’re a toy that doesn’t have feelings at all.

“So you can stop all this-“ he flaunts his hand around the dining table. “shit. You do realize this isn’t an actual marriage right? And after that, forget me. There’s no point for you to remember me, or us. So there’s no need for us to make, memories.” He says the last word menacingly and storms out the kitchen.

You don’t move for a whole few seconds. And when he’s gone, you sink into the chair.

You smile bitterly. Of course.. that’s your husband.. He wouldn’t know how your back almost hurt preparing all these for him, almost getting yourself burnt, and all just to let him know that there’s someone who wants him to spend his birthday meaningfully. You don’t even ask for anything in return. A simple thank you from him would do.

You tears flow harshly.

Of course Jimin wouldn’t do that…

Because this isn’t a real marriage.

You smile pathetically.

How stupid was you.

After a long while of crying which is something you think you spent a lot of time doing since your marriage with Jimin, you pick up the wrapped gift on the chair beside you. You make your way to Jimin’s study. You hover outside for a while thinking how to give the gift to your husband since he’d so conveniently walk away from you before you even had the chance to. After a moment, you decide to just leave it outside the door.

It’s a painting that you started a few days ago when he gifts you the art set and you only slept for two hours yesterday just to finish it. A painting of his backside, only his side profile appearing smiling brightly in his tux, one that he wore during the wedding, while looking at someone on his left, a girl you don’t draw except her backside, his hands tightly clasping hers. Looking happy.

Definitely not how your wedding photo with him was like.

Because he definitely doesn’t smile that way when he looks at you.

Link to Chapter 16

Posted on 210430 9:00PM

A/N: Kinda a short update because.. my heart breaks writing this and I don’t really wanna put too much angst xD *when you like angst but can’t stand angst too*

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

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lochrannn · 2 years ago

Note

Maybe how to stick to finishing your wip? Setting up fic goals? I have a tendency to abandon my wips for stupid reasons, start something new and so on and I hate it.

Mmmhh, I think this one is hard to answer, cause I really am not usually the type of person who even starts a job, let alone finishes it. Many of my irl friends would point to me as the person they know who procrastinates the hardest on basically anything.

But I think I've worked out why, I personally, stick with writing fic and usually don't abandon anything and write it within a relatively short amount of time.

I have a philosophy degree.

And though I loved studying philosophy, writing fucking essays and term papers was just genuinely the hardest mental work I've ever needed to do. Cause, yeah, sure you can research shit and bring together a lot of existing theories and ideas. But, anon, I tell you, I was actually quite good and suddenly had some ambition about a thing when I was at college (after spending all of my high school years coasting on the privilege of being okay smart and having highly educated parents), which meant I couldn't just phone it in, or didn't even just want to do a decent job, I wanted to write something good.

And fuck that was hard. I spent months tinkering with a paper, having found a subject I found interesting and trying to work out what my angle is, what my unique contribution could be. That basically meant staring at a flickering curser for hours and hours and hours and "thinking" (read panicking).

But somehow I managed to get a decent degree, said thanks no thanks to the offer of doing a phd and got the hell out of college to go do other stuff for a while and then finally trained in a very solid job that allows me to do relatively challanging work with cool people, but I never really have to produce anything or come up with major ideas on my own and that suits me just fine.

However, I accidently stumbled on writing fic as a thing that I enjoy creating/producing, and because we all basically know how a narrative works, most of the points beats along the way are easily set (I don't usually deliberately lift those whole-sale from a different narrative, except for my pride and prejudice and sense and sensibility inspired aus) but I don't kid myself into believing that my fic is in anyway particularly original.

So yeah, I just know which beats I want to hit and then I write what needs to happen to get there. Occasionally that's just pretty straight forward, not too flashy that I can't actually commit to it, but just well enough that, at least that's how it seems to me, the story flows and my "style" or "voice" kind of fades into the background. And then occasionally I come up with something that really makes me quite happy and I personally find rather artistic (like in the fic I posted yesterday, there was a bit that made me feel things). And then it's a bit more challanging but effectively as satisfying as painting by numbers.

So it doesn't scare me to have a story that I "need" to finish, cause I know I can and I know I will. I also have spent years and decades finding cool fics that got abandonned halfway through and hoping for years that they might get updated, so, maybe a little bit of guilt is also spurring me along.

Oh, and honestly, find yourself someone to commit to. Tell someone about your wips (unless of course this puts uncomfortable amounts of pressure on you) and then finish it for them. I talk to @pepperf about most of the stories I plan (unless I want them to be a surprise for her as well), even though she's much nicer than me and doesn't bully me into continue writing and if I abandonned somehting would never say anything. And I made a wip post that I feel I've committed to, because some of them are prompts and just generally I fear I could disappoint some anonymous reader of mine.

I guess, mostly if you want a tip, don't put yourself under too much pressure, but put yourself under a little pressure. Find yourself a hype person, or be your own hype person and feel excited about your stories.

I am, as some anon shokedly realised a few months back, probably a decade or so older than the majority of the people who frequent this website (I've been here for twelve years, I have squatter's rights) so through a mixture of always having a mildly inflated ego and age, I think I have a decent amount of confidence. And I have confidence in my stories. Yeah, I can easily tell how they compare to better writers, but I also think they are perfectly adequate and entertaining and they're the sort of thing I would want to read.

So, yeah, put a little bit but not too much pressure on yourself, and indulge yourself. It's supposed to be a hobby.

(oh, also, I only ever start writing when I'm relatively sure I've actually got enough of an idea to finish it. Everything else is not an abandonned wip, it's a wonderful day dream <3)

#i'm sure this is muuuuuuuuuuuuuuch longer than what you were expecting XD #fic writing #long post #anon ask

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mollygetssherlockcoffee · 4 years ago

Text

For You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N waits all night for Spencer to come home

Warnings: Angst... maybe swearing, but I honestly can’t remember

Words: 2,451

A/N: My LPC and Masters are kicking my ass... I hate it here :)))))))

PART TWO HERE PART THREE HERE

Master List Permanent Tag List

Shoving the last Dorito in your mouth, you leaned off the couch to grabbing your phone from the coffee table. Your thumb swiped across the screen to accept the call. Muting the TV, you sat up and put the call on speaker, smiling as you heard his voice.

“Hey, Y/N/N” Your boyfriend of three years greeted you.

“Spencer” you smiled into the phone, more than happy to hear from him. “I didn’t speak to you yesterday, I missed you.”

“Yeah, sorry, we caught a break in the case” he apologises. “Did you know, only ten-point-seven percent of murders are committed by women, who tend to kill for reasons such as personal gain or jealousy. Our unsub actually went against the statistic.”

“So, you caught them then?” you asked, biting your lip to conceal your hope.

“Yeah, yeah, we did!” he confirmed, and you were sure that he was nodding. “We’re at the station at the moment but we should be leaving soon. I’ll be home around-” There’s a moment of pause while you assume he looks at his watch. “Around seven, seven-thirty. Definitely no later than eight.”

“Oh, Spencer, that’s great!” you grinned, standing up from the couch. “This week has dragged by without you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon” he assures you. “I have to go though, there a bit of paperwork that needs to be finished before we can leave.” “Okay, no worries. I love you, bye” you say.

“See you soon, love you” he hangs up.

You turned of the TV and quickly got to work cleaning the apartment. It wasn’t dirty, not really, but your breakfast dishes were in the sink and you didn’t take the trash out last night. You had also neglected putting away the laundry and had thrown your coat and bag over the back of a chair, rather than hang them up.

Coming home to an empty apartment had demotivated you this week, making you not bother to keep up with the little things. Though you always missed Spencer when he was away on cases, this week had been especially trying.

You hung your coat up, moving your keys into the little bowl by the door. The laundry was seen to next, the tops separated and hung up while the pants were neatly folded and placed in the draws. Plates were quickly cleaned and dried, put into their place. You wiped down the sides, brushing the crumbs into the bin before quickly running the trash out.

Coming back into the apartment, you washed your hands before moving to the fridge. Having only went shopping a few days ago, it was still well stocked, and it had all the ingredients for Spencer’s favourite meal.

You had grown up with a dad who loved to cook, who had wanted to be a chef. Due to his severe eczema, which he used to tell he had to be ‘wrapped up like a mummy’ for, he was unable to pursue his passion. As such, he had cooked delicious meals at home for you and your mom, passing on recipes and filling you with a passion for food.

Cooking was something you found relaxing. You knew enough recipes by heart to not follow a recipe, but, instead, a pattern within your mind. You could cook your favourite dish without the need to measure herbs or spices, mind zoned out while you prepared the ingredients.

When you had began dating Spencer, he was basically living on coffee with the occasional take-out. Within two months of your relationship, his freezer was fully stocked with frozen home-cooked meals. While his slim physique remained, he did gain a healthy amount of weigh and appeared to look healthier.

It hadn’t taken you long to find out that his favourite was a slow roasted rack of lamb, with rosemary roasted potatoes, butter roasted carrots, broccoli, peas and mash potatoes. You had served the roast lamb at Easter, where Spencer proceeded to spend nearly thirty minutes telling you about the origin of eating lamb at Easter.

“It’s actually related to the Jewish Passover, from when the Egyptians painted lamb’s blood on doors during the plagues of Egypt. When some Jewish people converted, they caried on the tradition. In fact, in Christianity, Jesus…”

Coming from a diverse background (various religions were practiced in your family, some married and converted, others converted, an adopted cousin kept practicing his religion, thus you celebrated many different religions) you knew the some of what he was saying. However, you loved to hear Spencer talk.

Spencer could talk about anything and you would listen. You loved to hear his voice; the way his voice became higher when he got excited. You liked to lean back against the couch, your feet in his lap as he read to you. His voice lulled you into a calm and relaxed state, it put your mind at peace and made everything seem right in the world.

You cleaned the lamb, patting it dry with paper towels become setting it on the chopping board. You trimmed the fat, leaving only a small layer which would cook and add flavour to the meet. Pouring a tablespoon of oil into your hands, you gently rub it into the lamb before adding the spices, careful not to overwork the meat.

The meat was transferred into a dish before moved into the hot oven.

You then moved onto the vegetables. You coated par-boiled potatoes with oil, salt, pepper and rosemary become adding them to the oven. Carrots were peeled and cut, put into a tin-foil bowl with a teaspoon of butter and a sprinkle of sugar. Folding the tin-foil closed, you slid that into the oven too.

Potatoes were peeled, chopped and put on to boil. You cut the broccoli into smaller pieces and add them to a pot and put them onto boil too. Peas remained in a saucepan, covered in water, but you would turn them on in a little while.

You grabbed the latest Doctor Who DVD that Spencer had brought the week previous. You put the first disk into the DVD player and set the box beside the TV. Leaving the screen on the menu page, you left the room and went for a shower.

You looked at the clock again.

20:37

You sighed and looked down at your food which was damn near cold. Your stomach rumbled and you picked up your fork. You weren’t going to wait any longer. While the food is delicious, you don’t enjoy it. You don’t focus on the flavours as you chew and swallow, your mind focused on your thoughts.

Where was Spencer?

You had called his phone multiple times, but it had just rung out. You had called JJ, but she had left work before him. When you had phoned his work and spoken to his boss, Hotch had told you that Spencer had already left for the evening, and suggested you call Derek as they left together. Just like Spencer’s phone, Derek phone had rung out too.

Finishing your food, you took your plate to the sink. Rising the plate, along with the pots and pans, you then filled the sink with bubbly water. Grabbing the sponge, you began to clean.

Your mind was torn on whether to be worried or not. One the one hand, Spencer had said he’d be home – you checked the clock – over an hour ago but he still wasn’t here. He wasn’t at work and he wasn’t answering his phone. You bit your lip. Anything could have happened to him. There could be a problem with the subway, maybe he got injured on the way home, or something else could have happened.

Spencer’s an FBI agent though and is licenced to carry a gun. Not to mention, he’s a literal genius. If he got into trouble, you had no doubt that he would either be able to get himself out or be able to contact someone to raise an alarm.

Your mind told you that he was with Derek, that they were together and gotten distracted one way for another. They were like brothers, and easily got carried away and forgot about the time.

Spencer had to be fine. He had to be.

Hanging his bag on its hanger, Spencer closed the door. He toed off his shoes, pulling his arms from his cardigan. It had been a long night, a long week, in fact, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He smiled at the thought of crawling into bed and curling around you, of cuddling into you and breathing in your scent as he fell asleep.

Spencer used to love going on cases but after he met you, that changed. Now, he wanted to get them over and get home as soon as possible. He missed you every moment he was gone. He missed waking up with you, with your toes pressed into his leg as you sought out his warmth. He missed reading to you in evenings, gazing at your peaceful face as he spoke the words from memory. He missed the kisses before bed, the giggles you’d make when he would tickle your side as you both laid beneath the duvet.

He walked down the small hallway and into the open-plan living room and kitchen. The first thing his eyes land on is the small dining table. His mouth parts a little as he looks at the single plate of food, a knife and fork beside it. it was his favourite meal but he knew it was stone cold, yet he remembered the taste and his mouth watered at the sight.

You had cooked for him.

His stomach began to twist as he turned towards the front room. The TV was on, displaying the menu for a DVD from his new Doctor Who collection, whose box sat beside the TV. Then he saw you, sitting on the couch and watching him.

His stomach dropped. You had been waiting for him. You had cooked him his favourite dinner, put on his favourite show and were waiting for him. He had told you he would be home by eight, and it was nearing one-thirty in the morning. The guilt in his stomach twisted like a knife as you stood up.

He knew you were mad; he could see it in the hard set of your jaw. He could also see the sadness swimming in your eyes as you looked at him. He had let you down, and he knew it wasn’t something you were easily going to forgive him for.

“You said you’d be home at eight” your voice was low, soft, but he could hear the sadness in your words.

“Yeah…” he agreed, he had said that. He had promised that.

“Where were you?” you asked. “I was worried, you didn’t call or anything.”

“Erm… Derek, he…erm… wanted to go to a bar” Spencer replied, looking down at his mix matched socks.

“So you went? You went, knowing that I was here, waiting for you” you shook your head, looking away from him in an attempt to hold back your anger. “You went to a bar with Derek, after telling me you would be home by eight? You didn’t even let me know! I’ve been waiting for you, Spencer, I cooked you dinner and everything.” “Y/N… I’m sorry” he reached out to you but you held up your hand, taking a step back.

He had gone to a pub. A pub. He didn’t even have the decency to call you, or even text, to say that he wasn’t going to be coming home when he said. He had left you to wait for him, to worry for him. And though you’ve hurt, you’re angry. Angry that this is the way he is treating you. He doesn’t even like pubs, so why would he leave you to go to one?

This isn’t the first time he’s done this either. He had done the same thing a month ago, just went out with his team after telling you that he’d be home for dinner in an hour. You had fell asleep on the couch waiting for him that night.

“You always do this to me” You shook your head, looking at him in disappointment. And, looking at your face, Spencer thought that was worse that seeing you angry.

“What?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Abandoning me, you do it all the time!” You say. “You get called on a case and you don’t tell me, you leave me waiting at a restaurant. Stood up. You don’t tell me when your cases get extended, you tell me you’ll be gone two days but its six.”

“Y/N-” he begins, but you quickly cut him off.

“I don’t mind you going to clubs with Derek. I’m fine with cancelling plans because of work, I don’t mind that you’re called away” you tell him. “However, you don’t communicate with me. You stand me up, all the time. You don’t even call, and I’m tired of it. I did this for you Spencer.” You spread your arms out to gesture at the food and TV. “I try to do stuff for you and it goes to waste. Dinner reservations, movie nights, personal museum tours. They could have been rescheduled or the deposits refunded, if you had spoken to me. I… I’m tired of this Spencer. A relationship can’t work without communication.”

Spencer’s mouth is dry at your words, his own eyes stinging as he gazes sadly at your face. He can see how much it has affected you, how hurt you are but his actions. You were right though, he never called or texted you to let you know he wouldn’t be there for any of those things. His mind played over your words and his stomach twisted as the final sentence registered in his brain.

“What are you saying?” his voice is scratchy as he forces the words out, his fists clenched as he struggles not to cry.

“Maybe… Maybe we should take a break… for you to consider whether you can be committed, in all aspects, to this relationship” your voice is quiet as you answer him, your own eyes swimming with tears. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight, and then tomorrow… Well, Natasha said that I Could spend a few nights at hers.”

Spencer watched as you turned away from him, walking towards the spare room. You didn’t look back as you closed the door, and, finally, the tears fell from his eyes. This was it, he had lost you because he failed to do the most simple thing in a relationship. You were leaving him.

Permanent Tag List: @sskhair @sammypotato67 @spencerreids-wife @yoongi-holland @bucky-babygirl @youareperrrfectls @alexxcorona113 @tired-draculina @rachelxwayne @itsmoony @shigarakis-fifth-hand @andreasworlsboring101 @fantasticalfuchsbau @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @ourmrswonderlandlove @loverboyreid @kburgenstein

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid angst #i'm back to ruin your life

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kumogiri · 4 years ago

Text

Silence (Needs Filling)

Hey it’s @spacey-png birth and I wrote a lil emic confession as a gift!!! I hope you enjoy it and have a great birthday!! 🎉🎉

---

Hizashi has been planning this over and over in his head. Repeated every word, every pause, every cadence and quirk, every hand gesture and overdramatic explanation of his affections to make it absolutely, positively, impossibly clear just how much he loves Aizawa Shōta and how very, very sincerely he would like to be the one for him.

He has for a year known that on his birthday, his gift to himself will be looking Shōta right in the face (but not the eyes, that makes Shōta uncomfortable, that’s one of those things he’s learned and practised) and telling him in the biggest, best words he can that he is head over heels in love.

Kayama is in on it, of course. She’s been gathering vital intelligence, cheering him on- and it’s her counsel he seeks first this morning after staring at himself in the mirror long enough to be sure he isn’t dreaming, that the day has finally come and this is what it’s greeted him with.

[Midnight] he texts, Hero name and all because it’s saving he needs right now.

She replies quickly, [Are you all set?]

Hizashi stares at his reflection again, gurgles his misery in time with the tapping of his thumbs.

[I lost my voice.]

[You lost your voice???] [Is it a sore throat?? I can bring you something!!]

[No] He is dying inside. [I think it's the Villain from yesterday. It's not a sore throat, I can feel the sounds resonating up just fine, but if I try and say anything- Bam! It's like they just disappear.]

[Does that mean today's plans are cancelled?]

Hizashi gazes at himself, lips pursed, brows low. Every overwrought script he’s come up with, flawless as they might’ve been, is swept aside under one big, undeniable truth.

He wants Shōta to know how he feels.

It has to be today. He can feel it.

[I'll figure something out!!! I'm going to make sure he knows how I feel!!!]

[I'll be cheering for you!] She’s always got his back, he knows that, but it’s always nice to remember she’s standing at his side encouraging him too. [I expect to hear all about it later!]

[When I can talk to do it, I promise you're getting the exclusive reveal!]

As Hizashi requests, Shōta is already briefed on his unfortunate situation by the time Hizashi appears at his door. Kayama spared the specifics of why it matters so much, but she got across the main thing: Mic no talk, enjoy the relief on your ears.

Shōta inclines his head as Hizashi takes his shoes off, considering him in the rare silence.

“I told you to consider learning signs before your hearing gets worse. It would have been useful in the present situation too.”

Hizashi makes the biggest show he can of rolling his eyes, squeezing past Shōta’s folded arms to jog out into the lounge and drape himself all over Shōta’s couch. He puts his legs up on one of the arms even, grinning while Shōta sighs and trudges over to sweep them right back off to the ground.

Drinks are provided, Shōta finds something to put on the TV, the normal day together Hizashi had asked for so he could make his move that’s now turning into an agonising attempt to figure out a new, even better move, with one hundred percent less speech.

They sit together, quiet. Obviously.

“Um.” Shōta shifts in place, rubbing his palm up and down the side of his mug. “This is… strange.”

Of course it’s strange! Hizashi can’t breathe a word despite the backlog of frankly incredible lines he’s building up in response to the decor, the TV, Shōta’s awkward little wriggles. He has some killer jokes about Shōta’s cat-paw socks just begging to get out!

He puffs up his cheeks, waving his hands in an approximation of duh! When's the last time you weren't being serenaded by my beautiful words every moment we spent together?

Shōta watches his interpretive dance and glances away. “…I have no idea what that means. You could type on your phone.”

You didn’t read it when I did, his hands wiggle emphatically.

“…Are you complaining I didn’t look, before.”

YES???

“You had the font set to the smallest size. And the note background was magenta.”

Hizashi’s hands freeze, and then he’s sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He has tastes! And a lot to say, more than his screen could handle any bigger than that. Shōta didn’t go for the emojis, either! Probably because decoding them would’ve taken a codebreaker a good chunk of the day…

“Sorry. I… am not that good with screens to begin with. And I’m worse with charades.” Shōta clears his throat, lips curving down in a frown. “I should try to be more allowing. Especially today.”

Hizashi gives him a flapped it’s fine, it’s fine, sinking back heavier into the couch. So no text on a screen, no charades. Damn. Maybe he can piece together songs? Make a quick playlist, as if making a playlist is ever quick?

“Ah, it’s frustrating.”

That tone of voice has Hizashi looking back to him, unused to Shōta speaking so softly. Shōta’s hands have slipped up to steeple against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back arched down and thumb fidgeting back and forth near the tip of his nose, gaze focused unseeing beyond it.

Hizashi wants to ask what’s wrong, is this bad, should I have thought of something else?

He just lifts a hand, loosely touching Shōta’s shoulder to try and remind him that he’s here for whatever Shōta wants to say.

Shōta’s eyes flick sidelong towards him, hastily back away, and it’s surely a trick of the light but his cheeks look a little pink.

“Usually you talk so much I can’t get a word in. But I never wish you were quiet.” His hands slide slow down his nose, fingers parting to the shape of it and joining again over his lips as he laces them across his mouth instead. “I don’t know what to do in a silence like this. It makes me want to- fill it, but I doubt I have anything worth saying, even less than you do. At least you make nonsense sound appealing.”

Best Radio Show four years and counting, he wants to remind him, to lighten the mood. His fingers just gather in his lap, gaze still on the hint of red that’s taken root in Shōta’s ears now too.

Shōta’s gaze sweeps to the ceiling, like he’s looking for answers in the paint.

“I like your voice.”

Hizashi feels his spine straighten, eyes wide and alert as the jolt slips his glasses down his nose. Oh. Oho. What? What?

“It’s not the best voice, even. You blast out my eardrums every other day, you squawk when you’re excited, speak a mile a minute even when you’re not…” Shōta laughs, all soft and fond and Hizashi is ascending. “But it’s calming. I feel- at ease, when you’re talking. Maybe that’s why I feel so wound up right now.”

He drops his hands, tipping his head down and sighing low. “You said you had something to tell me, today. I… want to hear it, in your words, in your voice. I’m bad at dealing with a lot of things, but they’re- a little easier, if it’s you saying them.”

Hizashi is staring and Shōta keeps his face pointedly away, bringing a hand up to scratch awkward through his hair as the seconds tick by.

“…I think I know what you want to say to me,” he announces, finally. “You’re worse at hiding things than you think.”

Hizashi isn’t sure if he wants to squawk offendedly or babble apologies, but neither make it out. He just stares, his own face starting to feel hot, his glasses continuing their trajectory right off of his nose.

“I think I already know what I’m going to say to you, about it. And I know why you don’t want to wait, and I know it’s your birthday. But-“ Shōta peeks up, pausing to stretch a hand out, to press a single finger to the bridge of Hizashi’s glasses so he can carefully ease them back up into place. It’s achingly intimate. “I’m going to be selfish and ask you to hold back until you can tell me properly. And when you do, I’ll give you a proper answer.”

Even if he were able to speak, Hizashi thinks he might be dazzled speechless.

“When you can’t talk you can’t talk me out of bad decisions, or say something so embarrassing I regret them, so.” Shōta lifts his head a fraction higher. “I’m going to talk myself into something ridiculous so you have the power to be patient, and so I get whatever is possessing me out of my system. No, you are not allowed to do an interpretive dance about it. No, I will not be reading whatever you type. This is just- a thing that I am doing, that will happen because I want it too, and then it will be over and we will order takeout.”

Hizashi is aware of the space between them inching smaller, of the hand that was on his glasses touching his cheek instead and klaxons in his head so loud they might come out of the shocked ring his lips are forming if that ring wasn’t being stoppered up by another mouth covering his with a kiss that lives up to its giver’s name and erases every thought straight out of his head.

Shōta pulls away, whole face dark red, eyes darting over Hizashi’s dreamy expression before he’s on his feet, back turned, shoulders up around his ears.

“Takeout,” he repeats.

Hizashi doesn’t try to answer. He gives a thumbs up to everything, all of this, and listens to Shōta’s flustered ramble all the way out of the room.

#kumowrites #erasermic #spacey i hope you like it!!!#this is absolute nonsense but very fun to write #spacey-png

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knivesareout · 4 years ago

Text

like it or not

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: FLUFF, seriously so much fluff it’s disgusting. Food mention. Possible typos?

Summary: Kids aren’t afraid to speak their mind and your daughter is no exception.

A/N: Based off this TikTok. The fic wrote itself, basically. Was gonna write it for a Pedro character but someone (@michaelperry @marvelousmermaid) mentioned Santi so here we are. AO3 link here. Enjoy!

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It was a quiet Sunday morning and you were basking in the silence.

You’d left bed only a few minutes ago with a sleeping Santi and your daughter curled up soundly against his side, snoring softly. It was rare that the two of them slept later than you did on any given day and you planned to take advantage for as long as you could manage.

It started out with a quick shower in the guest bathroom. Less chances of them waking up, you figured, not willing to chance it. After that it was a face mask that you’d managed to grab from your own bathroom while you fully moisturized your body with the lotion tucked under the cabinet.

As much as you loved your little family, and you did, it was nice to have time to yourself. Things were almost always chaos around your house; with Lucy running and getting into everything her hands could reach and Santi working later hours, you were feeling run down and it seemed like someone was smiling down on you this morning to allow you the peace and quiet you’d desperately needed.

You figure it was probably best to start on breakfast now before Lucy woke up and decided she wanted to help. Usually you didn’t mind her asking to help but it almost always ended up in a mess and this morning it wasn’t something you really wanted to deal with if you could avoid it.

Music plays quietly in the background of the kitchen. It was a soft rock playlist Santi had made for you when you first started dating. It reminds you of stolen kisses and long distance phone calls in the middle of the night when he was stationed in another country- harder but simpler times. A time before mortgages, shared finances, and your daughter.

By the time the pancakes are done and you start working on the eggs, you hear heavy footsteps climbing down the stairs and smile. As sad as you were to have your quiet morning coming to an end, you knew the smell of breakfast was bound to wake them up sooner rather than later.

“Good morning mi reina,” Santi greets you, walking into the kitchen with Lucy hiked up high on his hip, still dressed in his boxers and a black shirt. Her head was buried sleepily in his neck, her pj’s askew from a heavy night’s sleep, curls wild, and the image has your heart squeezing.

“Morning handsome,” you call back, pushing the eggs around in the pan.

Santi sidles up to you to press a kiss to your cheek and you lean over, pressing one to Lucy’s forehead. “Morning baby, did you sleep okay?”

She nods tiredly, looking around. “Pancakes for breakfast?”

Of course she skips right over the eggs you were clearly cooking and you roll your eyes, reaching over to tickle her tummy. “Yes and eggs too,” you told her and she giggles, shying away from your hands.

You start to plate everything up once the eggs are done, bringing them over to the table while Santi buckles Lucy up in her booster seat.

“How long have you been up babe?”

“A couple hours, maybe?” You tell him, cutting up Lucy’s pancakes and drizzling them lightly with syrup before sliding it closer to her. “You two were passed out and I couldn’t sleep anymore so I figured I’d get a head start on everything.”

You all dig in, hands moving faster than your mouths can chew.

Lucy’s covered in syrup by the time you’re all done with breakfast, face and hands sticky and you’re just thankful she didn’t get any in her hair.

“I’ll take care of the dishes if you wanna go clean her up?”

You take your boyfriend up on the offer quickly. He knows doing dishes is your least favorite chore and you pull your sticky handed daughter out of her booster seat, careful to avoid her grip. “How do you always get so sticky, my little gremlin?”

“No mommy,” she tells you, going to grab for your face but you dodge her hands, laughing on your way to the bathroom.

She doesn’t fight you as you wipe carefully at her chubby cheeks, lips blowing raspberries while you clean her up. “You’re so silly, my little monkey. Come on, let’s see if daddy’s finished the dishes.”

Once she’s on her own two feet, she takes off towards the kitchen and you’re slow to follow her. It seemed like only yesterday she was barely learning how to walk and now she’s running through the house at full speed, letting nothing get in her way.

“So, what’s the plan for today? Or is there no plan and we’re just winging it?”

Santi’s finished loading the dishwasher when you find him, Lucy messing with the magnets towards the bottom of the refrigerator and trying to see how high she can get them as she jumps.

There’s so much that needs to be done. Laundry was piling up in the mud room, the front and backyard both needed to be mowed, and the house was in desperate need of a full sweep and yet, there was no desire to do any of it.

“Can we just sit on the couch and watch movies all day?”

Lucy squeals below you, clapping. “Nemo!” She starts chanting, abandoning the magnets to hop into the living room, curls bouncing, and you sigh. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but you don’t have the heart to tell her no.

Santi just shoots you an apologetic smile, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your forehead. “Maybe she’ll nap soon?”

“You two just woke up,” you remind him, poking him gently in the stomach.

He just laughs, guiding you two into the living room where Lucy’s waiting patiently on the couch.

“Come here munchkin,” Santi dives for her, easily picking her up and settling her in his lap once he’s comfortable on the couch.

You settle on the loveseat by yourself, spreading yourself out on the cushions and pull up Finding Nemo on Disney+.

It was the 3rd time in the last week you all had watched this particular movie. Lucy was going through a “fish phase” as Santi liked to call it, and it was easy for you to drift off, the noise familiar.

An hour later, loud giggles fill your ears and you turn on the loveseat to see Lucy crawling over her father like a jungle gym, using his arms as a monkey bar and it puts a sleepy smile on your face as you watch the two of them.

“Mommy’s awake,” Santi whispers loudly to Lucy once he spots your eyes cracking open and she squeals when she sees you.

“Hi baby. Sorry I fell asleep,” you tell her, turning around to sit up, rubbing at your tired eyes with a yawn.

“It’s okay mommy. Daddy says you woke up early and was tired,” she explains, sitting half on Santi’s shoulder and half on his back as he lays down across the couch.

You hum quietly as the movie continues to play, checking the time to see it was only half past 12. Your eyes drift back towards your daughter and boyfriend, watching as Lucy starts to stroke the side of Santi’s head and looks at him curiously.

“Daddy, you have paint on your hair,” she tells him, pointing at a thicker patch of gray that had become more prominent in the last couple of months.

Santi looks at you for help, clearly confused as to what she was talking about but you shrug, trying to hold back your grin.

“Paint on my hair?” He asks her.

“Yeah, right there,” she points to the grays and a quiet giggle escapes your lips. Santi seems to understand then and huffs.

“No princesa, that’s gray hair.”

“Gray hair?” She strokes the patch, tugging on it a little and Santi winces.

“Yeah, cause your daddy’s old.”

Santi shoots you a death glare and Lucy just giggles above him, moving herself off his back and jumping on the empty cushion at the end of the couch by Santi’s feet.

“Daddy’s old, daddy’s old!”

“Luciana Rose Garcia, don’t be mean to your father,” you try to scold her but your tone is light and honestly the whole thing is just hilarious. Santi’s pouting as he watches his daughter chant about how old he is and you sit up, moving to place yourself in his lap and pull him into your chest.

“I think the gray is sexy,” you tell him quietly in his ear, tugging the hair at the back of his head.

“Mommy!” Lucy jumps towards you and places herself in your lap and it’s one big pile of limbs now on top of Santi once she’s settled in.

The movie’s over 20 minutes later and you’re thankful. Lucy’s eyes have started to droop as the movie ends and you heave a sigh of relief.

“I’m gonna put her to bed but I’ll see you in the bedroom in 10?”

You slide off Santi’s lap, careful not to jostle your 4 year old too much until she’s situated against your chest and snoring softly against your shoulder.

He nods, looking up at you with clear admiration written across his face and you nudge his foot with yours. “See you in a sec, old man.”

#santiago garcia #santiago 'pope' garcia #santiago x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #my writing #idk how else to tag this ??????

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succumbtothenightmare · 4 years ago

Text

Vas Prizrak-Nineteen[END]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2140

Warnings: swearing, some smut if I’m feeling frisky, tiny bits of fluff, and a whole lot of angst.

Summary: Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.

A/N: I can’t believe the end is here for this trilogy! I loved writing it all so much and I’m thankful for everyone that took time out of their busy lives to read it. It means so much <3 Thanks again to @lovelyladymayyy for all of the amazing ideas! Please enjoy the ending of something that means so much to me as it does to you!

TAGS: @mggpleasedontlookhere @grey-force-jedi @austynparksandpizza @lovelyladymayyy

Loud music echoed throughout the empty home and I moved my head to the music as I walked inside from my previous spot outside. Bickering voices yelled at the far end of the house so I followed while a huge smile spread to my lips.

“I don't have it! You were the last one to use it.”

“It was right there on the table and now it’s gone!”

I leaned up against the doorframe, the smell of fresh paint engulfing my senses, and chuckled at the two men who continued to bicker not noticing I had been watching them.

“Bucky?” I finally spoke.

When he looked my way, I merely pointed to his back pocket. “The paint brush is in your pocket.”

“I told you I didn’t have it,” Sam grumbled.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, continuing to paint the wall in front of him now that he had his brush back.

“I can’t believe how great it’s all looking,” I marveled at how well the house started to look with only a fresh coat of paint.

“I can’t believe you convinced Bucky into painting your walls black,” Sam said.

Shrugging, I walked towards Bucky and left a soft kiss on his cheek. “That’s what people in love do.”

It had been a long month with us fixing up our house. We were here every day, all day, restoring it to its former glory. You could tell in the way that Bucky’s eyes lit up that he was ecstatic that our plans were starting to come to life.

Sam offered to help on one condition; I would buy him lunch and beer every day and at the end of the work day he could ‘kick back on the couch and watch T.V on our 70 inch in the living room’. I agreed, more than thankful for his help.

Our long list had almost been crossed off, two more things on it; paint the master bedroom and build the deck. The last one on the list wasn’t important, knowing that it would be a long task. I was happy enough that the inside of our home was almost finished.

Today was the last and final day, Sam and Bucky nearly finishing painting the walls in our bedroom. Furniture had started to fill our home, giving it a more homey feel then the day prior. All we had left was to put our bedroom furniture together.

“How’s it going outside?” Bucky questioned.

“Good,” I nodded. “Majority of the trees are cut down, only a couple more and we’ll be able to see the lake when we wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Can’t wait,” he smiled while placing a kiss on my forehead.

Strands of his hair kept falling out of the low bun so I quickly fixed it for him, which only earned an annoyed sigh from him.

“Are we sure we trust him with a chainsaw?”

Bucky and I looked from Sam to the man outside, who had spent all afternoon cutting down the trees. I offered to help but he merely waved me off. He could do it on his own.

“I trust him more with a chainsaw than painting my walls,” I admitted with a giggle.

Our old grandfather clock in the entryway rang six times, indicating that it was just after six o'clock and it was time for dinner.

“The usual?” I asked the two men, who nodded eagerly.

“Let him know that I’ll be back with food from Izzy’s in twenty.” I nodded to the man outside.

“Love you!” Bucky called from behind me as I walked down the hallway.

“Love you sugar bear!”

I laughed loudly at Sam’s voice, letting the yellow front door shut behind me.

A deep loud belch erupted from Bucky’s chest and I snapped my head over to him, a disgusted look on my face.

“Gross.”

Bucky simply smiled before placing a kiss on my lips. His open arms was an invitation which I took, cuddling closer into him. Our bones were tired from all of the work, finishing putting our bedroom furniture together, so we celebrated with beers and Chinese on the couch.

I looked around our home with a very proud smile on my face. We did such a great job fixing up the old home that no one would have guessed that there used to be a giant hole in the room Bucky and I now share.

“I cannot wait to sleep in an actual bed tonight,” I mused.

Bucky and I had been sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor for the last month and my back had been screaming for the memory foam mattress that I had purchased yesterday.

I felt Bucky tense next to me, knowing that he would rather prefer to sleep on the floor. It was something from his past that we were slowly working on. Even though we both felt we were in a good place in our lives and our relationship, there were a lot of issues that we needed to work through; together.

He felt that if he slept on something soft, that it would be more uncomfortable for him than the floor. So I made a deal with him; if he gave the bed a shot tonight and still didn’t like it, I would make him a comfortable bed on the floor.

I even mentioned that clothes were not allowed in the bed, hoping that would help ease his concerns.

“Doll?”

Snapping back to reality, I looked back towards Bucky. “Hm?”

“I need to grab some beers.”

I gently pushed him back towards the couch. “You relax. I’ll get them.”

My bare feet trekked along the new floors, still creaking along with the old bones of the home. I quickly grabbed three beers and headed back into the living room, hearing the men bicker about what movie to watch tonight.

I handed one to Sam, Bucky, and the blonde that sat comfortably on the recliner chair.

“Thank you,” he smiled at me.

“No problem, Stevie.” I returned the smile as I sat down back in my previous spot next to Bucky.

A soft knock sounded on the open door but my back was facing the door so I called over my shoulder. “Come in!”

“Y/N?”

I spun so fast on my heels that the hammer fell from my hand, bouncing loudly to the ground. His blue eyes shined from the setting sunlight and his blonde hair was brushed neatly back so I could see his face clearly.

“Steve?” I breathed, unsure if he was actually standing in front of me.

“I was in the neighborhood so I figured you guys might need some help.”

I never ran so fast into his open arms, ecstatic that he had decided on coming back to me, to us.

“You didn’t stay?” I asked while pulling away from his arms.

Steve shook his head. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had more to live for here than I do in the past. Bucky, Sam, and you.”

Our smiles mirrored one another and I pulled him in for another hug.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to crash here again? It’s late and I would hate for you guys to drive across town to the hotel.”

Sam and Steve both nodded.

“It's your first official night in your home, we don’t want to interrupt whatever is going to happen,” Sam suggested with a wink.

“Goodnight you two,” I rolled my eyes at his comment before giving them a hug goodnight.

Once the door was shut and locked, I called out for Bucky and heard him yell back from our bathroom.

He stood in front of the sink, shirtless, and I could see in the mirror that he had a troubled look on his face. I then took in the variety of tools on the counter, knowing exactly what he was going to do.

“Are you sure about this?” I questioned, leaning against the door frame.

Bucky nodded. “I can’t handle it anymore. I need a fresh start.”

“Want any help?”

Turning his body towards me, he pulled me into his chest and my hands sprawled on the bare skin of it. We shared a deep, loving, kiss and when he pulled away, Bucky nodded towards the brand new tub. It was filled with bubbles and unlit candles surrounded it.

“It would be more romantic if I could light the damn candles but I can’t find a match anywhere,” Bucky admitted with a sigh.

“Want to see something cool?” I asked with a smirk.

When he nodded, I stepped back from Bucky and closed my eyes. The thought of the unlit candles were heavy on my mind and when I heard him gasp, I knew it had worked.

The candles around the tub were now lit with bright flames.

With the help of Bucky, I striped down in front of him and once I sunk deep into the tub I groaned out in pleasure. The warm water immediately eased my sore muscles. As I enjoyed the hot waters, the sound of a hair buzzer played in the background.

“How does it look?”

Opening my eyes, I marveled at the new look of Bucky, a gasp falling from my lips. Gone was the long hair, the old strands littering the bathroom counter and sink, and Bucky stood in front of me with short hair. A look on him that I had never seen but one that I found myself falling in love with.

“You know there is a reason why I chose a double person tub,” I expressed while lifting my bare chest out of the water.

Bucky lips spread wide in a smile and hastily stepped out of his pants. The water sloshed around when he sunk his body deep into the waters. I squeaked out a large giggle when he wrapped his vibranium fingers around my ankle, pulling our naked bodies together.

“Which one are you thinking?” I pondered as we walked together down the long halls, metal cages surrounding us.

Bucky’s lips were pressed in a thin line, the decision weighing heavy on his shoulders. We were nearing the end of the hall and I had a gut wrenching feeling that we wouldn’t find the one he was looking for.

“Wait,” Bucky grabbed my hand to stop me. “This one.”

I looked from the cage to him a couple times. “Are you sure?”

He nodded eagerly while bending down in front of the cage, the tail smacking hard against the walls of his cage at the possibility of a new friend. Bucky’s vibranium fingers scratched happily at the ears of the furry pup on the other end of the metal cage.

Bucky woke this morning, wanting to adopt a dog from the local shelter. He grew up with one so not hearing nails running down the halls were so foreign to him.

The dog was a mutt, mixed with a bunch of different breeds but we didn’t care. We wanted to give him a loving home. There was something special about this pup that drew Bucky to him.

The dog was a tripod, missing his left front leg.

“Let’s bring Ivan home then,” I smiled brightly down at the two.

“Bucky?” I called out while entering the house.

A gasp left my lips when I took in the scene around me. Lit candles were scattered throughout the living room along with the fireplace. The lights were off but the flames were enough to cast the room in a deep orange glow. At the sound of my voice, Ivan came running down the hall happy to see me.

He never let having only three legs slow him down.

“Hey you, where’s dad?” I cooed while bending down to give him his usual greeting.

Two scratches to his ears with a kiss on top of his head.

“Dorogaya?”

Hearing the deep voice behind, I stood while spinning on my heels. Bucky was standing in front of me, short hair slicked back.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

Suddenly, the tune of our song sounded throughout the home and Bucky extended his hand towards me.

“Can I have this dance?” He asked.

“Always, Bucky. Always.” I answered, accepting his hand.

Our bodies swayed together along with the music. It was still so foreign feeling his skin under my fingers, his lips on mine, and his breath against the skin of my neck. For years, I had been dancing with his ghost in my dreams or thoughts but now I had his actual body in my hands. I laid my head against his chest, letting the tune of our song guide us in our dance. Our first of many dances in a home that we created together; our home.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes and reader #marvel #avengers #captain america #captain america and reader #steve rogers #steve rogers and reader #soldat #dorogaya

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