#be it the stillness of midnight or a forgotten cup of tea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slaymitchabernathy · 4 months ago

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Our Little Secret

On a quiet Sunday night, Soarynn finds herself curled up with a good book. She told herself that she’d go to bed once she put the children to sleep but that was hours ago and she’s halfway through this book.

Normally, she’d be in bed with her husband by now. Wrapped up in his strong embrace while he whispers sweet words of devotion.

But Coriolanus isn’t home. Isn’t in the Capitol. He’s away on a business trip in District One and won’t be home until tomorrow morning which left Soarynn alone with three children over the weekend.

It’s been a long weekend.

Soarynn is glad that their children are so well behaved because she truly can’t imagine having to manage three children under the age of five without having some sort of mental breakdown. She also knows that Coriolanus would lecture them for a good two days should he hear of them giving their mother a hard time, but still, she’s ready to have her husband home.

She glances over at her loyal companion, Petunia, her fluffy white cat who’s sitting high and mighty on her husband’s pillow. Those two seem to have a knack for lighting each other’s fuses and Petunia has been basking in his absence. “Don’t get too used to it Petunia,” Soarynn tells the feline while reaching for her cup of tea, “he’ll be back in the morning.”

Petunia rolls onto her back in response and Soarynn shakes her head, smiling to herself, that cat will be the death of Coriolanus one of these days. It doesn’t help that the children adore Petunia, always taking her side.

Soarynn takes a few sips of her tea and glances around the bedroom, noticing little pieces that are missing since Coriolanus is gone. His favorite cologne, his glasses that he only wears when he absolutely has to, his watch. Soarynn didn’t realize she was missing half of herself until she met Coriolanus, and now that he’s gone, she wishes for nothing more than to have him back and be whole again.

Tomorrow morning, she reminds herself, I’ll get up before the children to make a big breakfast for everyone.

The Snows do have a cook and two maids who take care of the house, but Soarynn gave all three women the day off tomorrow. She simply wants to bask in the company of her family and she can manage the meals for one day.

She’s beginning to think about what to make for breakfast when the doors to the bedroom slowly open and Soarynn peers over the back of the sofa to see her youngest daughter, Celeste, holding onto the door handle.

Soarynn sits up straighter on the sofa, her book and tea long forgotten. “Celeste darling, why aren’t you in bed?”

This seems to be enough permission for Celeste to enter her parent’s bedroom because she pads inside, making sure to close the doors behind her before answering Soarynn. “I couldn’t sleep Mommy.” Soarynn sighs and looks over at the clock that sits atop the fireplace mantel, it’s nearly midnight.

“Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit and try to fall asleep,” Soarynn offers, knowing that Celeste always jumps at the opportunity to be in the forbidden domain that is her parents bedroom.

Not that the children aren’t allowed in their room, but Coriolanus has been very clear that unless it’s an absolute emergency, they should remain outside. He didn’t want to lose the one sacred space he shared with his wife, the space where he was guaranteed alone time with her. And Soarynn didn’t really see any reason to fight him on it.

Rarely do the children ever try to sneak into their room, once or twice has proven more than enough for them to decide that their parent’s bedroom is of no real interest to them.

Celeste nods and hurries over to the seating area where Soarynn is currently perched on the sofa and she climbs up by Soarynn’s feet, giggling when Soarynn wiggles her toes. “Did you have a bad dream?” Soarynn asks, suddenly worried that there might be more to her daughter’s story.

But Celeste shakes her head and settles herself on Soarynn’s lap, “No Mommy. I just…I can’t wait for Daddy to come home,” she whispers the last part and Soarynn brushes some stray curls from her face. Soarynn leans in as if also sharing a big secret, “I can’t wait for him to come home either. It’s been quite strange without him hasn’t it?”

Soarynn is more used to Coriolanus going away for business but this is the first time he’s left where all the children actually understand the concept of leaving for the Districts. They all miss Coriolanus, plain and simple. Except Petunia.

Celeste hums in agreement and her hands absentmindedly reach to grab the lace neckline of Soarynn’s pink nightgown. But Soarynn doesn’t stop her, she doesn’t mind the children reaching for her in times of need. She cherishes these moments at their young age for she knows that she’ll never get them again.

Celeste’s eyes meet her own and for a moment Soarynn truly can’t believe that she’s real. Her sweet, perfect daughter. “You look so pretty Mommy.” Soarynn pulls a face because she looks anything but pretty right now in her opinion with her hair loosely braided down her back and her face bare.

Celeste giggles and rests her hands on Soarynn’s shoulders, “You do! You do Mommy. You always look so pretty, Daddy says so all the time.”

Well now she’s blushing.

Soarynn tucks a stray hair behind her ear and shakes her head, “Your Father has a way with words I suppose. But I look like I’m ready for bed if I’m being quite honest with you. We’re the only ones still up.”

That fact seems to dawn on Celeste who looks around the dimly lit room before looking back at Soarynn, “Are we…are we safe here without Daddy protecting us?”

Soarynn’s face softens and she immediately wraps Celeste in a warm embrace, placing several kisses onto her head, “Of course we are darling. We’re perfectly safe here in the Capitol. Your Father wouldn’t want us to be anywhere but here.”

It’s true. Should some random stranger wish to instill harm on them, they’d have to make it past the doorman, then past the security guard in the lobby, then up the elevator, and then through the two large and heavy mahogany front doors.

A lot of work for a woman, three children, and a cat.

Celeste nods and rests her head on Soarynn’s chest, “I’m getting sleepy again Mommy.” Soarynn runs a loving hand over Celeste’s head and looks over at her bed, her big empty bed. She’s been so lonely these past few nights without Coriolanus. She feels a smile creep across her face as an idea forms in her head.

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

Celeste gasps and looks up at her, so much excitement in her blue eyes, she looks just like Coriolanus.

“Can I?”

Soarynn nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “Daddy will never know if we’re awake before he gets home. It’ll be our little secret.”

Well, that seems to be as good an offer as any because Celeste is full of energy in seconds, helping Soarynn prepare the bed and fluff the pillows.

“I’m helping Mommy,” she tells Soarynn while patting a pillow. Soarynn smiles and pulls back the thick covers, “Yes you are darling, you’re being such a good helper.”

Celeste beams up at Soarynn and makes sure that all the pillows are fluffed to her liking, even the one that Petunia has claimed. “We’re having a sleepover Petunia,” Celeste says, “except, you can’t tell anyone ‘cause it’s a secret.”

Soarynn smiles at the sweet sight and goes to turn off the bedside lamp, “Get under the covers darling so Mommy can turn off all the lights.” Celeste does as she’s told and crawls under the covers, looking so small in the large bed.

Marrying a tall and broad man meant sleeping in an outrageously large bed but Soarynn has come to love it. And she always finds herself in his embrace every morning despite how much room the both of them have so it works out in the end.

Soarynn makes sure to blow out any candles and turn off any lamps before she joins Celeste and Petunia in bed, both of whom are staring at her with wide blue eyes. Soarynn wishes she could take a picture of this sweet moment. “Let’s all have sweet dreams,” Soarynn whispers, pulling Celeste close to her.

Celeste curls up to her and rests her head on Soarynn’s chest, letting out a content sigh. “Sweet dreams Mommy.”

Soarynn stokes her head for a while, watching Celeste’s eyes grow heavier and heavier before she decides to sing the children’s favorite lullaby.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow, A bed of grass, a soft green pillow, Lay down your head, and close you eyes, And when they open the sun will rise, Here it’s safe, here it’s warm, Here the daisies guard you from every harm, Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, Here is the place where I love you.

꧁ ꧂

All Soarynn notices in the depths of her sleep is the smell of the lemon scented shampoo in Celeste’s hair. Which means that her daughter did not escape her grasp in the middle of the night.

She knows that she should wake up soon, get out of bed and start preparing breakfast, but five more minutes couldn’t hurt. Right?

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn must be dreaming because she swears she can feel her husband’s lips on her neck.

Which is impossible because that would mean that Coriolanus is back home.

Soarynn softly groans and shifts in her sleep, but the sensation of someone’s lips are persistent. Then she hears it. Hears his deep, throaty chuckle that she’s become so accustomed to hearing in the morning.

“I see I’ve been replaced by another blonde with curly hair and blue eyes.”

Soarynn’s eyes shoot open and she looks over her shoulder to find Coriolanus sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at her with a fond look on his eyes. “You’re back,” she whispers, still somewhat dazed from her sleep.

Coriolanus nods and glances at Celeste, “And I’ve lost my side of the bed it seems.”

Soarynn slowly and carefully detaches herself from Celeste who thankfully, can sleep through about anything. She doesn’t wait a moment to crawl into his arms and sit herself on his lap, burying her face in his shoulder. Coriolanus lets out a groan and wraps his arms around her frame, squeezing her as if he might never let go again. Soarynn could live with that.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers into his suit jacket. He’s still dressed from his travels on the train. Coriolanus pulls away and gently holds her face in his hands, studying her face to see if anything has changed over the past few days, “I’ve missed you too my love. These three days have been sheer torture having to be away from you and the children.”

Soarynn looks over her shoulder at Celeste who’s still curled up in bed, Petunia now sitting by her while glaring up at Coriolanus. He chuckles and shakes his head, “I see my presence has not been missed by everyone in this household.”

Soarynn presses her lips to his which is more than enough to silence any further agitation between him and the cat. Coriolanus responds eagerly and if it weren’t for the sleeping child next to them, she’s sure that he’d take her right here if he could. But there’s little ones near by and Coriolanus isn’t the type of man to be too handsy in front of his children.

Just another reason as to why he’s such a good husband.

Soarynn pulls away breathless and looks down at the foot of the bed, softly gasping when she sees the giant bouquet of roses sitting there for her. “Oh, they’re beautiful,” she whispers, “thank you darling.”

Coriolanus smiles and pecks her lips, “Anything for my darling girl. Now tell me, how did this happen exactly,” he nods towards Celeste who has never slept in any bed but her own until last night.

Soarynn has the decency to look somewhat guilty while she thinks about how to answer him. Coriolanus isn’t mad, he’s amused more than anything but Soarynn knows he’ll want some explanation as to why their child slept in their bed instead of their own.

Soarynn grins when she finally comes up with a substantial answer and she kisses his cheek.

“It’s our little secret.”

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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wonwoosthetic · 2 years ago

Note

Hii!! I hope you're having a great day, I've been loving your pre-outbreak!joel fics (especially the way you write the Millers omg). On that note, could you write something fluffy about reader having a sick day?? And Joel and Sarah just taking turns watching over her. Thank you so much!! 🫶

A Day Off

warnings – flue, sickness, mentions of dizziness, medication, but mostly cute Miller fluff

word count – 6.2k

a/n – I decided to make it part of my “Couldn’t Love More” series, I hope that’s okay ˙ᵕ˙ Thank you for the request, I hope you like how it turned out!! And I hope you have the best day possible🫶🏼🫶🏼

2004

"Is mom okay?" The soft voice of Sarah rang through Joel's ear as he was preparing his usual morning cup of coffee.

While the two Millers were already downstairs, the little girl munching on some cereal and the oldest of the family standing in the kitchen with his favourite mug in his hand, you had run back up upstairs, having forgotten to put on deodorant for the long day of work ahead of you.

With scrunched eyebrows, Joel turned to his daughter, "What do you mean? Because of her cough?"

The evening before, you seemed to be doing perfectly fine, but almost as soon as that clock hit midnight, you couldn't lay still next to your partner anymore. All throughout last night, up until that morning, you had been coughing your lungs out, along with a runny nose that didn't seem to be getting any better.

Sarah nodded, "It doesn't sound good." The cereal still filling her mouth.

"Don't speak with food in your mouth," her father warned her, using that typical dad voice the girl has had to listen to all her life.

She swallowed. "I said it doesn't sound good."

"I heard what you said," Joel brought his cup of coffee to the dining table, taking a seat right next to the youngest Miller, along with a hot cup of tea he had prepared for you. "I asked her, and she said it's all fine."

His statement earned him an unamused facial expression. "And we both know that's not true."

He nodded with a sigh, "I know, but what do you want me to do? You know how stubborn she is."

"She's not!" She argued back. Joel closed his eyes for a second. Right. Don't tell the girl, who definitely got the stubbornness from his wife, that his wife is stubborn. How could he forget...

"Alright, but still. She won't listen to me. I already told her to stay at home."

Sarah scoffed, "And that's it? When I'm sick, you two don't even let me fight back. You basically lock me into my room."

"We don't lo-"

"Mum?" He was interrupted by you coming back down, catching the girl's attention.

You hummed in response, followed by a cough as you tucked the blouse tighter into your pants.

"Why don't you just stay at home today?" She wondered, to which you sent her a look of confusion, directing it towards Joel for a split second.

"Why? What's wrong?"

Sarah got up, the bowl in her hand when she passed you, only stopping to point a strict finger at you. "You're sick. That's what's wrong." Before continuing her walk to the dishwasher. "You should stay home."

You chuckled as you sat down next to your husband, whose hand found its way right to your back, brushing over it gently, motioning towards the cup of tea waiting for you. "It's just a little cold. If even," you blew on the hot water, hoping to lower the temperature. "Might also just be the result of someone at work thinking it's necessary to blast winter temperatures through the A/C."

Joel's fingers started running through your hair, detangling the small strands your brush had missed.

"Still," Sarah didn't stop arguing. "Sick is sick, and you should stay home." But you just shook your head with a smile. Another cough followed that you were able to hide into the inside of your elbow.

"See." The girl passed you with a knowing glance as she walked up the stairs into her room to get her backpack.

"You sure, you'll be fine?" Your husband's eyes were still on your side profile, sending you a warm smile once you turned to face him.

You placed your free hand on his thigh and gave it an assuring soft squeeze. "Yep," you nodded, "I'll be fine, don't worry." Just as you leaned in to give him a quick kiss, he dodged out of the way. You gasped, gazing at him with your mouth hung open.

"You heard her," nodding towards the stairs where your daughter was just coming back. "Sick is sick. And I'm not risking that."

"Wow...," you gasped, "Unbelievable. Not even a kiss?" Joel shook his head. A devilish thought crossed your mind, getting the corners of your lips to curl up. "What do you think about a stepdad, Sarah?" Making the girl immediately look at you in confusion. "Someone that would kiss me, even if I actually was sick." The man next to you rolled his eyes. The hunk of a horn coming from the garage let you know that the younger Miller brother had arrived. "Someone younger, hotter, more-" The gentle tug of your hair cut you off, making you grin as soon as you felt the familiar hot breath next to your ear. Thank God, Sarah had gone into the hallway to get her jean jacket.

"Careful, darlin'," his low vibrations tickled the side of your neck before you could feel his lips on your skin.

"Well," you shrugged, "I'm sure there's someone out there that would still kiss me even with a stuffy nose."

He had started petting your hair again. "Keep searching darlin', and the moment you find that someone will be the day I have my first kill."

"Joel!" You shot up straighter in your seat, turning your entire body towards him with a shock written all over your face - yet, a smile was still on your lips. The oldest Miller was in no way a violent person, that much you knew. But, when it came to family, you also knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do. Not a single thing.

He shrugged a proud grin plastered on his face when your hand came up to push his cheek, mimicking a gentle slap followed by a chuckle.

Sarah passed you two again when a second hunk echoed through the room. "I'm going," she rushed to stand between you two, engulfing you in a big bug, "Love you!" Getting the same words of affirmation in return. She made her way to the door before stopping, "Oh, and mum!"

Making you look up while Joel's gaze was still fixed on you, wondering how even with a stuffy nose and a cough that could scare away every kid, he was still as attracted to you as when he first saw you in that tight party dress you had worn.

"Let me know how that search for a stepdad is going!" Giggling at the reaction of her father.

"Excuse me?!"

While you laughed out loud, your hand falling back onto his thigh. Your laugh didn't last long, interrupted by another wave of coughing, that you tried to calm down with a sip of your tea.

Joel stood up and tapped your head, "That's what you get for saying shit like that."

The lunch break was almost over, and each employee was putting their helmets back on, throwing their one-way coffee cups into the bins, ready to get back to work. The contractor was still sitting on one of the benches, looking over their final plan for the building behind him, the hot temperature of his beverage long gone, now ice cold. Tommy hadn't joined him as usual, but it wasn't all that new to Joel. Sometimes his brother tended to disappear during his break, coming back only barely on time and usually with his belt missing - no questions needed, everyone knew where he had been.

Just as the oldest Miller brother lifted his head, he squinted his eyes, for one due to the sun, but also to make out the silhouette of the younger brother as he run up to him. Unamused, Joel took a quick glance at his watch,

"Three... two... one... and you're late." He glanced back up at the now panting man, who was holding onto the wooden table.

"Late?!" Tommy exclaimed, "I literally just got back in time."

Joel shook his head, "You haven't clocked in yet," packing his stuff back up as he got up from his seat.

"Jeez, come on, man! Can you cut me some slack?"

He stopped in his tracks to turn back around, shoving the A3 piece of paper into the younger Miller's chest, "I've cut you some freaking slack often enough, Tommy. This shit's gotta stop."

"I just-"

"No," Joel shook his head, "No excuses. I've told you this before. We've got a tight schedule. There's no time for your stupid little acquaintances."

Tommy sighed, still giving no signs of moving while his brother was already a few feet away.

"Have you checked in on your wife?" He shouted out loud, making the older man stop again, glaring at him in confusion.

"What? Why?" It was unusual for either of you to contact the other one during your workday. You much rather enjoy the evening together, ranting about your coworkers and employees in the comfort of each other's arms rather than over the terrible connection through your phones.

With a proud grin, Tommy walked up to him, his hands secured in his pockets. "Well, that's where my acquaintances actually come in handy."

"What the fuck you talkin' about?" Joel was on the verge of his patience with his younger brother, more specifically with that massive ego of his.

"You know that blonde one from Y/N's office?" The younger brother questioned with a smirk, ignoring the glare of the other man. "Tall, blonde, green eyes, usually in those tiny skirts, and Jeez... those big lips that just look magnificent around my-"

"Tommy," he stopped him with a raise of his hands, "Get to the point. For God's sake...," mumbling the last part as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right, right, sorry," the younger one snapped back into it, "When I went to see her, she told me that Y/N was sent back home because she almost blacked out at the-"

"What?!" Joel raised his voice as soon as the words rang through his ears.

Tommy crossed his arms with a deep breath, "Yeah, apparently she wasn't feeling well, but stubborn as fuck and wouldn't go home until her boss came."

"Jesus fuck..." without wasting another second, the oldest Miller snatched his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. "And you couldn't have gotten to the fucking point sooner." His fingers moved quickly, ignoring whatever Tommy was talking about in the background, as he clicked around hastily to call your number.

His grip on the rolled-up paper tightened while a sigh fell from his lips, dropping the phone again, "Of course, she won't pick up..."

Within a second, he pushed the floorplan into his brother's grip and took his helmet off the decorate Tommy's head with it instead, "Congrats," he patted his shoulder, "You just got promoted for the day."

"Wh-"

"I'll be back in a bit. I'm gonna go check on her," he was already brushing past the younger Miller, jogging towards his car, "You keep everyone else in check in the meantime!"

"I got ya!" Tommy shouted back at him, "Make sure she's okay!" Before Joel disappeared in the parking lot after sending him a last thumbs up.

The entire car ride was filled with heavy breaths leaving the older man's lips, curse word after curse word echoing through the small space - Sarah's curse jar would've gotten filled to the brim if she had been there to hear him.

He knew it wasn't a good idea to let you go to work today. No matter how stubborn could get, he deeply regretted not starting a possible discussion to keep you home. Now he had to rush back home in hopes of finding you there still on your feet, while his heart was daring to break through his ribs and chest. Never before had the drive to your shared house felt so damn long, even though he was sure to have broken multiple laws.

You insisting on not getting a car was making his anger bubble up just a tad more. You had told him that Tommy and he each having one was enough, and that you were more than happy using the public transport. Joel had given into that way too quickly. Your sweet voice tended to have that effect on him. But now, knowing that you had to take the bus after almost blacking out-

He didn't even want to think about that. Please let that blonde co-worker of yours have lied to Tommy. Or maybe she just heard a rumour going around the office - that shit travelled quicker than lightspeed according to your tellings.

Before his thinking could make his brain explode, he pulled into the driveway, leaving the car outside of the garage and sprinted to the door. He, once again, found it unlocked, making him almost shake his head - how was their daughter ever supposed to learn to lock the door when even you, her biggest role model at the time wasn't doing it. But that was a conversation for another time.

Once he busted through the front door, his eyes scanned the living room hastily. You not appearing right then and there just sent another wave of anxiety through his body. Joel continued to look for you in the kitchen. Still not here. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. That's when he heard a thud coming from upstairs. He didn't waste another moment and raced up the set of stairs.

"Darlin'?" He called out for you. Before he could reach the top, your head popped out from the doorway leading to your shared room. A breath of relief washed over him.

You glanced at him in confusion, "What the hell are you doing here?" Joel ignored your question, coming up to stop in front of you, gently getting a hold of your jaw to get a good look at your face.

"Joel-" you swatted his hand away, "Wh-"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"What?"

Another sigh tumbled from his lips as he walked back downstairs after making sure you didn't hurt yourself on the way home. He still noticed your red nose and the slight scratch in your voice, so he was already planning on making you a second cup of tea.

"Why didn't you call me?" Joel repeated the question while moving through the kitchen to get everything he needed.

You followed him into the dining space, tightening the sweatpants you had put on after taking a shower as soon as you had arrived home. "Why call you? And what are you doing here?" Followed by a cough.

"Call me?!" He turned his entire body to look at you, "Maybe because you blacked out at work?!" He didn't dare to raise his voice much, just making sure the tone was enough to let you know how serious he was about this subject.

"W-...," you shifted on your feet, crossing your arms over your chest. "How do you know about that?"

The oldest Miller took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, "Your co-worker called Tommy. Sweeth-"

"How does my co-worker know Tommy?"

"It doesn't matt-"

"Yes, it does!" You argued back, now standing in the kitchen with him, your back resting against the counter.

One look from your husband was enough to tell you everything you needed to know.

You sent him an unamused facial expression. "No, he doesn't."

"Yes, he does," he nodded gently, pouring the hot water into the mug he had prepared for you.

"Joel-"

"It's not import-"

"It is to me!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" He wondered, placing the cup of tea right next to you.

You shrugged, "I don't know... Castrate him."

A chuckle fell from his lips followed by a sigh, looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed before his gaze stopped on you again. He couldn't stay mad at you for long when you looked at him with those kind eyes and that little smile you were trying to hide.

"Why didn't you call me?" He brushed your wet hair away from your face, securing it behind your ear, his voice now back to the gentle tone you're used to.

"There was no reason to."

"You almost blacked-"

"I didn't," you interrupted him, "I got dizzy. I didn't black out. And before anything could happen, my boss sent me home. Nothing bad happened."

"But it could've," he reasoned.

"But it didn't." Your statement wasn't enough to convince him.

"Are we gonna fight about that now?"

You smirked, "Not if you just drop it and believe me. Instead of that desperate housewife of a co-worker, I have."

Joel closed his eyes for a quick second before nodding towards the mug on the counter beside you. "Drink your tea."

With a smile still plastered on your face, you opened your arms and took a step forward to wrap your arms around his torso. Not even a second passed before your husband engulfed you in a hug, his rough hand holding the back of your head close to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," lifting your head to catch his eyes, "I didn't mean to."

He glanced down at you, cupping your face in his palms, his thumbs tracing invisible lines of your cheeks. "I told you to stay home today."

"You did," you admitted.

"And Sarah said so too."

"Yep, she also did that."

"So you're gonna listen to us from now on?"

You put your thinking face on, pressing your lips into a thin line. "I'll think about it."

Joel shook his head, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead, mumbling against it, "You're gonna be the death of me, darlin'. Don't scare me like that again."

You chuckled, tightening your arms around him, "I'm sorry. I won't." Placing a loving peck on his chest once he let his arms wrap around you again. "I love you."

"I love you too," he declared like he always did, giving the top of your head another kiss.

A few seconds passed before you felt a soft pat on your butt and Joel freeing himself from your embrace, reaching behind you to place the mug into your hands.

"What do you need from the pharmacy?"

You lifted your shoulders, moving to sit at the dining table, "I don't know. Nothing, I think. It's just a cold, it'll go away."

"Darlin'," Joel's eyes didn't leave your form, "My throat hurts listenin' to you talk."

"Wow," you lifted your head to glare at him with an open mouth, "You really know how to compliment a woman, don't ya?"

He smirked, "I thought that's why you married me."

"Among other things, sure," you copied his facial expression as he got closer to you again to place the back of his hand on your forehead.

"Did you check your temperature?"

You shook your head, "Not yet, I took a shower right when I got here."

"Alright," he grunted, getting his phone out of his back pocket to check for any missed messages, "I'll go see what the pharmacy has and get a few things from the store for soup."

"Joel, I'll be fine just resting-"

"Do you want me to drag you to the doctor's office?" That question made you shut your mouth tightly. He knew how much you hated doctors and hospitals - that bastard used your weaknesses against you. He earned himself a glare from you.

"I'll take anything the pharmacy gives you."

The corners of his lips curled into a proud grin as he lowered his head to peck the top of your hair once again. "That's my girl." In the next moment, he was out the door, and you heard the roar of his engine.

Joel didn't cook rarely. Every now and then, you'd get the gift of his cooking - well... the gift of watching him cook since the food itself usually turned out... alright. Eyeing him in such a domestic scene was much more of what you'd be thankful for. But now, you didn't even get to enjoy the sight of him in the kitchen, thanks to him forcing you to stay on the couch, the TV being your only form of entertainment.

"Joel!" You cried out loud, "Please let me help!" Almost begging him since you knew, you'd eventually have to eat whatever he was putting together in the other room.

"Don't you even dare get up from there!" He shouted back before the clanking of pots and pans hurt your head, only motivating the headache that had started an hour ago.

"But-"

"No discussion!" You rolled your eyes. Normally, Sarah was in your position, and you or Joel would be in the kitchen, telling her the exact same thing. With you now right there, you were starting to understand the frustration of the little girl.

"I'm ill! I'm not dying!"

You heard his heavy footsteps before your eyes fell on his body stopping in the doorway, a kitchen towel in his grip. "Don't say stuff like that. And drink that," he motioned towards the medicine he had mixed up for you before disappearing again. You didn't even want to look at that glass. The colour that fluid had, looked toxic and like it shouldn't be consumed by a human. It smelled just like that as well.

"But it stinks!"

"You know, you're starting to sound like Sarah?" Making you roll your eyes. You were a big girl. You could do this.

With disgust written all over your face, you reached for the glass and without much more debating, knowing you'd back out of it, you chucked the whole thing in one big gulp. Noises of repulsion immediately left your lips that you clearly faked yet couldn't hold back.

Joel entered the room, a bowl in one hand, and a mug in the other.

"You're being dramatic," he commented on your actions, setting everything down on the coffee table in front of you.

"Maybe," you groaned, "But this shit is revolting."

"It'll help you get better."

"I sure hope so," you scoffed, leaning forward to get a hold of the mug.

He took a seat next to you, the pills he had bought for you now in his hand, out of their packages. He handed them to you, to which you grimaced. You hated swallowing pills.

"Take them," he rolled his eyes.

"You know, my mom doesn't believe in pills." She was a very spiritual person.

Joel took a deep breath, "I know. I talked to her about it."

"Oooh, yeah!" You laughed out loud, slapping his upper arm as the memory of their discussion at your wedding came back to you. Sarah was recovering from a cold she had, and while your mother was talking Joel's ear off about herbs and oils that would help, he stood his ground on his opinion about trusting whatever medicine she had been described - your mother did not agree with that.

He shoved his hand closer to you. "Just because your mother doesn't like them, doesn't mean you don't, right?"

You shrugged to answer him.

"You want me to grind them for you? Put them under some food?"

"No, no," you snatched the pills out of the palm of his outstretched hand - your other hand got a hold of the mug. One pill after the other, you threw it down your throat, a shiver going down your spine after each. Joel watched you grimace in amusement, his hand running down the back of your head with a smile.

"Good girl," he kissed your cheek, which earned him a death glare from you. His eyes widened, "What?"

"You know what that does to me, and you won't even kiss me!" You whined, throwing yourself back against the backrest of the sofa, a cough following.

A laugh erupted from your husband as his hand landed on your thigh, rubbing and squeezing it gently. You tried pushing it away, but that only entertained him more.

"Take your medicine and I'll kiss you all that much more once you get better," he grinned, placing multiple pecks on the side of your head and pulling you into his chest.

"Is that a promise?" You teased, feeling him shake from chuckling.

"That's a vow."

"Darlin'."

You felt a soft shake against your shoulder and fingertips tracing your face.

"Darlin'."

A groan came from you in response as you opened your eyes, making realise you must have fallen asleep earlier. Your eyes danced around the room - you were still on the couch in the living room. They landed on the body hovering above you. Joel smiled as your gazes met.

"I gotta go back to check on Tommy and the guys, but Sarah's here now. She'll take care of you until I come back."

You shook your head and scrunched your eyebrows, "No, what about school?"

"She just got back."

"And homework? Friends?" You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, "I'm sure looking after an adult is the last thing she'd want to do-"

"No, don't worry-"

"I want to look after you, mum!" Sarah interrupted her father, skipping into the living room, with another mug in her hands. You were starting to get tired of seeing them.

You smiled at your daughter, "That's very nice of you, Sweetie. But it's so pretty outside, don't you want to go do something?"

"Not if I know you're here sick," she quickly answered before exiting the living room again.

Joel watched her leave, a proud look on his face as he turned his attention back to you.

"She's too kind for her own good," you commented.

"I wonder who she got that from," he smiled, caressing your cheek with his fingers, making you roll your eyes. Joel crouched down to be on eye-level with you, lowering his voice as well, his fingers not leaving your skin. "You wanna go upstairs? I think the bed might be a bit more comfortable."

You nodded while he straightened his back, standing back up on his two feet.

He nudged his head, "Come one." Reaching out his hand for you to take, but you had a different idea. You shook your head with a pout and opened your arms. Joel chuckled with a shake of his head. He could've expected that. Your husband didn't need to be told twice before leaning down, pulling the blanket off you and moving one arm underneath your knees with his other wrapping around your back to cup you up.

He couldn't help but let a quiet groan fall from his lips as he moved back up. With a chuckle, you slapped his chest,

"Come on, old man." A grin spread on his face, followed by pretending to let you fall, making you screech and wrap your hands tight behind his neck, "Joel!"

"Call me old again, and I'll drop you for real, sweetheart."

He felt your loving eyes on him as he carefully took step after step, carrying you safely upstairs.

"You wouldn't do that." Poking his chest to tease him.

You're right. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He would never drop you. You were safe with him. For now and forever.

Only moments after Joel left you alone in the bedroom, another pair of feet echoed through the upstairs hallway. Sarah appeared in the doorway, a beautiful smile decorating her face while holding tightly onto a bowl.

"Dad said you fell asleep before you could eat, so I heated it up again." She got closer to the bed, placing the dish on the nightstand to your right.

"You didn't have to do that," you pushed yourself to sit up on the bed, "But thank you."

"Wait for me," she quickly told you before rushing out of the room, leaving you for about a minute before coming back, another bowl and a book in her grip.

"You're eating your dad's cooking?" You jokingly wondered as she made herself comfortable on the other side of the bed.

"I'm very brave, I know." Her answer made both of you chuckle in chorus. Jokes about Joel's cooking would never get old.

With the two of you holding onto your bowls, you went in first to get a taste of what you had expected to be the most tasteless watery substance you could imagine. You were surprised by multiple layers of flavours. Sarah hummed in agreement.

"Oh wow," you commented.

The little girl nodded, "Not bad, dad. Not bad."

"Not bad indeed. I was ready for something else."

"I was ready to run to the bathroom and spit it out," Sarah stated, making you laugh.

You fell into a comfortable conversation, asking her about her day and what she was up to later in the day, only to get "obviously, looking after you. Just because dad can cook all of a sudden, doesn't mean he won't need my help," in response.

The girl had her way with words.

After you finished cleaning out the bowls, Sarah brought them back downstairs, only to join you in the bed again minutes later. Before she made herself comfortable again, she made sure you'd have tissues, a glass of water, and some pills Joel told her to keep close, right on the nightstand.

"Are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow or-"

"I'm perfectly fine, Sarah," you patted her hand as she laid down next to you.

"Alright, but tell me if you need anything."

You nodded with a chuckle, "I will."

After closing your eyes, you could feel her moving and rustling as she reached out to get something.

"I have to read this book for school. Can I read it out loud to you?" She wondered, placing it in her lap, glancing to the side to see your eyes looking up at her.

"Of course, sweetie." You pulled the covers tighter around your body, ready to listen to her soft voice. "What book are you reading?"

"Sweet Valley High," she told you with a deep sigh, opening the book on the page she had left it.

"You don't sound fond of it," her clear annoyance made you want to smile. You knew exactly why she probably didn't enjoy the piece of literature her teacher had assigned them to read.

"Because I'm not," she stated with a scoff. "This is ridiculous. It's a terrible book with a terrible plot."

"It can't be that bad if it's school literature, sweetie." You tried to explain, hoping to give her a sense of understanding, even though you could imagine how annoyed she must feel.

"But it is!" She whined, "Our teacher probably only gave us to read that because more than half of the class are girls. Ridiculous..."

Before she could even read the first word on the page, she closed the book again. "Can I please read one of yours?" That question wasn't unfamiliar to you. It happened more than you'd like to admit - a 14-year-old asking for books of yours because she found the literature for her age 'boring and all the same' and had even called some authors 'possible illiterates, as well as the teachers for assigning such books'. In reality, she was just unchallenged, and you were more than happy to help with that. But you still had to remember your role as an adult and, more importantly, her mother.

"But you have to read this book, Sarah."

"And I'll get to that once I have the patience," she got up from the bed. "I promise. But right now... I need to read something better than some girl's high school drama." And disappeared, not waiting for an answer from you.

Once she was back, you were already half asleep, but still noticed it when she found her way back next to you, humming in happiness as she made herself comfortable.

Before sleep took over you completely, you heard the first words fall from her lips, "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents-"

You smiled to yourself. She chose Little Women, one of your favourites.

The moving covers and rustling made you open your eyes again. You were still laying on your right side, in the same position you had fallen asleep in. The only difference now was, Sarah wasn't next to you anymore. Instead, she got replaced by her father, who was not so subtly, trying to get into bed without waking you.

Joel found your eyes trained on him, making him immediately stop, the bed sheets in his hand up in the air, "Sorry, darlin', I didn't want to wake ya."

"It's okay," you mumbled, moving closer to him as soon as he got under the covers, "You were never smooth or quiet at moving around anyways, Miller." Your legs interlocked with his, making sure you were as close to him as you could be. You had spent enough time apart, now was your time to enjoy having him right there next to you.

He chuckled at your confession, "I'm sorry." Once you were cuddled up to his side, he lifted his arm to wrap around you and place your head on his chest, but that was interrupted with a groan as he pulled something up from underneath him.

"Was Sarah readin' this?"

You opened your eyes and nodded, the soft smile back on your lips.

"Why on earth is she readin' a book from the last century?" He always remembered the little details you told him about the books and authors you loved.

"The more important question is why aren't you reading books from the last century," you poked his chest. Joel placed it on the nightstand and grabbed your hand into his bigger one, warming it up with the natural heat of his palm.

"You're right, I shouldn't have asked," he quickly commented before changing the subject. "How are you feelin'?"

"Better... I think," a yawn escaped from your throat, followed by a soft cough, "I slept pretty much the entire afternoon."

"That's good," his hand found your back, rubbing it in a comforting way. "You're supposed to sleep a lot."

You nodded. "How was work? Did the guys behave?"

"Yeah," he grinned, "Mostly. Tommy says sorry for sleeping with your co-worker, but also, and I quote, 'The ladies want, what the ladies want. And who am I to deny them of that'."

A moan in disgust erupted from you, "Oh god... He's disgusting." You both chuckled.

A few seconds of silence were shared with Joel's hand running up and down your body before he spoke again.

"You ate the soup?"

"Yeah, Sarah heated it up for me. And she also had a bowl." You lifted your head to look at him, "And we must admit, you did surprisingly well."

"What do you mean surprisingly?" He sounded genuinely curious about your answer as he glared down at you. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know... but you know..."

"What do I know?"

"You're not the best cook, Joel," you admitted with a gentle smile, "So we were prepared for the worst."

"The worst?" He scoffed, "You two are unbelievable," and turned his head away from you, making you giggle.

"Joel," you whined, but the grin didn't leave your face, "Come on," you sat up straighter to cup his cheeks and turn his head to face you. But that man had his eyes closed. "Look at me." He shook his head. "Look at me, Joel."

"I'm not looking at you until you apologize."

"Are you serious?" You tried to contain your laughter as well as you possibly could, remembering that a girl was sleeping across the small hallway from you. "You know your talent isn't in cooking, handsome." Your fingers brushed through his hair as you caught him finally looking at you again.

"I actually didn't know that I was such a bad man in the kitchen, but thank you for the critique, I guess," he tried to keep the annoyed facial expression, but it was cut off by your synced laughter echoing through the room. He damn well knew about it. Sarah never let him hear the end of it. He will forever be 'an okay cook and a terrible baker'.

The sounds coming from you died down the moment your gazes met again, your fingers tracing his jaw.

"Would a kiss be apology enough?"

His face scrunched up, "With all of that bacteria still in your body?" You tried. With a roll of your eyes, you pushed yourself away from him, ready to turn around and go back to sleep, but his grip on your wrists stopped you. Joel pulled you in again, his lips hovering less than an inch above yours.

"I couldn't ask for a better apology," he whispered, making you grin. You won. There was no way that man could go more than a day without stealing a kiss from you, and that's just what you wanted.

With that smirk still plastered on your face, you tilted your head up to finally meet the soft touch of his lips, pressing yours against his mouth. You would be ready to care for him once that man flu hit him, and you knew you would have Sarah right there with you as well.

joel taglist: @corvusmorte

pedro taglist: @leslieelainetrask

#joel miller #pedro pascal #x reader #one shot #imagine #imagines #series #the last of us #pre!outbreak #tlou #hbo #fluff

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vert-horizon · 11 days ago

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Chef!Bakugo.... ExecutiveChef!Bakugo....

You're the head sommelier apprentice. This is his first restaurant. He works all the time. Lives above the restaurant. He has a girlfriend, kinda. A boyfriend, maybe. You can't tell. All you know is the same green-haired guy and brown-haired girl are always slinking out the back after morning family meal. He doesn't even like wine. You never ever ever talk to him. You're obsessed with him. He's got scarred hands that shake but he stables them with a deep breath. He plays jazz when he's recipe developing at midnight--you're in the cellar making wine pairings for VIPS. The distant sounds of piano and saxophone are a surprise, but not that much.

Yagi must have forgotten to tell him you're here because. He blinks, looking up from a carefully rolled beet and pistachio crudité, brows staying furrowed, hunched almost even with the pass as he watches you come up the stairs. You've got two Krugs and a Born in your cloth-lined basket. You can't see Yagi anywhere. He goes back to what he's preparing. You place the bottles on the bar. Go through the tasting routine. Leave notes for Yagi next to the VIP list. When you look back at him he's gone behind the saucier station, so all you can see are glimpses of his broad back and the sweat patch in the center of his grey shirt through the shiny metal frames of the cooktop. You don't let yourself think about it too hard. You make him a green tea, loose leaf first flush sencha from the tea menu. He doesn't drink. Kaminari--Garde Commis--says it's because it makes him violent. You don't know what to think about that. So you don't. You bring the tea to the pass. You're not here a lot. Never during shift. The restaurant is dark, the booths and tables blurred shadows. The water feature in the dining room is still going, making the room sound like it's raining. You can see almost every table from here. The sommelier station too--tucked into one of the apses. The maître d stand is barely visible at the front, obscured by the frosted water wall and the load-bearing beams of the place. "You're here late," he says, startling you. He's at your back, not quite touching but close enough to seep heat onto you, peering down at the steaming wabi-sabi mug of tea. He takes it when you offer, lets you shift out from under the breadth of his chest. In turn, he sets down a small plate with a shining gratin, looking down at you from the wobbly rim of the cup. "Savoyard," he says, seemingly unbothered by your silence. The French rolls off his tongue, the same deep voice but softer on all the letters, looser and mobile in his mouth in a way that his usual quick barking orders are not. You swallow.

"Pinot Gris," you suggest, staring at the dish and noticing the rich smell of tallow and garlic. He hums. Takes a spoon from his waist apron and neatly snaps the gratin in half, where it bleeds a little rich broth and exposes layers carefully arranged and color-blocked. He feeds you first. There is a moment, the spoon at your lips, where you look up at him. You try desperately to act normal. This happens, perhaps. This isn't untoward. Or intimate. No. You open your mouth, looking into his eyes, which are the same dark red as usual. No more heat than usual. No more intensity than usual. You chew: potato, gruyere, beef tallow, minced garlic, and king oyster mushrooms. You swallow, mouth salivating, the pinot gris would cut the fat, add a floral lightness. But maybe a citrus note? but if the intention was to add truffle grated on top then perhaps...

He's watching you think as he takes his own bite. His expression doesn't change, still. He puts the spoon down on the pass, sips the tea that's going cold. "'S good," you say finally, feeling his gaze. "Rich." He nods, taking the notepad out of his apron and jotting a few things you can't see. When he looks up his calm expression finally breaks. His eyebrows draw down across his face. His lips go firm, and the words in his mouth are back to heavy weights, dropping down onto your chest as he stares you down. "I'll impress you next time," he says. A decree.

Normal normal normal, you chant to yourself, fighting a reaction. "Yes, chef," you say knowing a dismissal when you hear one.

#x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #chef bakugo i want you so bad....#cant stop thinking about him lately this is a terminal disease #this is NOT the first time theyve interacted btw #reader is just. she just. has no awareness. her people skills are worse than bakugos. also omg i have some little ideas for this AU rattlin #around including one with Deku and Bakugo where bakugo says reader reminds him of izu #and izu ((in a loving commited relationship with ocha)) is like... still me?#and baku is like. always you.#kills myself #this au would be so angsty #my writing #Spotify

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 2 years ago

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Same Old Truck

Jake Seresin x fem!reader 7k words (yeah i know)

summary: It’s been fifteen years since you last saw Jake Seresin. Back then, you were head over heels in love with him. Now you aren’t much better off. The only question: If it ended back then, how can you be sure it’ll last now?

a/n: still no clue about the us military. i googled it all and as we know google is inaccurate as shit so dont mind that also that’s one of my favourite jake gifs so.... yeah.

top gun masterlist

Usually on a Friday night, you would be sitting at home with a nice cup of tea, watching TV. Sometimes, you would be out with friends, drinking and dancing. Today, you were back at your old high school’s gym in a summer dress, champagne in one hand and phone in the purse at your side, chatting to people you hadn’t seen since graduation.

Everyone had come back today. All of the guys you had spent years next to in class, laughing with over lunch in the cafeteria, gossiping with, studying with, crying with. There were so many memories here, good ones as well as bad ones, and you’d dabbed at your cheeks more times already than you wanted to admit. But who could blame you? So many stories were being told again, half of which you’d forgotten over the years, and new ones as well - these of careers and weddings and kids. It was unbelievable how much and how fast everybody had grown up.

Yet as happy as you were to be here, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread too, couldn’t help the gnawing in your stomach, the nerves bubbling up, the voices in your head that had been arguing for days now - Will he come? He’s far away after all. Do you even want him to come?

And after an hour of being here, an hour of not having seen him once, you were beginning to think that all that hope, all that dread, all that nervous anticipation had been for nothing in the end - he hadn’t come. You scolded yourself for the bitter taste that thought left in your mouth. You tried to wash it down with champagne. When that didn’t work, you excused yourself from the group you’d been catching up with to find something stronger.

And, of course, just as you had lost hope, just as you decided fuck him, let’s get drunk, just as you turned around to walk to the bar, there he was, in all his glory, standing in the doorway with a killer grin, shirt with the top buttons undone, hands stuffed lazily in the pockets of his jeans, and as you felt yourself stiffen at nothing but the sight of him, you realised that even fifteen years later you were no better off than you had been in senior year in high school.

Well, shit.

A chorus of cheers went through the crowd when he stepped in, like he was some superstar, some hero. Of course. Obviously you weren’t the only one still stuck on high school impressions.

Jake Seresin made it all of two steps into the gym before he was surrounded, shaking hands and greeting people and offering everyone a charming smile. You stood, dumbfounded, frozen in your spot - how you’d hoped he’d come. How you’d begged he wouldn’t. How you’d prayed he’d show up. How you’d pleaded he’d stay far, far away.

His eyes met yours and you could feel your knees going weak at once. Goddamn, you had to get yourself together. You were a grown ass woman, an adult with her own successful career, her own apartment, her own cat, her own fucking life, not a teenage girl anymore wooed simply by the attention of the popular guy.

At least that was what you told yourself as you tore your eyes away and forced yourself to turn around and walk up to the bar to pour a whiskey, ignoring your shaking hands as best as you could. One of the advantages of being an adult, of course, was this: There was alcohol at the prom now. No more forbidden bottles of wine and beer stolen from parents’ cabinets to sip after midnight, when the gym had closed and the teachers were going home and you were perched on the back of Jake’s truck with the rest of your friends in your dresses and suits.

“He still looks at you like that.”

You almost jumped out of your own skin at your old friend’s voice. You’d lost contact years ago - sad, really, because you’d always loved her. You remembered her in your bedroom, rummaging through your closet like it was hers, flitting about with the makeup she’d brought from home to help you get ready for your first date. You could remember her sleeping over any chance she got, you could remember staying at her’s every Saturday, you could remember dinner with her parents and torturing her little brother and staring in awe when she had got her first laptop. You’d been through thick and thin with her.

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that”, you said, pushing the well of emotions down as far as you could. You were here to enjoy a night of catching up, not cry every time someone talked to you. She raised an eyebrow.

“You still look at him like that too.”

“Look at who like what?”, you asked, your fingers skimming the rim of your glass. You weren’t dumb - she was talking about him, of course, about Jake, about the way you’d frozen in place when you’d seen him. You had been hoping it hadn’t been as obvious, but it seemed it had been (despite your prayers).

“You should go talk to him”, she said, brushing over your question completely. You bit your lip and looked down.

“It’s been fifteen years”, you said softly. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“It’s been fifteen years for everyone”, she countered. “And let me just remind you that reading people’s body language is part of my job. You very obviously want to talk to him.”

Right - you’d forgotten she’d studied psychology.

“I...” You took a deep breath and glanced up at her. “I’m not saying I don’t want to talk to him. I’m just saying... I don’t know what I’d tell him. And I don’t know if he even wants to talk to me.”

She snorted at that.

“Are you kidding me? He’s been eyeing you from over there since he got here, he definitely wants to talk to you. He probably would’ve already if he wasn’t being cornered by literally half the people here at once.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course he’s still just as popular.”

You couldn’t help but grin. You knew very well that she loved him - at least that she had back then - and that she was feigning the annoyance just like she always had. They’d got in so much trouble together, pranked each other to the point where they’d both ended up in the ER, and you were surprised that they’d lost contact, though you knew yourself just how easily that happened. Time really did sneak up on you in life. You’d be surrounded by friends one day and when you looked back the day after that, years would have passed and they would all be off in some faraway corners of the world without you.

Your eyes started filling with tears for the millionth time today. You tried to blink them away, but she noticed before you could.

“Oh god”, she said, putting a hand to your arm, “Don’t cry or I’ll cry too.”

“Sorry”, you laughed, in an attempt to get your mood back up. “It’s just- Sometimes I just wish we could go back. I didn’t even realise how much I missed you all. Promise me we’ll stay in touch after this, please? I don’t want to lose you again.”

You could see the tears in her eyes when she sniffled and hugged you, throwing her arms around you with a fevor that nearly knocked you back.

“Promise! And you promise to come to my wedding.”

You laughed as you held her close. “Definitely.”

When she pulled away again, you had to dab at your eyes, but she wasn’t looking at you - she was looking at something behind you, the corners of her lips tugging upwards, and the twinkle in her expression reminded you of the way she’d always looked at Jake the second before tackling him.

Jake, you thought, and immediately your body reacted (to the mere thought of him, no less), a cold shiver running down your spine, your jaw clenching, your knees going weak. She winked at you. You had half a mind not to turn around.

“Loverboy heading your way”, she muttered. She was already backing away when you came to your senses.

“Don’t you want to, you know, catch up too?”

Maybe it would be less weird if she stayed. Maybe you’d be less affected. Maybe... Or maybe not. But she wasn’t about to let you figure that out.

“I’ve got his number saved”, she shrugged. “You just relax and enjoy it.”

Relax and enjoy it, sure, sure, because that was so easy. Because you hadn’t spent the last fifteen years drinking up every tidbit of information about him that had somehow crossed your path. Which hadn’t been much anyway. He’d become a naval aviator, just like he’d always wanted. He’d been travelling all over the US. He’d come for the holidays whenever he’d been able to. That was that. So basically, you knew nothing. Nothing at all.

You didn’t know if he was still the same Jake you’d dated back then. You had no clue if perhaps he was an entirely different person now.

But you would have to find out. You would have to jump in at the deep end, because you were standing all alone at the bar with Jake coming up behind you. Your fingers swiped over your glass. You didn’t want to turn around. Yet everything inside of you was screaming at you to do it, just to look at him, just to know if this was the same guy that you’d been head-over-heels in love with in high school.

He tapped your shoulder. You could smell his aftershave. Your hand wrapped around your glass as you took one last, deep breath and turned to him.

He’d grown. He was taller than you by a head now. His shoulders were broader. His hair was shorter. His hands were bigger, gripping the neck of a bottle of beer. His fingers were longer. You were certain that he was hiding a set of well-defined abs beneath his shirt.

But his face was still shaven - you remembered him doing it with your pink razor in your bathroom one Monday morning before school, when he hadn’t had the time the day before - and his eyes were still the same shade of greenish grey that you’d never quite managed to figure out.

You had to smile involuntarily.

“If it isn’t the prom king in all his glory”, you grinned, hiding your nerves under an all too familiar facade of teasing and flirting. “Just had to make a late, dramatic entrance, did you?”

He grinned as well, resting his elbow on the bar top, his aftershave fully clogging up your senses.

“Well, if it ain’t the prom queen”, he drawled. He paused to look at you. Really look at you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and usually you’d think you would feel embarrassed or shy, but Jake had looked at you so many times before that all you felt was a sense of familiarity. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been eighteen years old. But you did nevertheless.

“You look stunning”, he said after a moment. You couldn’t help the heat spreading through your body like molten gold.

“You don’t look too bad yourself”, you smiled - the understatement of the century.

Jake Seresin had always looked just a bit too handsome for his own good. It had got him in and out of trouble often enough. But, well, back then he’d been a teenager, hardly an adult. Now he was grown up. He was wider and broader and older and if anything, he’d become even more handsome, even more attractive over the years: he’d got tan and obviously he’d been working out. His job seemed to be doing good for him.

You couldn’t believe that after all these years, you were standing in front of him again. Looking at a man living his dream, not a boy just dreaming it anymore. He’d been extraordinary back then - now he was nothing short of impressive.

You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at each other. It could’ve been anything from a few seconds to a few minutes. You didn’t mind. You didn’t think you’d have minded a few hours either. Compared to fifteen years, that was nothing.

“I got off the plane two hours ago”, he explained eventually. “Hence the dramatic entrance.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“You got here today?”, you asked.

“Two hours ago”, he repeated with a grin.

“Shit”, you laughed. “What’d you do, miss the first three flights?”

“Had to work ‘till five.”

“Five?” You slipped your phone out of your pocket to take a look at the time. “It’s ten. How’d you get here in five hours?”

His grin widened.

“Kind of my job to be good with planes.”

So he was still as cheeky as he’d been back then. And his accent had hardly changed - you’d dreaded hearing him with something like a Brooklyn one. God knows where he’d spent his time.

But no. He was still your Jake. Your Jake from back then. Jake who’d taken you on an hour-long drive in his car just to go stargazing on a random Thursday night, Jake who’d climbed in through your window when there’d been no reason to, Jake who’d left you his cowboy hat even though it was his most prized possession. Jake.

“Is it your job to get off the plane looking flawless too?”, you asked, heartbeat quickening. You’d never had inhibitions when it came to complimenting him. Sometimes you’d thought you shouldn’t fuel his ego further - though in the end you’d always decided he deserved it. Your friends had been so annoyed with you, but you’d never minded. You’d never minded his arrogant grins or that over-confident twinkle in his eyes. Maybe because you knew that despite it all, he was a big sweetheart, or maybe because it was all just so very justified. Because he was that talented, because he was that charming, because he was that attractive. So why, good lord, why should he not have known it?

“You know I always look flawless”, he chuckled.

“Ah, yes”, you said. “Of course. Always have, always will.”

He paused for a moment. Then he said, “Much like you.”

Your grin widened. He’d never seemed to have a problem complimenting you, either. God - he was here, he was real. After fifteen long years, you were finally seeing him again. And apart from a few differences, it was like he’d never left.

“I missed you”, you whispered with a smile still on your lips. You didn’t leave him time to respond, too afraid that his answer might not be one you wanted to hear, that he might not have thought about you at all. Which you really couldn’t have held against him - it’d been so long you wouldn’t even have been surprised. “Now tell me what you’ve been up to. I want to know everything. If you did become the best pilot the navy’s ever seen, if you did visit every state. If your dream turned out just as good as you wanted it to.”

He did tell you. He told you about the academy, about the planes, about the places he’d been stationed at. (”That’s classified”, he chuckled when you asked him why he was stationed in San Diego now. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”) He told you about the people he worked with, about what a callsign was, about being one of the only ones on active duty who’d shot down enemy planes. But more importantly than that, he told you about what it felt like to fly. About the freedom of being up in the air, about being responsible for only him and his own plane, about power and liberty and about feeling like he belonged.

You had to bite your lip to keep from getting too emotional again. He’d lost none of the charm of the young boy dreaming about all this, about planes, about flying, about how one day he’d be up there himself. He’d promised you - lying on the roof of his car, wrapped up in his arms, staring at the darkening sky and pointing out contrails - He’d promised you that one day he’d do it. You had made him swear he wouldn’t stop at anything to get there.

“You seem happy”, you said when he’d finished, a genuine smile on your lips. He did seem happy. And you were happy for him.

“I am”, he agreed. He looked at you again, looked you in the eyes with an easy grin, voice turning all serious. “Just sometimes think I could be happier.”

You felt the intensity of his eyes stronger, then. Heat rushed to your cheeks. You grabbed your glass more tightly.

“Happier how?”, you asked, a bit breathless, because you thought you knew the answer. But you wanted to hear him say it. Hear him admit that he’d not forgotten about you. That he’d remembered the little girl from school throughout the years. That maybe after the great love story of your lives had turned into just another high school romance, you hadn’t been the only one to stop and ask yourself if maybe it really had been the love of your life, if maybe you had blown your chance of ever finding love like that again.

You’d cursed him so often. After dates, after breakups, after watching rom-coms on your couch with your cat curled up in your lap and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream perched on your leg. Cursed him for ruining men for you so early on, for setting your standards too high, for going away back then, for never really coming back.

Jake reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. He put it in front of you. You frowned.

“Take off the case”, he urged. Your curiosity won, so you let go off your glass to peel off his phone case - plain black, but you hadn’t expected anything else. A piece of paper came free. You looked up at him with raised eyebrows. When he nodded, you glanced back, dropping the case onto the bar top to unfold the paper. It was barely bigger than your hand and even though it looked torn at the edges, it must have been folded carefully after every time it had been looked at.

You recognised your own scrawly handwriting the very moment you glanced at it, gasping up at Jake, who only grinned.

This is your guardian angel, you’d written, in the middle of maths class one fateful day close to graduation, here to tell you to pay attention. You won’t be a very good pilot at all if you can’t concentrate on what you’re doing because you’re staring at me.

So you’ll be up in the air with me?, he’d scrawled below that.

Always, you’d scribbled. Even if you can’t see me.

You could remember that day well, mainly because that morning he’d been accepted into USNPS, the first step on his way to chasing his dream. He’d pulled up to your house and you’d already been closing the door, but unlike usual he hadn’t stayed in his car, instead he’d come sprinting at you with the biggest grin and you’d already known what had happened just by looking at him, so you’d run at him at full speed, abandoning your schoolbag and jumping up into his arms, drawing him in and kissing the grin right off of his face.

“You kept that?”, you asked with a laugh.

“Of course”, he said. “I took it up with me the first time and came back in one piece. Haven’t flown a single time without it.”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. If you weren’t careful, you’d fall back into your old habit and keep at it until you drew blood, but...

“So a piece of me has been up in the air with you every time”, you realised.

“I couldn’t leave behind my guardian angel now, could I?”

You felt a hot tear running down your cheek that you did your best to wipe away without letting him see. He’d not only kept one of your notes all these years (and you’d written each other a ton of those), he’d used it as a lucky charm - Jake, who’d never been religious, much less superstitious. He’d kept it, he’d kept it close to him for fifteen years, he’d taken it up in the air with him every single time. He’d made you a part of his dream even after you’d let him go.

“I actually did write you a letter, you know”, you admitted, quietly, almost whispering. “I did even before they’d accepted you. I wanted to give it to you the day I had to kiss you goodbye at the airport. It said... it said that I had always known you’d do it and that I was sure you’d become the best of them all. That I was always right anyway so you could trust me. That I would always be there for you, no matter how far away you went. And that I’d... that I’d be there even when you were up in the air. I folded it so it’d fit in a pocket. So that you could carry it like a lucky charm even though I knew you didn’t believe in them.”

He was smiling when you found the strength to look at him again.

“Why didn’t you give it to me?”, he asked and for just a moment you thought you heard a kind of sadness in his tone. You shrugged.

“We’d broken up. I didn’t want to make it harder for either of us.”

He paused. You didn’t look away this time. The paper still between your fingers, a chorus of ‘He never forgot’ in your mind.

“But you still came to say goodbye at the airport.”

You took a deep breath. Yes - you had driven to the airport that day, had sprinted to the gate you’d known he was supposed to be at and tackled him just before he could go through security. That was the last time you’d seen him - waving at you as you sobbed, a smile on his lips that you knew he was only putting on to seem strong for you, before he disappeared into the gate and you realised just who you’d lost.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye”, you admitted. “I had to see you one last time.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And that didn’t make it harder?”

“Only a bit”, you chuckled, pretending there weren’t tears dropping off your chin. “But it would’ve been worse if I’d had to live with the knowledge that I never got to properly say goodbye. I thought I’d never get to see you again. I mean, we all knew that you’d be successful and that you wouldn’t come back. What’s a little town in the middle of Texas got to offer a multi-million-dollar plane-flying naval aviator such as yourself?”

You glanced from him back down to the paper in your hands, your own handwriting, and folded it carefully again. You couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, not while you were living through the memories of two beautiful years and one horrible one to get over them. Maybe all this was pathetic - you’d thought so a lot of times before. Maybe it was pathetic that you were clinging on to a boy from high school, to someone you hadn’t seen in fifteen years, to someone you knew - and had always known - you simply did not have a future with. But every time you met someone else, every time you considered the possibility of settling down, of marriage and growing old, you had to think back and compare and god, Jake Seresin really had ruined your love life so very early on. He’d ruined dating for you once and for all. Your miserable attempts at hookups and boyfriends had always ended the same: with you waving goodbye because none of it felt good enough to be called love. None of it came close enough to him.

Jake hooked his fingers under your chin and turned your face to his, his thumb brushing over your skin to wipe away your tears. You bit your lip, the weight of his eyes on yours enough to make your nerves run rampant.

“What about my dream girl waiting back home?”, he asked quietly.

You took a deep breath. Thoughts were racing through your mind at such a speed that you couldn’t grasp a single one - shreds of “dream girl” and “after all these years” and “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck”. A lot of that last one, really. With how close he was, those too-familiar eyes boring into yours and the feeling of his touch for what was the first time in a decade, you couldn’t even say you were surprised.

“Dream girl?”, you repeated breathlessly, your voice hoarse to the point of breaking. You had half a mind to stay where you were (not that you could move a muscle). He smiled.

“Dream girl.”

Your brain short-circuited.

This was better even than the wildest of scenarios you’d been imagining since you’d got the invite to the reunion - hell, this was better than what you’d been imagining over the past fifteen years. You’d pictured over and over what it would be like to see him again, to talk to him and to touch him again, and every time you had scolded yourself for doing so because it would never happen anyway. Now here you were. And Jake was more breath-taking, more overwhelming than ever, driving you to the edge of insanity with just his presence, a grown version of the boy you’d kept close to your heart all throughout your life, a man now who’d achieved everything he’d ever wanted, and he was telling you, you and no one else, after fifteen years, that you were his dream girl. That you were the only thing this whole town still had to offer, the only thing he was still missing.

You had to close your eyes and take a shaky breath.

“Jake”, you said quietly. “We haven’t seen each other in over a decade. You don’t even know who I am anymore.”

His thumb kept brushing over your skin even after the tears had dried.

“So let me get to know you again”, he muttered.

You smiled. It was like he was plucking the - in themselves very few - doubts from your mind with such care that you felt fuzzy inside. You opened your eyes again to look at him, only to catch him still staring at you, lips curled in something between a genuine smile and a cheeky grin.

“I went to college in California because I had to get away from home for a bit”, you started in a whisper. If he wanted to get to know you, he’d have to make do with the run down of your life for now. “Studied child care. Came back and got a job as a kindergarden teacher here. I got an apartment, I got a car, I got a cat. You know, just like I’d always said. It all worked out exactly like I’d planned.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. His fingers had travelled from your chin to cup your jaw softly, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“So you’re living your dream”, he said.

“I guess so.”

“Impressive.”

“Says you.”

There was a pause - Jake was just looking at you again, smiling, but you didn’t feel like complaining. You never had, you certainly never would. He could spend the rest of his life looking at you if he wanted to.

“Green still your favourite colour?”, he asked. You nodded. If it were anyone else, maybe you would’ve been surprised that they’d remembered but god, it was him, you would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t. He’d remembered every little detail about you back then, from the nail polish you had used to the sound of your father’s footsteps coming down the staircase.

“Your mum’s hot chocolate still the only you’ll drink?”

You nodded again. Your smile was quickly turning into a broad grin.

“Do you still turn the volume all the way up when our song plays?”

You swallowed. And nodded again. Your song - the one that had played in the background for your first kiss, for your last, for your first dance at prom, that time you’d baked in his kitchen, countless more when you’d been driving around in his truck. You had turned it up all the way whenever you’d heard it, no matter where or when. And Jake had pulled you close to him and started dancing with you, twirling you this way and that until you collapsed against his chest, smiling and laughing and kissing him. Even after he’d left, you had always turned up the volume, just now with no one to dance to it with.

“So I do still know you”, he muttered. You paused to examine him.

“And do I still know you?”, you asked, voice barely more than a breath. His thumb on your cheek stilled. Instead you felt him reach for your waist, tugging you closer, so close that you had to tilt your head back to keep looking at him. You felt your breath catch.

“You’ll have to find out”, he drawled.

“I’d like to”, you smiled. “I’d really like to. It’s just... How do we know it’s not gonna end like before again?”

He was so close that you could kiss him now. He felt like home, all familiar and comfortable and cozy, like love and adventure and sparks in your stomach. He was real, he was here, right now, right there, right in front of you, touching you, talking to you. This wasn’t some fantasy - and that was why you were scared.

It was all fun and games imagining it. Imagining that you’d meet him again and fall for him again and that you’d spend the rest of your life with him because he was the only man you’d ever truly love. But this, this was reality, this was the real world with all its obstacles and its difficulties. The problem was that you remembered like it was yesterday how you had broken up - why you had broken up.

Afterwards you’d been sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat of his truck, letting your tears fall and drop onto your shirt, onto his shirt that you’d been wearing, staring out of the window at the sky and the scenery change, blankly for the very first time. You had been hugging yourself, arms wrapped around your torso, and the radio hadn’t been playing - the radio had always played. But not then. He had been driving in silence and you hadn’t said anything either and when he had pulled up in the driveway in front of your house, you had got out without another word and paused just before closing the door.

“I love you, Jake”, you’d said. “I’ll never not love you.”

And he’d said “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know” and then you had shut the door and not looked back at him once as you had walked up to the house, fumbled for your keys and sunken down into a puddle of human limbs in the hallway, sobbing and screaming and struggling for breath.

“Because it was the wrong time back then”, he said now, holding you close to him.

“And this is the right time?”, you asked.

“We’ll have to find out”, he said.

There was a certainty to his voice, a determination in his eyes that told you he wasn’t saying it lightly. Jake Seresin was never saying anything lightly. So despite your fear, you had to smile at him.

“Kiss me”, you breathed.

You didn’t have to think about it, didn’t have to ponder the what’s and if’s or any of the consequences. If there was one thing you knew about him, it was that when he did something, anything, he would come out a winner, because that was just what he did: win. Any situation, any challenges, any difficulties thrown at him. It was why you had always been able to trust him completely, to follow him blindly. Because Jake Seresin would never do something he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of.

So when he pulled you close, when he leaned in, when your heart stopped beating for the moment that his eyes travelled to your lips, when you felt his breath on your skin, the last of your doubts faded away. And when his lips met yours, the last of your thoughts left right with them and your eyes fluttered shut. Because the kiss was soft and gentle, because neither of you moved for a second, because you were holding your breath in fear that this moment might be a dream after all, because he put an arm around your waist and held you close, because your hands found their way to his jaw, cupping his face, holding him there as firmly and as carefully as you could, as if not wanting to break him or maybe just not wanting to break the kiss. Because he tasted like mint and beer and vanilla somehow and because he smelled of sandalwood and spice and something so distinctly him. Because it was so familiar and so new at the same time.

Because when he moved his lips against yours, when he deepened the kiss, your feet suddenly weren’t on the ground anymore, not anywhere near the earth, and if you had opened your eyes you probably would have seen heaven, but you didn’t because why would you have, why would you have with his arm around you and his hand holding your cheek and his lips on yours so perfectly.

There were fireworks going off in your heart, butterflies going berserk in your tummy, warmth unfurling in every part of your body.

He tasted of your very first kiss and your last and every single one in between that, of the memories of so many: your legs wrapped around his waist, waves crashing against your bodies, friends cheering from the beach; your arms around his neck, the hood of his jacket, too big for you anyway, pulled over your head, snowflakes catching on your nose; his fingers skipping over your cheek, pulling you close to him, rain dripping against the umbrella he was holding over the two of you; the warmth of his sweater and a cup of tea, sitting cross-legged on his windowsill, his lips barely ghosting over yours, quickly, softly, as to not disturb your stargazing.

When he pulled back, you were tempted to chase after him for another kiss, but instead you just smiled at him. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed, thumb still brushing over your cheek.

“I waited so long for that”, he muttered. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“No longer than I have”, you chuckled. You were still a little breathless and a lot emotional. He opened his eyes and pulled back a bit to look at you, the ghost of a grin dancing across his lips.

“No”, he admitted. “Probably not.”

You wanted nothing more than to bathe in this feeling of joy, of bliss, of finally being back home, but...

“Jake”, you whispered. “Why did you never come see me? You visited your parents at least once a year for Christmas. Why now?”

He pulled away from you, drawing his arm back and his hand from your jaw, and you felt horribly lonely at once, like you’d made some irreversible mistake and hurt him deeply. He grabbed the neck of his beer bottle and took a sip. Your teeth found your bottom lip again and you reached for your long abandoned whiskey glass, fingertips skimming over the rim as you watched him from the side. Eventually, he let out a chuckle and shrugged.

“I was scared”, he said quietly. You raised your eyebrows.

“Scared?”, you repeated. You couldn’t believe that any word related to fear was rolling off his tongue. Jake Seresin was never scared. He simply didn’t do fear. “You? That can’t be.”

He laughed then and looked back up at you and you felt yourself smile, relieved that you didn’t seem to have hurt him after all.

“It’s true. Sadly.”

You grinned and shook your head, still in shock that not only he’d been afraid at all, but that he was admitting it - to you, to himself. He really must have grown a lot over the years.

“So why now, all of a sudden?”, you asked.

He was quiet for a moment, just looking at you, taking in your expression, thinking about your question and how to answer it or thinking about if to answer it at all, you didn’t know.

“I flew a mission two months ago.” He’d gone serious. “A few of us almost didn’t come back. Makes you think about your priorities in life.”

You couldn’t help the lump in your throat or the way your fingers stilled. You’d always tried to ignore just how dangerous his job actually was, what was on the line every time he started the plane. Once you’d asked him about it, about why he would purposefully put himself at risk like that, and he’d looked at you in earnest and asked you if you would not do the same for your dream, if you would decide any different, decide to keep yourself safe with no concern for the children in your care. You’d smiled and kissed him instead of giving him an answer. It had been obvious enough.

“So... you’ve been rethinking priorities?”, you asked carefully.

Priorities. That one word had held so much power all those years ago. It had been the reason he’d left, the reason you’d stayed, the reason you’d let him leave, the reason he’d let you stay. Priorities. Over a decade later and it was still haunting you. You’d done your own fair share of thinking about it.

“You haven’t?”, he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. You had to smile as well, shaking your head slightly as you chuckled.

“I have.”

He raised his eyebrows as if to say I told you so.

“You really think we can do this”, you realised, somehow not surprised. Jake just didn’t take unnecessary risks. He nodded.

“I do.”

It had been fifteen years. Fifteen years that you’d spent without him, without anything - no calls, no texts, no nothing. But here he was and despite what should be logical and reasonable and what you should probably do, you knew that you’d still do anything he asked. If he was serious about this, you would be too. If he thought you could manage it, then you would manage it.

“How long are you gonna be here?”, you asked. He chuckled.

“Two weeks.”

“Already got a place to stay?”

He raised his eyebrows at that, amusement apparent in his expression, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Not necessarily.”

“Alright”, you said, trying your hardest not to look too cheeky. “How would you like a cozy little apartment with absolutely no room service but a fully functioning kitchen and a very cute alarm at 3am every night called my cat?”

Jake smiled.

“Sounds lovely.”

“You’re saying that now”, you snorted. “Wait ‘till you get punched in the face by one too-big possum.”

“Sounds very lovely.”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your whiskey - it was almost empty by now and the clock read half past eleven. Was it acceptable to leave already? You’d talked to most everybody you’d wanted to catch up with so far, exchanged numbers with everyone you wanted to keep in touch with. There was nothing really keeping you here.

“Do you...” You bit your lip, suddenly shy for some reason. Maybe it’d been too long to still feel confident when suggesting something like this. “Do you want to get out?”

His grin deepened, turned smug, and he raised his eyebrows, emptying his beer at once.

“I hear there’s an apartment waiting for me”, he said.

“And a demon possum”, you reminded with a laugh.

“Not to forget.”

Silence fell, comfortable, only for a second. He was here and he was real and he had kissed you and you were taking him home. Taking him home because maybe this time it would last. Because you felt fifteen years younger with him, like a girl in her last year of high school. Because you wanted all that again, everything that since then you had only read of in romance novels and watched on screens. That “love of my life”, that “once in a lifetime”, that “heaven on earth”. Maybe you were stupidly optimistic. Maybe you remembered it all through rose-coloured glasses and the perception of a teenage girl.

But maybe it would be even better. Maybe this time it really would last. Maybe you had, in fact, both rethought priorities. Maybe you had both come to the same conclusion. Maybe this time, love would play just as important of a role for your futures as your careers had back then. Maybe what Jake said was true - maybe this was the right time.

“I’ve got my truck parked outside”, he said, putting the beer bottle down on the bar top.

“The same old truck?”, you asked. That truck had been through a lot with the two of you. You’d been through a lot with that truck. You couldn’t believe it still existed.

“Same old truck”, he nodded. You shook your head as you grinned at him. You’d had your first kiss there, you’d said your first I love you’s there - you’d said your last there too.

So you puzzled his phone back together, held it out to him and drawled:

“Then take me for a ride, cowboy.”

#top gun #top gun x reader #x reader #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader

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winchesterszvonecek · 11 months ago

Text

First Christmas - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Summary: Your first proper Christmas with Brian becomes that much more special when he asks you that one magical question

Word Count: 1272

Warnings: female!reader, implied sex

A/N: I feel like this sucks so apologies if it does

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

It was your first Christmas living with Brian. The first time in the two years you’d been dating that you’d be spending the holiday under the same roof. The last two times you had both been with your families, only getting to spend the last few hours of Christmas day together and cherishing each second.

But things were different now.

Now you were living together, in the very place you’d both put your whole heart into making a home. Which meant from the second the clock struck midnight, you’d get to spend every single second of your favourite holiday with the man you loved more than anything.

And to make matters even better, it was snowing.

“I always loved seeing snow on Christmas.” You sighed contently, drawing lazy circles over Brian’s knee as you sat between his legs.

The first thing you’d done when you both moved in was make a cozy little nook by the biggest window. Filled with pillows, blankets and the stuffed bear Brian had gotten you last Christmas. Somewhere you could just curl up with a cup of tea and watch as the world went by around you. Bonus points if it was raining. You could sit there for hours if it was raining.

You both sat there now, watching the snow. Brian’s arms wrapped comfortingly around you, your back pressed up against his chest with his head resting atop yours. Low Christmas music drifted through the air and the crackling of the fire only added to the coziness of the moment.

All that was missing was some hot cocoa but unfortunately you’d forgotten to pick some up at the store, which meant you had to settle for beer instead. But you didn’t care. You had the love of your life holding you close and that’s all that really mattered.

“I’m really happy we’re together this year.” You said softly, placing your hand on Brian’s as you glanced up at him, the way his eyes softened immediately when they met yours warming your heart immensely.

“Me too, baby.” Brian whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss against your lips, feeling as they lifted beneath his as you couldn’t help but smile. He pulled back just a little, lifting one hand to gently graze his knuckles down the side of your face. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” Your eyes widened a touch, excitement filling your stomach as it wasn’t Christmas day yet and Brian always was a stickler for the rules of not opening presents until then. He nodded, shuffling a little to reach into his pocket as you lifted yourself away from him.

Spinning to face him, you crossed your legs beneath you, the smile on your face as he pulled out a neatly wrapped, small box from his pocket making him one hundred percent sure he wanted to do this right now. Not that he could have waited anyway but still, your excitement only fuelled his own and surprisingly, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he might have been.

“I was planning to give it to you tomorrow night.” Brian said almost anxiously, his eyes glued to the box as he hesitated for just a second. He held it out towards you, eyes never leaving it until you had taken it from him and when you did, you could have sworn you heard him suck in a breath. “But I couldn’t wait any longer and honestly, doing it on Christmas seemed kinda cliche.”

“Doing what?” You asked, eyes narrowing a little as you gently shook the box. It made no noise.

“You’ll see.” Brian smiled, pushing your hands closer to you as he urged you to open the present before he did it for you as now that the gears were set in motion, he couldn’t contain his excitement. “Open it.”

“Okay.” You said with a touch of nervousness, sliding your finger through the folds of the paper and carefully tearing it open, revealing a black, velvet box beneath. “Brian…”

Your heart was practically in your throat as you realised what was happening. Your mouth unable to form anything but whispers of unintelligible babble as you shakily opened the box, your eyes tearing up when you confirmed your suspicions about what was inside.

Reaching forwards Brian took the box from you, which was easy given how limp your hands seemed to go. He stood up, pulling you up with him and the second your legs straightened, his bent and he got down on one knee.

“I’ve never had much luck when it came to relationships.” Brian began, taking your hand in his and feeling how it shook in his hold. “But when I met you… I knew I wouldn’t need luck anymore because that was the day I knew I’d found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

You were already crying and he hadn’t even asked you the question yet. But you knew your answer. Hell, you’d known it long before this very moment.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, the word leaving your lips before Brian’s even had a chance to settle in the air. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Brian’s smile widened more than you’d ever seen it and you didn’t think his dimples could get any deeper, but boy were you wrong. He got to his feet, sliding the most beautiful ring you’d ever laid eyes on onto your finger, where it fit perfectly. Like it was made just for you when in reality, Brian thought he’d have to get it resized.

The second his movements stopped you kissed him, with such intense heat that it would rival that which crackled softly in your fireplace. Your bodies pressed together firmly, his hands landing on either side of your neck as he held you the way you always liked. So gentle and caring that there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind about your answer to his question. And there never would be as Brian was the embodiment perfect.

“I love you so goddamn much.” You whispered, voice a little croaky as you were still very much, crying.

“I love you too.” Brian replied softly, brushing your hair behind your ear as he pressed another loving kiss to your lips, wondering how in the hell he managed to get so lucky. Not only had you agreed to go out with him but you��d now said yes to marrying him, surely he was dreaming?

Things heated up between you both again, your fingers working their way into his soft curls as you kissed him with enough passion that you wouldn’t have needed words to tell him you loved him. You jumped a little, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling as his hands came to land on your upper thighs, holding you in place as he slowly made his way towards the couch.

The next thing you knew you were lying on top of him, the two of you naked, equally as sweaty as one another and completely out of breath. In other words, in complete and utter bliss as who knew a marriage proposal would result in the best sex the two of you had ever had.

Neither of you had paid any attention to the time, not until the antique grandfather clock you’d thrifted suddenly began to chime, causing you to lift your head a little and glance over at it.

“It’s midnight.” You whispered, smiling softly as your eyes fell back onto your boyf… Your fiancé, rather. You leaned down, pressing a light kiss to his lips before whispering. “Merry Christmas, Brian.”

Like this? Apply to my Otis tag list here!

tagging: @sancochillo @kellykidd @violetmacher @kiddbegins @neapolitantoebeans @alexxavicry @babyyoda89 @wandamaxim0f @bloodybagels @stephydearestxo @evanbuckbuckley @annchersita @doublebassallie @orileyrandom @sjhhemmings @gretsky0321 @yeahnahalrightfairenough

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brighter-by-the-daly · 1 year ago

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Millie Bright x Reader

Around If You Need Me

Part of the Beth McCarthy mini series

Omg Did She Call Him Baby?

Did he fuck it up again?

I know that she needs a friend

But I want to be more than that

He's her type, he's a ten

When he messages I bet

Unlike me he doesn't get left unread

“Hey! What ya doing tomorrow, I haven’t seen you in ages?” you asked as soon as Millie answered the phone. “Oh hey (y/n/n), I’m out at the moment, can I call you back later?” her reply full of distraction. “Of course, yeah.. that’s fine, speak soon!” There wasn’t a reply as the line abruptly hung off after that. Flopping back onto the bed disappointed, Millie never has time for you anymore and you’re starting to wonder why you keep trying. Going back to mindlessly scrolling TikTok and playing games on your phone while murder documentaries played out on the TV in front of you. You hadn’t left your bedroom in days and had taken the plunge to ask Millie for a coffee after not hearing from her in weeks. She was your best friend but you felt like you weren’t hers anymore. If she needed anything you’d drop everything just to be there for her but that was rarely reciprocated lately. You pretended to understand, she is an international footballer these days and you just have a boring 9-5 in an office, leaving you loads of spare time to miss her.

Drawing your eyes away from your phone and towards the clock you were shocked to see it was midnight, you’d been so focussed on your phone and waiting for a call back which never happened. Again. Feeling deflated you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed, even though you’ve been laying on it all weekend.

The next morning you still had zero notifications from Millie, you know she can be forgetful so decided to text her. After writing and deleting several messages before settling on “be good to catch up x”, pressing the send button before you changed your mind again. With a mouth full of sandwich on your lunch break you were starting to feel a bit forgotten by your best friend come ex. Oh yeah, you used to date but it was only for a month. She was experimenting and let’s just say that that experiment didn’t go the way you had hoped. It wasn’t an experiment for you, you’d known you liked women from an early age and Millie kinda took advantage of that. No sooner after she called it off she got with her now boyfriend who’s she’s been with for about six months. That’s when she started to distance herself from you. You used to hang out all the time but now your messages get left on read and when they are replied to, it’s always days.. sometimes weeks later and every time it’s - “sorry I forgot”. Fair enough, she’s a busy lady but you don’t just forget your best friend exists do you? Millie is everyone’s friend yet she was your only friend so you’d been clinging on to the threads of the friendship that was left, always over thinking if you were being naggy or possessive or wasting your time, should you just let her go?

Weeks passed and you’d still hadn’t heard from her, you’d started to come to terms with that fact you’ll never be as close as you once were. Every year she always messages on your birthday so when you received a 10 second phone call of “hey, can I come over?” you literally ran home from the restaurant where your family had taken you to celebrate.

Answering the door excitedly to see her face didn’t feel like you’d imagined as she immediately started ranting about what her boyfriend’s done wrong. She wasn’t there to wish you a happy birthday, she was there because she needed someone to moan to. Nevertheless, you made tea and listened to her for hours until she noticed the cards on the window sill. Picking one up to read it was addressed to you and quickly glancing at her watch to look at the date. “Oh my god, I completely forgot!” she gasped clunking her tea cup onto the table and scooping you into a hug. You knew in your head that a hug shouldn’t make up for forgetting your birthday, but it made your heart a little happier.

Millie cleared her schedule to spend the rest of the day with you, it felt nostalgic watching films and playing with the dogs, drinking tea in the garden and listening to her sharing all the gossip. That was until she received a text from her boyfriend apologising for his earlier actions and inviting her on a date. Running to your wardrobe and flying the doors open to look at the clothes you had hanging there she started to unhook the hangers, look at them for two seconds then chuck them onto the bed - making a huge mess you knew she wasn’t going to tidy. That was until she found a dress you’d been saving for a special occasion and before you could say ‘no’, she’d already stripped out of her trackies and slipped the slinky black number over her body.

“This is perfect!” she exclaimed admiring herself in the mirror. Sighing at how good she looked, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that dress was off limits, even though you knew you’d never see it again. “Can I borrow your make up? Can you straighten my hair?” shoving your straighteners into your hands without giving you a choice in the matter. Reluctantly helping her get ready because you just wanted to make her happy, the voice in the back of your head knew she was taking the piss but your heart just didn’t let you stop. Gazing at her through the mirror as she applied your make up to her face, she paid no attention to your wandering eyes as you longed for her to feel the same way you do. The way her hair falls in exactly the right place, the way the dress clings to her curves perfectly, the way the colour makes her skin glow. You knew what her lips taste like and you’d been searching for that flavour in every woman you’ve kissed since.

“Do you have shoes to go with this?” she asked, snapping you out of your daydream. “Mill, you outgrew my shoes in year 7, don’t you remember?” you said putting your size 5s next to her size 8s. “Hmm, that’s annoying… I’ll just have to make these work” slipping her £400 trainers back on to her feet before leaving your bedroom like a bomb site. “Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked admiring herself in the mirror, “of course he will, he’s not blind Millie” you said trying to hide how deflated you were. Following her downstairs she bought you in for one last hug, “thanks (y/n/n), I can always count on you” as she walked out to the car parked up outside your house. “Oh! Happy birthday by the way!” she waved as she was driven away from you.

Watching her leave you knew, things had to change. You can’t carry on being so available and dependable to her every time she calls. A friendship isn’t a friendship if it’s one sided.. but how many times have you told yourself that before?

#millie bright #millie bright x reader #lionesses #woso x reader #woso masterlist #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #lionesses x reader #england wnt x reader #Spotify

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aching-tummies · 2 months ago

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Citrus Latte

(In terrible 90's commercial cheese-y announcer) Back, for a limited time!

Jokes aside, I've been slowly getting settled into my new life. I won't go into details but my non-min-wage part-time job kind of got the ball rolling on me furthering my education to maybe get certified to do more work in that field, eventually. I've still got the min-wage food job and I'm attending courses as an in-person student for part of the week. Basically, I signed my life away for the foreseeable future, committed to having no days off unless it is a government-mandated holiday where the post-secondary institution is required to be closed and neither one of my jobs calls me in for such a day.

Trying to get used to my new life has taken a few weeks and it's been a grueling few weeks. Lots of nodding off in classes or in transit, napping between classes or trying not to fall asleep at my food-job. Trying (and failing) to go to bed earlier and try to be asleep before midnight. All that jazz.

Sleep is out of whack so I've been surviving on coffee. Doing my best to brew at home because prices on campus make me think that it isn't tuition or lack of working hours driving the 'broke student' trope. Seriously, a slice of pizza and a fountain drink together go for more than the standard minimum-wage on-campus. I refuse to support that kind of gouging so I've been committing to staying up until 2AM meal-prepping to ensure I can grab and go at 4AM to catch the first buses heading to my campus. No, my classes are not that early. But transit in my area leaves much to be desired and when the bus is scheduled to show up once every hour--and often skips two or three buses, a frazzled student's gotta do what they gotta do.

Today was one such day where I was running on coffee and panic. I'd forgotten to get my coffee stuff laid out for me to easily use in the morning so I scrambled to make anything that would be my sweet-treat drink of the day and settled on powdered iced-tea mix. It's got sugar and a bit of caffeine so I was hoping that it'd do the job. 4AM, off to catch a bus that may or may not show up.

By around 3PM I was flagging after having basically chugged the iced-tea in hopes the sugar would revitalize me. When I nodded off in my class I knew I had to take drastic action, so I ran down to the nearest coffee shop and committed to paying way-too-much for a hit of the good stuff. I got some Caramel Latte concoction or something and it was divine. I went and attended my last class of the day while trying to ration that precious water of awakefulness.

Our last class decided to let out early so we wound up being done around 5PM. I had plans to rush home, deal with what I had to deal with, and maybe hit sleep-ville by 8PM.

As I was packing up my school stuff, classmates kept on approaching me. Some to chat casually. Others to ask me for help proof-reading their assignments or to ask about a specific section of the lecture that they couldn't hear very well and were hoping to compare notes with mine (I'm considered a keener and open about trying to help everyone pass the course so people approach me often). While I normally don't mind this kind of interaction 'cuz the more of us that pass, the less I have to worry about making friends in future semesters…today just wasn't my day.

For those that do not know what a Latte is…here it's basically a shot of espresso with the rest of the cup filled with milk. A shot is not a lot of liquid so probably only 1/8th of my cup was coffee and caramel and the rest was all milk.

Milk normally doesn't play nice with my guts anyway, but today the milk had trickled into a system completely saturated with lemon-y, sugary tea. My guts were cramping and twisting like an angry viper for the last 10 minutes of class and I was in a hurry trying to pack up my things to beat a hasty retreat before my stomach decided to void itself by any means necessary.

I stayed behind to chat with a few classmates, not wanting to be rude, but the second all my stuff was in my bag I basically booked it out of the room and down the stairs.

My stomach hurt so, so, so, so bad!

I nearly tumbled down four levels of stairs because my stomach hurt so bad and I just wanted to curl up and rub it…or rip it all out to get rid of the problem completely. Plans to rush home were immediately dashed and I bolted in the hopes of finding a less busy washroom.

I had started the day out on an upset stomach. Stress, lack of sleep--etc. In the morning, I'd had the sense to find a washroom hidden in a corner of campus that had no classrooms (just an out-of-use office) so that washroom basically experienced zero traffic and likely only ever saw single-digit visitors throughout the course of an entire day. I got to use it in peace in the morning.

Unfortunately for me, my last class of the day was diagonally opposite that secluded washroom and my cramping tummy was making it very clear that it would not let me clear campus. I ended up rushing into one of the more busy washrooms and doing my business there. I definitely stayed there longer than I needed to just to wait for a lull when the washroom would be empty so that I could beat an exit without anyone giving me weird looks.

I ended up getting home maybe an hour and a half later than I'd planned because transferring on transit amplifies wait-times. Being 10 minutes late to the first bus you take snowballs into having to wait another 40-50 minutes for the next one, which snowballs into waiting 20 minutes for the next transfer, which snowballs into 20-40 minutes for the last transfer--and that's my route to and from campus…so…like…being in the washroom for an extra 10 minutes has a domino effect on timing.

I'm home now. Luckily, my stomach didn't embarrass me on the ride home. I got home, rushed around my place trying to get things in order. I've let laundry pile up for three weeks, haven't put away my socks or whatevers, and needed to sort out clean from dirties and figure out which items had to be hand-washed and air-dried. Once I got all those stressors out of the way and finally allowed myself to sit down, I finally had the mental capacity to pay attention to my body. My stomach is hurting again.

Send me your best responses? My stomach's been upset all day and chugging lemon-tea and following that up with a latte that most definitely curdled going through my citrus-y guts has done it zero favors. Any ideas on what to do to the mess that is my achy tummy?

#tummy ache #upset tummy #citrus and milk #indigestion #belly aches #upset belly #tummy ache kink #tummy kink #aching tummies

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caspira-writes-fanfiction · 7 months ago

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Finding Family (Fizz's Found Family)-Chapter 4 pt. 8

The Night Before

The eve of Mammon’s Clown Pageant had both Asmodeus and Fizzarolli up late into the night. Asmodeus had spent most of his day in his workshop, where he’d spent most of the day before, and many of his evenings. Asmodeus had hardly realized that he’d spent another night past midnight in his workshop until a buzz from his phone alerted him. It was Fizzarolli.

RoboClown: Any chance you’re still awake? TheBigO: I’m up. Is everything alright? RoboClown: Oh yeah, fine. Just nerves. TheBigO: Do you want to talk? RoboClown: Could I come over actually? RoboClown: If that’s not weird. Why are you still up? TheBigO: It’s not weird, you’re always welcome. I’ll send a car.

Asmodeus could work on this later, he supposed. Fizzarolli was still up, the big contest was tomorrow. Getting his mind and body to rest was more important right now.

Fizzarolli was in Lust’s living room 30 minutes later. He had arrived in his pajamas with a large bag haphazardly packed. He’d been pacing, doubting himself.

“If you’re going to pace like that, you can at least do it on the beam.” Fizzarolli jumped as Asmodeus’s wrist flicked and the small balance beam they’d been practicing on, the one lowest to the ground, appeared next to where Fizzarolli had been pacing in the living room.

“I don’t want to be pacing at all. I want to be sleeping.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“My act isn’t perfect!” Asmodeus yawned but Ram smiled as they noticed Fizzarolli walking with ease along the beam despite his evident anxiety. Arguing with Fizzarolli wasn’t going to work, best to just cut to the chase.

“Do you want another bill?” The tone wasn’t threatening, he’d seen how it had helped Fizzarolli on more than one occasion since he first introduced the idea a few months ago. He wanted to help. Fizz needed it, and Asmodeus fully believed that he wanted it. Why else would he be messaging Asmodeus so late at night?

Fizzarolli’s pace slowed, then stilled completely. He looked almost embarrassed as turned to face Asmodeus. He hesitated, his tail wrapped protectively around his middle. At least it wasn’t shaking between his legs. “….Yes.”

Itemized Bill Pay to the order of: Asmodeus, King of Lust, 5th Ring of Hell

Physical Therapy…………………….……...……..Drink one cup of tea Late Night Transportation…………..……..Watch Wheel of Misfortune Snacks…………………………….……………..Get a good nights sleep.

While difficult to ask for, Fizzarolli was happy to pay off his bill for the evening. The warm tea helped settle him, and the shitty game show gave him something else to focus on. Asmodeus’s quiet company throughout it all was calming. The blue skies of Lust were calming. Even the warm rain tapping lightly against the windows was calming. Fizzarolli fell asleep on Asmodeus’s sofa, his mind having successfully wandered from the anxieties of the morning. In the morning he’d wake up in the guest suite having forgotten he was ever worried.

#fizzarolli #fizzmodeus #fizzarozzie #asmodeus #ao3 fanfic #found family fizziverse #ao3 link in title #asmodeus x fizzarolli #helluva boss fanfiction

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iguessjustcallmesunflower · 11 months ago

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Arnold's Second or Third Wife

She was another that had been at the facility the first time I’d worked there. The Wife was the sweetest little thing at first, she was, I swear. And then my sister was hired on, and immediately she liked my sister more. I started working for the FBI, the CIA. I was poisoning her and drugging her, I was beating her... I was this awful person, yet once she took a liking to my sister, I seldom went into her room. I avoided it at all costs. Don’t come at me, everyone has their favorites. She was one of my sisters.

The Wife was a spiteful woman, too. She held a grudge. After my hiatus, after my sister had left, she remembered me. And she let me know, too. I was not allowed to come in her room while she was sleeping, I was not allowed to change out her oxygen tanks, I was not allowed to be near her while she was awake. She has the memory of an elephant. Now, we’re kind of forced to coexist because I’m pretty much the only one on that hall.

The Wife is... a character. She was in tears one night, screaming for help, sounding like someone was absolutely murdering her. I get to her room after tipping my chair, and she looks at me from her bed, gives me the dirtiest, meanest death glare she could have (It was an, “I-hate-you-go-fuck-a-cactus" glare.) and she wails that I was stealing Arnold from her. I cannot tell you how many deep breaths I had to take and how many times I had to count to ten. And I went back into her room, reassured her I wasn’t going to steal Arnold from her, I didn’t want him, and she was safe to go to sleep. It took her another hour to settle down, easily. She still, even today, hates me. One minute she’ll be sweet as pie, the next, I’m trying to steal her man. No thank you, you can keep him. He’s not my cup of tea. I prefer my men a little more... supportive, like a Labrador, loving like a Golden Retriever, protective like a Doberman.

Another night, she was on a roll. I had kidnapped her from her wedding to Arnold from New York and had sold her body on the Mexican black market. To top it off? I had stolen their son. She was absolutely ruthless that night. She was just nonstop accusing, yelling, threatening... It was never-ending. Of course, the next morning, my relief was an hour and a half late. As I was leaving the hall, pissed beyond belief, the relief was cheery and talking about how she’d gotten to sleep in... Mind you, I’m going on fourteen hours. I’m livid. The Wife is coming down the hallway at me, cursing me up and down, telling me she’ll get her attorney involved. I looked the aide dead in the eyes, pointed at the Wife, said, “She’s been on a roll.” Turned, looked at the Wife, and ruined the aide’s day.

“I’ll tell your son you love him, and I’ll see you in court.” The horrific, dramatic wail that came out of her mouth was worth it. Later that night, something like nine hours later, when I went back in for my shift, she was all smiles and cheerful. The whole incident was long forgotten. Don’t start on me for being mean, I wasn’t exactly mean. She forgot it around noon but ruining that snide aide’s morning was worth the write up.

My victory was short lived. She was back at it around midnight. Her roommate is one I’ll talk about at some point here. She is African American, and a total badass. Anyways, the Wife was back on her shit, and instead of hitting her light, she simply screams bloody murder. I didn’t tip my chair this time, as I’d kind of already figured out it wasn’t serious. I go into her room... and she’s complaining that “black people from Kentucky are stabbing her”. I can’t make this shit up. (See why her roommate was important?) Her roommate rolls over, grumbles at her to “shut the fuck up” and is sound asleep after that. I tell the Wife she’s fine, Arnold is there to protect her, and boom, we’re back on the Arnold shit. I once again explain to her that I’m not interested in her man, I’m talking to my own, and it sparks up the threats.

Another long night. The next morning a friend is calming me down because my relief is two hours late. I’m tired and crabby. I’m over it and ready to quit. And the nurse is being a complete bitch. So, I did what I do best. My job. I got the Wife up, dodged her punches, got her dressed and in her chair, while she’s still swinging, and had her all ready and riled up to go for dayshift. Of course, the aide relieving me is the same one as the day before, the daughter one of the in-house nurses. She’s exempt and pretty much makes her own schedule, comes in whenever she wants, leaves whenever she wants. It’s irritating.

The Wife is by far the biggest pain of a resident I have, and I even have some that spit on me and throw hands. Simply because it’s every single night. She never takes a night off. Ever. It’s exhausting, and it’s not like you can tune it out. She hated me, but when she was transferred to another facility, I was extremely sad to see her go.

It’s residents like the Wife that taught me patience, and kindness, and when to fight fire with fire. I learned to pick and choose my battles. I learned to control my temper even better than I could before. Temper control is a virtue in this line of work. It really is. You have to be able to take a punch, and a good one at that, and walk away with no reaction. You aren’t allowed to defend yourself. You aren’t allowed to fight back. You simply take the beating until the rest of the staff arrives, or the resident stops. More often than not, on night shift, help didn’t come. The resident simply tired themselves out and stopped the assault.

I both loved and hated my job.

#sunshineinapsychward #arnold's second or third wife

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magicalbuffalotransformerman · 2 years ago

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[bonecrusher's engine is rumbling in his sleep.]

[king pops by for a visit, letting himself in... through the kitchen window, no less.]

[upon hearing the snore-like roaring of bonecrusher's engine, king cautiously approaches the couch. he peeks over at bonecrusher, relieved that he wasn't some sort of demonic engine-related creature of sorts.]

[vibemaster appears behind king, coming from the hallway for a midnight snack.]

VM: rough night?

D!BC: assuming so. do other bots' engines vocalize like his?

VM: not that i've heard personally. patchwork seems like the type of guy to know about that stuff, might wanna ask him. in any case, i'm off to bed.

D!BC: before you leave, do you have any... new faces of sorts?

VM: uhh... three, if i recall correctly. maybe two. one's a guy nicknamed 'stonehenge' - old, rusty bonecrusher lookalike. then there's... i think they nicknamed her katyusha. she's what we used to call 'autobot rocketjumper', but someone figured she needed a better name. not my business to think about.

D!BC: mmm. enjoy your slumber, sir.

VM: and you as well. [vibemaster leaves for his bedroom.]

[king peeks over at bonecrusher again, to make sure he's not fully off his rocker.]

[...still bonecrusher. good. king folds his toes up, walking on his tires down the hallway.]

[after passing various doors labeled and decorated with details referring to the rooms within, king finds a door labeled 'SPARE', with a crude drawing of what king assumes to be stonehenge and katyusha. he creaks the door open quietly, disappearing into the room and closing the door just as quietly as he opened it.]

[king takes a seat on the floor, next to two slumbering beasts of metal, one monstrous and the other humongous.]

[king sits there, staring at the beasts. slowly, surely, he falls asleep.]

...

[king awakens from his slumber, covered in a blanket and one hand positioned around a cube of tea - a cold cube, but still. he's mildly forgotten where he is, but the memory of last night immediately reminds him. he feels as if he died, yet popped back to life.]

[king gets onto his feet. the two beasts he slept next to have left. with his new cup of tea and second cape (made of a blanket), he exits the spare room and sneaks through the hallway.]

[peeking through the hall's archway, king spies bonecrusher cooking some sort of material in a frying pan. he assumes bonecrusher can't hear him sneaking about and takes a seat in the living room.]

[of course, bonecrusher hasn't heard a sound since last night, barring rocketjumper's quiet snoring. he does pick up on king's tires making contact with the floor, not reacting to it.]

[king sits there in silence, in supposed stealth. he hadn't noticed footmuncher sleeping ass-up on the couch... and his eyes wander around footmuncher's frame.]

[...eventually, bonecrusher pipes up.]

BC: ...what brings you here this morning, king?

D!BC: shelter. i hadn't been told that you have eyes in your back. bonecrusher.

BC: trust me, there ain't no eyes back there. just sound-starved systems picking up on whatever they can. now, how're you?

D!BC: i'm... rather fine, i suppose. patchwork tells me that he wants to perform an operation on me. figured i'd pop in as soon as possible.

BC: mm. any ulterior motives?

D!BC: not particularly. i could be popping by because i'm lonely for once. i might be visiting because i'm worried about my dementia. i might just be appearing because, hey, fuck it. who knows?

BC: i get that. not sure if i get it to a depth that matters to you, but i do get it. sometimes you get too lonely.

[bonecrusher sets aside the spaghetti meat, allowing his mine defusal claw to finish the spaghetti.]

D!BC: ...what's it like?

BC: ...

D!BC: the, eh... being a part of a team, working with others to obtain a common goal, the... not being alone.

BC: huh. well, after an eternity of being a lone wolf and doing damn near whatever i wanted, even though i got struck down by optimus prime... it's a breath of fresh air. i... [bonecrusher can't find any more words to explain his situation.] ...yeah. breath of fresh air. why do you ask?

D!BC: i'd like to move in, for what it's worth. my old kingdom grew tiring and empty... and lonely. i feel as if i was alone for too long. i desire something else, and what else is better than living with another version of me.

D!BC: of course, blindly hoping that you'll accept me immediately is a fool's errand. if this is simply a visit, so be it. i would prefer for it to be something more, but... [he sips his tea once it reaches a bearable temperature.] you can't have everything.

BC: you'd be surprised 'bout how many spare rooms i have. that, and you're a capable warrior; i'd be a moron to let you freeze outside. where do you want to sleep?

D!BC: ...there was a particularly comfy room down the hall. the one with the mattresses in the center. i'd like to sleep in there, if possible.

BC: not a problem. the two bots in there seem to like having you around, judging by the cube of tea and blanket cape. did you leave any sentimental objects back at your old base that you wanna go back for, or are you fine?

D!BC: [he looks himself over. sword's in its sheath. he doesn't remember having anything else.] i'm fine.

BC: nice. if you want something to chow down on later, i'm trying out a new recipe that i think the guys'll like. have fun with your second nap of the day, king.

D!BC: thank you deeply for your hospitality.

[without another word, king gets out of the seat he took earlier, hugs bonecrusher, and heads down the hall.]

#look dude this one's been stuck in Draft Hell for too long. i'm sorry.#magicalMILDnsfw #(swearing (barely))#dementia!bonecrusher #mbtm!bonecrusher

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phantombs · 2 years ago

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Unlonely. “I want to be there when the dreams aren’t enough.”

"Aren't you lonely?" they ask him one night, city shimmer like a silver lantern haze. They stare together dreamily upon it, swaddled in the sweets of seasonal milk blossom, and nurse their cups of homemade da ua as the greatest of the trees spider up his siding. All is a fragrant, window-pane fragile, warbling thickly the traffic beats, and Cường watches the mopeds puttering in their transit and stalls in the midnight with their bánh and their teas.

His silverware, cheaply made, clangs the side of his cup.

"No," he answers, and they aren't sure how he sounds so confident in it--unshakeable, like boulders in waters and carp chugging gracefully to the upstream. They spoon their own heaping mouthful. It’s savory, the pleasant mix of tang and condensed milk.

But, well, that doesn’t quite settle right at all. Absurd, in fact. He must think them an idiot, really--or has bought into it, he has, the web of neat illusions. They toe at his ankle once. Cường turns from his hawking gaze off the rooftop, and they think, even more, blasted in the Hanoi chiaroscuro, that he's the loneliest, most curious man in the midnight shimmer.

"I don't believe you.” Bold. They find it, somehow, the courage to say so.

A second passes. "Do I need you to?"

"Well, I don’t know, but it'd make me worry less about you for starters -- if that counts for anything."

His mouth parts a little, full and pretty pink; it is the look of fond consideration. And exasperation. And scolding. Silly thing. "You worry too much.” Of course. “After a long winter, do roses decide no to grow anymore just because you’ve forgotten them? No. Spring comes even if you've stopped believing. You worry too much. You worry for what's a promise."

Their lashes bat, spoon dangled midway to their waiting mouth. The hammock they’ve maneuvered out his apartment creaks when they still their swinging pace, and Cường goes back to looking out over the city, quiet, unjoined against the balcony bars. All pretty like that, all poems out his knobby throat--

“You going to mention the stars, too?” they ask, maybe just a little bit taunting.

Cường's silence lingers. His thin t-shirt of white cotton hangs low about his front, and his jade necklace, a pale, royal green, winks back at them as though quietly and furtively amused.

“Am that that predicable to you?”

“Your mushy words are,” they clarify, hefting themselves up onto their feet. “Something about ‘how can I be lonely? Funny thing. I sit in their silver light. I hear their silver song’.” Whatever that means. Their wrist twirls about, composing their own dreamer-boy spiel.

Hilarious. Cường thinks, as he lowers his half-finished dessert, that they’ve spent too many hours with him--too many, yes, but greedily, not nearly enough. Their lips purse with thought, and their image is so, so endearing.

“--And is that really enough?”

He blinks. "Why wouldn't it be?"

“Because sometimes it can’t be enough to just be listened to, right? You, sitting there sharing your secrets or something. They're still light years away, maybe even more than that. We need a little more sometimes. Everyone does. How about this? Who comes and holds your hand?"

His fingers lay still. They watch him curiously, and he very, very carefully balls them into a fist--gentle, like he tries to grasp at an idea. A thought.

They motion with a tiny gesture of their spoon, and the midnight air trails its wispy fingers through the locks atop their head. Cường looks, and below them by fifteen yawning floors, a lady in a nón lá barks about American-imported foodstuffs. The best of the best, she declares, as the strung lights twinkle away.

“Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I feel like everyone I’ve known is,” he begins, and he knows, feels so strongly their arguing points hanging precariously off the tip of their tongue. No. Don’t, he dissuades with a look, arresting and terribly, terribly old. Wise. Knowing. Content. Their words cork quite gracelessly, and they allow him this one, merciful little stage, starlight like jewels in the full of their lashes. His own, too. Cường’s always been rather pretty--

In that solitary, lone star in the swallows type of way.

“They’re held by many. By people from years ago, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, by many more people I haven’t met yet. Or you after this night. Or you after many nights. And I feel that's enough. I’ve never felt lonely. I know they’ve never left me. I’ve always felt so unalone.”

Never, ever sad. He believes it, too, with the same confidence that spring may follow a dreary winter, and god, really, they should’ve known, felt it deep in the bottom of their tummy. And they did. And they lick the last of the da ua off their lips, watching both their hands dangle neatly, side by side, over the guarding rails. Well...

“And how about when you’re not dreaming? Who holds your hand then? The smell of daisies or something?”

Cường huffs. It makes a little twist curl up their lips. “Don’t make fun of me. Smells can’t hold hands, idiot.”

Yeah, yeah. Cường moves then, however, and his fingers, long, pale, and slender, slot with an unspeakably, near trembling ease between their own. Tenderly, he curls them into fists, and his thumb pads a pattern into the notch of a bone--pretty, delicate where the moonlight dribbles down their wrist.

They watch.

“I’ll just come and hold yours then. Stop worrying about me. I know how to look after myself.”

“I know that. I just want to be there when the dreams aren’t enough.”

“If you’re in already in them, how can’t they be?”

Cute thing. Hanoi sings away, and they watch the tail-light trails of taxis.

“You’re kind of impossible,” they note fondly.

#( writing. )#soft..

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rainofcolours · 8 years ago

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[ Ao3 ] | [ DW ]

- Let Me Taste the Blood of Your Mouth/Gift Me the Oceans in Which You’ve Drowned ( 1/? moments of 海城 ) | Photo Insp: [ x ] [ x ]

They say love blossoms, like the fields of pinks in a childhood forgotten, blooming, delicate heart against delicate petals, exposed in an offering to the caress of a new dawn, hungry and eager for a life renewed. But what they don’t tell you is how past the gold of light’s embrace, even from within the cusp of his palms, that which is your most fragile has to weather the bite of his gales, and the harshness of his nights. That it is harder than the initial fall to stop buckled knees from becoming further unhinged, from bowing to the sobriety of what seems to be a never-ending storm howling inside his unclasped ribs. But still I persist, because what is the punishment of a mere night’s torment, if it means I’m blessed with the unfurling of crimson buds as they welcome a peace reclaimed?

In whom does the fault lie, when the admirer so enticed, memorises, yearns, only for the object of his adoration after years of perseverance, repainting landscapes and monuments in the same vividness remembered, until it becomes the red that flows within his veins? Fingers brushing past a beauty so deceiving, willing its essence to expand within my own lack — from where were you birthed that gave you a will so unyielding, it swallowed the blood of your history whole? How do I find the same strength to allow me to pull away these threads of mine that bind, and weave them into a memory so gossamer they fade into creases forever forgotten? Perhaps that is why I linger beyond the waning of the light, wanting to nourish that which was sown in me, hoping for a solace between the folds of his that were too long untouched, wishing that part of him could somehow become an indelible part of me.

The tragedy of this fairy-tale that was never to be is the inevitability of its demise. No matter how fervent a devotion one possesses, it is powerless against the deliberate faltering of a soul willing. But all that didn’t matter; so deep has the tint seeped under longing skin, that what follows is relief, not indignation when I finally feel his thorns press into where I’m most vulnerable. Pushing, pushing back; because is it truly unkindness when the scarlet that flows from my punctured skin down the smooth of his shaft is my only gift from him (and from me back)? That the acerbity of his rigid back is where I grow the roots of my anchor, where I seek a place that is mine between the fragments of a spine reluctant, the enclaves from which I can bask in the light of his blood moon ignited. Finally watching the world from eyes darker than the eclipse at midnight, enveloped in a hue that is as equal parts ardent hunger as bridled rage, manifesting as an unwavering stillness so palpable it resonates in the echoes of my chest — the impossible desire of a soul long moored as he looks upon the myriad blooms in the expanse he can never reach.

Why does that matter, when I can give you my infinity?

Perhaps I had come along a little too late (or perhaps I shouldn’t have at all) — my hands a little too coarse to nurture the blossoming of such fragility; my mouth a little too bitter from a past left festering under a hapless tongue; my chest a little too occupied to house the sprouting of a verdure imagined; my eyes a little too blind from promises gleaned from a delusion imposed- The vibrancy that once captivates fades into the twilight, the convictions of his wrists withering at the dissipation of youthful vigour, and I lay awake in the shadows that gather under the sepals of a neck resigned, watching demons familiar and foreign devour all I covet, leaving but crumbled streaks of the same red I’m awash in. I reach, for the comfort of a softness I could never harbour, plaiting fingers too severe between brittle ones, trying to imbue them with a light I was never taught to radiate, entrusting a future unbloomed to the certainty of an illusion presumed.

But our seeds have succumbed to rot, hollowed and desiccated from conscious neglect, and all that’s left are the ashes of a life wilted. A fantasy shattered, scattered across leaden palms grasping for that which no longer exists, stained a deep maroon; a sin oppressive in its subdued dullness, evidence of transgression committed — a wrongness in the grey that taints, diffusing into veins severed from their source, a heaviness that permeates the resulting dryness, coalescing into a blackness that’s ceaseless in its listlessness. There is a futility growing somewhere between the confines of my throat and chest, engorged amongst barely thrumming arteries that entwine the atrophied roots of us, suffocating, as I gasp prayers I’d long forsaken into the remorseless heavens above.

In the deluge of demise, I pluck the petals from between the grind of your teeth, watching as their crushed remains rain from decay of your mouth, bruised bodies of muted scarlet finding rest against the mockery I don. From the weariness of him I inhale, the finality of a sentence meted by a throat defiant, unwilling a compliance in the fantasy I had forced upon him, stemmed from my envy of a tenacity from which his unlikely longevity subsisted. Was it resentment at a flourishing unencumbered, or the idoltary of a strength eluded that fuelled this passion that burns? Or maybe it’s an affection birthed from the earth beneath your footsteps, numinous effusions that wash across my sky with all that is distinctively you, until it feels as though we are somehow part of the same whole?

From between the parted rose of his lips, I implore the voluntary relinquishing of a world finally united, of petals coloured the hush of his skin now wrinkled, strewn carelessly across the desolation I tried so desperately to escape from. Stifled, all he cedes is the sunken emptiness of a husk that once held his lustre, barely fluttering against the stigma of my flesh, a final denial that kept the seams of us interminably unstitched. So, I let him cascade from the prison of my hands, finding not the reprieve from a devastation they brought, but an ache that exacerbates the rue that trickles between the spaces of my remaining tenderness. A warden now shackled by the vines that entangle the notches of contrite bones, constricting, until all I feel is the sharpness of his thorns perpetually begrudged against the rawness of my guilt.

These days I wander under the same crimson skies, landscapes and monuments long coated in the same matted hue of decay. They say love blossoms, like the fields of pinks in a childhood forgotten. What they don’t tell you, is how you can’t force the blooming of affection, for the puckered buds dipped in the most striking of pigments, the same ones that loll against the curl of a hand, are of a mercurial nature. That coercion, no matter how gentle, necessitates the loss of that which was within grasp, returned to the soils from which it came. The vividness so mesmerising condemns the perpetrator to its spiteful rest beneath the earth, the limbo that has reclaimed it the grave in which one must share, exposed to the shrivelled carrion of a tomorrow deprived. The yearning never stops; the memory of brilliance always returning to spaces once filled, answering to the calls of a past unresolved, taunting where the gaiety of life could have pervaded, simmering until the absence is a tangible opaqueness that haunts. Trapped in the cradle that was his, cursed with the eternal memory of my flesh, remembering but not quite in entirety the way he folded into me, forced to relive the way his essence crumpled and wilted against my long tired skin, only knowing the asphyxiation of regret where I had once found solace.

During the moments when I’m gifted respite, I still see the red of him reflected in the droplets of cold rain, mirrored in the ripples of stagnant puddles — vestiges of a past enduring. Even if the form of him I still long for have ceased to be, this shade of him that lingers is enough a memory. If the true price of adoration is such hurt, as long as he remains in my infinity, my burden I’m willing to bear.

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