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acourtofbooksandshadows · 1 year ago

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Not So Routine- Chapter 9

Summary: Between Mor and yourself the day is full of surprises.

Pairings: Eventual!Nessian x Afab!Reader Current!Mor x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, fighting and swearing.

Word count: 1260

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

A soft hand was running up and down the skin of your arm when you woke up. You let a quiet content moan slip pass your lips as you nuzzled into the warmth beside you. A soft laugh filled the space around you and a small smile adorned your lips. The hand on your arm stopped and you groaned out in protest.

“Why’d you stop?” Your voice cracked around the words due to how dry your throat was.

“Now that you’re awake I was going to see if you wanted to go and get breakfast. Unless you want to stay in and eat here.” Mor kept her voice low enough to keep the peaceful atmosphere but loud enough to be heard clearly.

“We never go out to eat.” You pulled away from her and narrowed your eyes on her face. It never really crossed your mind that you could go out to eat breakfast with her. The relationship you had was kept under such tight wraps that it didn’t seem like a possibility.

“Well you’ve got the day off work so I figured maybe we could make a day out of it.” You gave her an utterly confused look because you hadn’t had a day off in a long long time. You felt no need to take days off. Even when your best friend insisted you do.

“I don’t take days off.” Curiosity crawled along your spine and into your mind.

“I sent a note to the shop that you would be taking the day off. Your best friend was ecstatic at the idea and didn’t protest for a second. She even threatened to tie you to your bed if you attempted to go in anyways.” Mor gave you a mischievous smile, you looked at her and wondered why she had gone to all the trouble. Then your mind drifted to the ordeal of last night and you understood. This was her way of getting your mind off of things. You placed a kiss on her cheek before standing up.

“Where would you like to eat?” You felt a prick of longing and sadness nestled within your chest and you fought to block off the bonds. You hadn’t even thought of doing that last night. So you were sure they had felt everything you had. Which scared you more than the memory itself did. You heard her name a nice brunch spot in town as you made your way into your bathroom. You brushed your teeth and made quick work of brushing your hair out and putting it in a braid before you left the tiny room.

“I need to stop by the house of wind after breakfast. If that’s alright with you?” You shrugged your shoulders and told her you didn’t mind. You both got ready in comfortable silence, she wore a pair of your casual pants and a nice red flowy camisole and light jacket with them. Even though the outfit was utterly relaxed she looked absolutely stunning. You wore a pair of pants and a sweater. Brunch went smoothly and the both of you walked towards the house of wind in a relaxed manner.

“We’ll have to winnow up there. But you have to make sure to catch yourself from the fall.” She hadn’t expected you to be so graceful when you landed. It had taken her years to master the free fall land. But you, well you landed it perfectly.

“What do you need to grab?” You asked her as you walked into the house.

“Need to grab a book from the library. But we should make a shortstop.” You studied her face for a moment before realization dawned on you. She was tricking you into something, you weren’t sure what it was but the glint in her eye gave you enough proof there was definitely an ulterior motive for your stop today. But you didn’t ask her what it was as she led you through the house and to the roof, which was filled with females and one male.

Your breath left you in one foul swoop as you gazed upon your mates. Cassian had a look of determination and authority radiating off him as he surveyed the group in front of him. He was watching as the group of women spared together. Nesta was up against a gorgeous Illyrian female. She was perfectly honed grace as she glided across the ground, dodging attacks and performing ones of her own. You turned to Mor when you heard her let out a long sigh. Her eyes were fixated on the Illyrian female and you realized that her detour was as much for her as it was for you.

“You should ask her out.” Your words were a whisper in the wind and had Mor not been so close she wouldn’t have heard them. She shook her head sadly however.

“I don’t think she’s interested.” You’d never seen her quite so sad and there was no way you were gonna let her continue her pouting. You turned back to the group with a new determination flickering through you.

You watched as the winged female flipped Nesta onto her back and held her by her throat. You fought down the urge that built up inside you to go over and tear the winged females throat out. Nesta was okay and smiling as the female helped her stand. So there was no need to go feral, you told yourself.

A flirty smile marked your lips as you walked up to the pair. You noticed out of the corner of your eye Cassian straightened up. A flicker of confusion whipped down the bond connecting you two. But you didn’t let that stop you. Nesta stopped smiling when you approached and gave you a narrowed look.

“Hello.” A perfectly flirtatious and inquisitive lit was in your voice as you faced the Illyrian. You ignored Nesta completely even as jealousy whipped against your bond with her. You held out a hand and the female took it lightly. You pulled her towards you ever so slightly and she gave you a bewildered look.

“Uhm hi. I’m Emerie.” Her words were hesitant as she looked at Nesta’s glare and then over towards Cassian who looked ready to level the rooftop they were on.

“That’s a very pretty name for a very pretty female.” Her eyes were wide in the wake of your compliment. “Mor and I are planning to go to Rita’s for drinks tonight. We would love it if you would accompany us.” You fluttered your lashes at her and watched as shock filled her features. You could tell she wanted to look at the blonde standing in the doorway behind you, but she kept her eyes on you instead.

“I think I can make that work. Nesta, would you and Cassian like to join us?” You kept your surprise under wraps as you turned to the seething female next to you. You gave her a lazy smile and she returned it with a scowl.

“We would love to.” It was Cassian that agreed to the proposal. Every ounce of confidence within you flew away.

“Sounds great. We’ll see you there.” The words were rushed out as you turned and headed back towards Mor, a whiff of Cassian’s scent finding your nose as you passed him. A groan got locked in your throat as you tried to contain the emotions raging through you. As you passed through the door with a surprised Mor you wondered what the fuck you had gotten yourself into.

A/N: This part was shorter but the next part is longer and has a bit more meat to it! Thank you all for reading and as always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @luvmoo @wolfsbane44 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @pinksmellslikelove @waytoomanyteenagefeels @littlebbb @cat-or-kitten @brandywineeeee

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runa-falls · 1 year ago

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cat and mouse - 3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Supervillain(?)!Reader

Warnings: mention of alcohol and being inebriated, Miguel in normal clothes (yes this is a warning), friends vs. lovers type beat

a/n: this one might be a little frustrating fyi. also it might be a while for the next part to come out bc i'm having trouble figure out where i want this story to go.

Summary: Every time you try to convince people it was an accident, you immediately get ratted out to the Spider. But really, it was! You don't know why you're being hunted, you didn't even do anything wrong. Yet.

w/c: 2.4k

part 1 part 2 part 4

masterlist

----

The villain's life isn’t too bad. Especially when you have friends. Well, a friend.

Really, it’s just like being unemployed, but you’re not living off of your life savings, you’re living off of someone else’s.

Maybe someone else’s else’s savings.

Ok fine, you’ll admit it. You haven’t actually done much crime at all. You’ve just been mooching off of Felicia like a girl with a sugar mama.

So what? It’s not your fault she’s the most generous criminal you’ve ever met. And technically, the money comes directly from other people’s accounts, so you are still acting as an accessory to a crime and that’s good enough for you.

So far, you’ve been treating these past few weeks like an extended vacation.

You’re still not used to your powers. It’s not as easy as thinking about something and it happens. It’s more like a feeling, something you have to pull from within. After the first few times of accidentally exploding someone’s Kia Soul and a breakfast sandwich that cost $12 (which is a crime in itself), you’ve been a little apprehensive about using your powers unless you really need them.

Thankfully, you have Felicia to teach you a few non-power-related moves just in case. You actually thought you’d never see her again after she left you on that roof. Even though she did say, “I’ll see you later,” you thought she was just being polite. But then you got a text for brunch a few days later.

Feli is not a villain, but she’s certainly not a hero either. She kinda just does what she wants when she feels like it. It’s inspiring, really.

You never told her about what happened that other night, not wanting to mention how Spider-Man mistook you for her. Or the fact that your shared a heated kiss with the hero. You’re supposed to be a bad-ass criminal, not some girl who fraternizes with superheroes like some sort of groupie. You do, however, tell her about how full-black suits aren’t your style and that you’re thinking about finally embracing your fiery locks.

She agrees adding, “We can’t show up in the same fit every time we’re committing a crime. We need to keep it fresh, give ‘em something to talk about.”

You were ready to go down to a fabric shop and stitch something quick together, but Feli adamantly convinced you that she would take care of it. Feli has this awesome AI assistant named Zee that does everything from ordering groceries to building her a new ultra-sleek motorcycle. You were told to tell Zee what you were looking for in your new suit since she’s also conveniently connected to an advanced fabricator.

“Hello, Ms. Hardy and Ms. Blaze.” You grumble at the AI’s use of your long-hated nickname, “How can I be of service?”

“Make her a new suit,” Feli commanded, “and make it quick, we have things to do today.” She sits at a desk, clicking idly through her large desktop. You peek over her shoulder, curious about what she’s working on. It’s a Pinterest board full of outfits and modern interior design ideas.

“Certainly. What are you looking for?” A holographic menu streams from the fabricating machine, showing you options for the size, fit, and design of the suit.

“Orange, maybe? And make it a little more breathable, I was sweating bullets in that other one.”

The menu scrolls around as you speak, showing you favorable color combinations and breathable fabrics and designs.

You tap on a fiery orange and black palette. It’s simple and makes sense. A few designs with your chosen colors pop up and you see the perfect one. It’s asymmetrical, leaving enough skin uncovered to ensure there’s a fair amount of ventilation for your extra-warm radioactive body heat. You click the ‘process’ button, and the machine starts right away. Estimated Time: 14 hrs and 27 minutes.

Feli stands up when she hears the rev of the machine working its magic. “Alright, darling, let’s get you up to my closet. We’re going to the club.”

—

Apparently, one of Feli’s associates owns the club we’re going to.

“He’s been asking about you, hearing about the power plant and all.” The limo he sent to her house is exquisite, offering expensive champagne and snacks. The windows are super tinted for privacy and the partition has been rolled up since you got in, so you can’t really tell where you’re headed. “I told him I’d bring you around the club sometime. That is if he lets us have some fun afterward.”

The club itself is quite packed. The building throbs with the heavy bass of electronic music that you can hear even through the heavy metal doors. There’s already a line that wraps around the block and it’s only 8 pm.

You carefully step out of the limo after Feli, trying not to trip in your borrowed heels. The bouncer instantly recognizes her and lets you pass, velvet rope pulled aside.

The sea of dancing bodies moves like a stop-motion film under the strobing lights as you walk right past the general area. You pass through a curtained entrance, walk up some stairs, and stop in front of the balcony area that overlooks the dance floor. VIP only, it says.

In the middle of the sitting area is a large bald man dressed in a proper suit, making him look like a frightening businessman. A large smile appears on his pale face when he spots your friend and he stands up to greet the two of you.

You can barely hear his voice over the loud music. “Felicia Hardy, wonderful to see you.” She offers her hand which he politely pecks.

She merely acknowledges him, “Fisk.”

He turns to you. “And you must be the famous, Blaze.” You don’t offer a hand and he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Wilson.”

You don’t spend too much time with him, both because he seemed pretty busy and Feli wanted to go downstairs as soon as possible. He asks you normal things like where you’re from and how you met Feli, but he was mostly curious about your powers and how you got them.

“A vat, hm? I’ve heard that one before.” It’s true. Vats of shit almost ensure the creation of new villains. “S’a miracle you didn’t die from that.”

—

Feli is a lot more talkative once you leave Fisk. Despite working for him, she doesn’t seem all that fond of him. “He’ll probably call you up if he ever needs your skillset. I’d recommend taking whatever job he offers, he usually compensates generously.”

“But how? I didn’t give him my number.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll be in touch.”

She tells you to find a table while she gets some drinks. Apparently, the bar is open for her, another perk of working with Fisk. You feel like a wallflower as you wait for her, watching as people come and go to the dancefloor or bar. You sit at the high-top table, legs swinging idly to the beat of the music.

You’re almost shoved off your seat when someone bumps into you and you have to hold onto the table to keep your balance. “Oh, sorry,” You hear a familiar voice say over the pounding music.

“It’s ok.”

“Lava Girl,” You look over at the man, head having to tilt up to see his face. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” You barely recognize him as you’ve never seen him out of the suit before. He’s wearing a tight black short-sleeve that stretches nicely over his broad chest and dark wash jeans. Looking like any other civilian.

“Miguel!” His eyes wander over the short black dress you were borrowing from Felicia, briefly stopping over the length of your bare legs that are visible through the glass table.

“Always seem to be wearing something new when I see you.”

“Well, my friend has expensive taste.”

His brows furrow, “Friend? You’re here with someone?”

“Mhm.” Your eye catches on a head of silver hair, wandering through the crowds of loud and rowdy people. “Oh, just a sec. There she is.” You stand up to catch her attention and miraculously she spots you, flashing a smile as you wave your arms around like a lunatic.

Then she sees him and her soft smile stops. One of her perfectly tailored eyebrows raises as she joins the two of you, drinks in hand. “You.”

He seems surprised to see her. “Fel…” There’s a long bout of silence between the three of you. Whatever light energy was there quickly grows tense and you start to feel uncomfortable.

What’s with these two?

You try to salvage whatever you can from this weird conversation. “So, how do you guys know each other?” Felicia’s gaze releases its hold on Miguel and they both look at you, almost like forgot you were even there.

Miguel starts. “Uh, we’re old friends.” She gives him a look that you can’t decipher. “Older enemies.”

Then she writes it out, “Ex’s.”

You can tell he’s trying to hide a wince, but he’s not very good at it. So he was looking for her that night. Does that mean he would’ve kissed her instead of you then? Wait, that also means you kissed your best friend's ex! Shit.

“Oh.” You pick up a coaster just to have something to do with your hands. “Well, that’s cool– I mean it’s not cool, but– like, oh, so that’s how you know each other. Wow, what a small–”

“Why are you here Mig?” Suspicion drips off each word as she steps forward, almost like she’s trying to protect you.

“You’re asking why I’m at a club owned by one of the notorious crime lords in Nueva York?”

And all of a sudden you’re not there again. It’s just them.

“No, I’m asking why you’re here. With her.”

“Can’t a guy just say hi to a friend?”

It dawns on her. “She knows?” She says through gritted teeth.

He run a hand through his dark brown waves, “Look, it just happened.”

“Miguel, leave her alone, she hasn’t done anything.” You feel like you’re a kid watching her parents bicker about things unknown to you. You nervously fiddle with the hem of your skirt.

“She’s a good girl.”

“It’s not like that, Fel.” She rolls her emerald green eyes.

“Sure, it isn’t. I know you, Miguel.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, whatever.” He brushes her off, clearly done with the conversation. “Ok, well, I’d love to stay longer, but I did actually come here for a reason.” He pulls away from the table, “It was nice seeing you, Blaze.” You could tell that he means it just by the way he looks at you.

You nod at him, not really up to say much of anything after tonight. You can tell you’re dismissive send-off stings, but you don’t really care.

“Hardy.” She doesn’t even look at him and he walks away without another word.

“Ugh, that guy.” Feli takes a deep sip of her vodka cran and you watch as a napkin sticks to the sweating glass as she tilts it back. She pushes yours closer to you, letting the perspiration drag against the glass table.

At this point, you’re not really feeling the whole club scene anymore.

“Promise you’ll stay away from him.” Your eyes lift from your untouched glass to meet her stare. “I know he’s Nueva York’s sweetheart Spider-Man or whatever, but he’s bad news, trust me.”

“Ok.”

“You really don’t wanna get caught up in the superhero drama. I’m just, trying to look out for you, Blaze.”

You nod, forcing yourself to smile. “I know.”

And you do. She probably has a good reason for it, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

All the events of the evening sit in the air for a second. Felicia, Fisk, and Miguel. Your brain is having a hard time organizing everything and the noises around you aren’t helping.

You decidedly pick up your glass without thinking and quickly drain it, barely even tasting it before feeling its cool contents bloom throughout your body. You set it down a bit harsher than you intended, but the coaster does a good job of absorbing the sound.

You hop off your seat. “Let’s dance.”

Feli is surprised by your sudden changed mood, “Oh, right now?” You need to let loose. You can’t let some stupid kiss ruin your new life. You can’t let anything distract you. You can’t let him distract you. As of now, you’re a new woman and you’re ready to embrace exactly who everyone thinks you are.

You offer your hand, “Right now.” She takes it, letting you lead her straight to the middle of the dancefloor.

—

This time you run before you even see him. Well ‘run’ may be an exaggeration. You were too drunk to even walk in a straight line so let’s just say you ‘left.’

So the night went off the rails a little bit. One fruity mixed drink turned into a few rounds of shots, which turned into a very ambitious plan to revisit that bank that shut down on you a few weeks ago. Since it hasn’t been hit since that night, you assumed everything would’ve simmered down around it. Less security, less fuss, and less Spider-Man. And you were right.

You were also careless.

Drunk girls and endless power create an interesting scene for the police to discover. First, you skipped the doors altogether. Why use the front entrance, when you can walk straight into the vault? By the time the cops would get there, they’d be greeted by a huge hole that rips through several layers of (theoretically) indestructible materials.

Then there are the two blood-red lipstick kisses right next to it. That was Feli’s idea.

“Oh my god, you know what would be so cute? If we signed off on this with little kisses!”

“Why would we do that?” Your words slur slightly as you step into the vault. It’s stacked high with bills placed in perfectly rectangular towers. A soft breeze could easily ruin the whole room.

“A girl’s gotta leave her mark.”

“Mm…ok, why not.”

You stuff your small handbags to the brim, not worried when a few bills fall out. This job isn’t really about the money, it’s about sending a message.

You both casually stagger away from the crime scene, catch a cab (paying with handfuls of cash because you can’t be bothered to count it out), and get back to her place.

“You staying over?”

“Can I?”

“Of course, darling.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #cat and mouse

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siriannatan · 1 year ago

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“Sorry, I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying when your outfit is that tight,” - ScarMumbo

Somehow I managed to avoid making this as angsty and sad as I was worried it might come out when I started.

Mumbo was not having a good day. First, he had to lie to Grian about where he was last night. no, he did not have to go over some boring paperwork for his company. In truth, he was on a very pleasant date with Grian's good friend and long-time crush. A date so good it ended with them in a hotel room, rushing to go back home and get ready for their day in the morning. Rushing and not angry they had to. Mumbo was on enough good dates to know that this one was really good. A date so good he was in a really good mood the whole morning even when faced with a mountain of paperwork and sad that they couldn't hang out Grian.

Well, at least until lunchtime. When he decided to finally have breakfast - brunch if you want to be precise - since he didn't really have enough time in the morning. And, just as he was about to leave the pleasant cute restaurant he had said brunch at, a villain decided to take the shop and everyone in it hostage. And to add to Mumbo's misfortunes, said rookie villain grabbed him as he panicked and tried to escape just to be caught by the city's No. 1 hero.

Hot Guy, and his rather scandalous and revealing outfit. Mumbo was not too secretly a big fan of Hot Guy. Somehow he was very popular among engineers.

But back to Mumbo's predicament. He was sat on a dusty, dirty rooftop. His suit was crumbled, and his moustache was messed up. His phone was broken, hopefully, he could get his data back. But on the bright side, he had a front-row seat to seeing Hot Guy restrain a villain. Even if his hands were restrained with some sticky, gross goop. He was not thinking about all gross, instead focusing on Hot Guy. Just to distract himself. He was absolutely not ogling the hero and his excellent physique. The only other this fit person he knew was Scar.

And Scar was very nicely built and damn strong and... And there was something very familiar between Scar and the hero. Like something in how he moved. But Scar was always so relaxed and carefree and Hot Guy always had the perfect posture and... Scar walked a bit like him this morning but that could be a coincidence. But as Mumbo kept staring - because he didn't have anything else to really look at - the familiarity became almost ridiculous...

What was Mumbo supposed to do with that realisation? He wasn't completely sure. Confronting Scar about it seemed like a rude thing to do. But he felt that if he kept it to himself he would say the wrong thing at the wrong time. So maybe he should talk to him? Like now? Now, or once Sc... Hot Guy, dealt with the villain seemed like a bad time to do it. There would likely be no time, media and people all around. Not a good time... Another date? A private restaurant room could be easily arranged.

"Mu... Sir?" Hot Guy's boisterous self looming over him broke Mumbo from his mangled thoughts. The hero and all the see-through parts of his costume. Very tight costume. Were suddenly very close and Mumbo kind of stumbled back and almost fell off the roof.

He didn't fall only because Hot Guy grabbed him and pulled him closer. The hero was saying something and in the next moment, they were moving. Hot Guy didn't move them far. Just far enough so the media would not chase after them or interrupt them. "Are you okay?" the hero asked.

The best Mumbo could offer was a shrug and a weird noise. Real smooth, Mumbo. Real smooth. "I think I'm fine..." he managed to say as the hero patiently waited. "Still a bit shocked by all that... Thank you..."

"No need to thank me," the hero laughed. So similar to how Scar laughed. Mumbo was honestly feeling like laughing himself.

"Um... can I ask you one thing?" Mumbo asked. He really shouldn't delay this if he and Scar are to go on that second date they were talking about.

"Sure go ahead," Hot Guy shot him a wide, radiant smile.

Mumbo took a deep breath. "Scar?" one word but he was instantly regretting it. He hit the spot. The hero kept staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. Mouth opening and closing like fish out of the water. "I'm not going to tell anyone and..." and he started giggling. “Sorry, I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying when your outfit is that tight, it's distracting..." Maybe he was trying to defuse the situation.

It certainly worked because Scar flopped to the dusty rooftop, laughing along with Mumbo's chuckles. "Mu... Mumbo this is a serious matter," he managed to say and pull up his devious Hot Guy smirk. "How did you even figure out it's me?"

"I have a suit on, you're the one in spandex and sheer mesh," Mumbo grinned back. "And I have an office job I have to go back to," he sighed. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with all of that right now but it'd only get worse if he delayed it. "You kind of moved in a Hot Guy way this morning," Mumbo almost shrugged. "So how am I getting to my office now?"

#my stuff #my stories #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #mumscar #?

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pbandjesse · 6 months ago

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It was a nice memorial day today.

I slept fine last night. I woke up a few times but when I woke up at 9 I felt pretty good. James came and laid in bed with me. They had already done laundry and gone for a bike ride. They told me the world was beautiful today. We would lay in bed for a bit longer but we would get up and went to get dressed.

I liked my outfit. It's the same new shirt I got on Friday and it is so soft. It's great.

I felt pretty good overall. James made a coffee and I had some soda and we decided to go out for breakfast. So pretty soon after that we were off and into the world.

We decided to go to Broadway Diner. And it was busy! I wasn't shocked, it's a bank holiday. James and me have an ongoing will they won't they about the right side of the restaurant. Which we have never once sat at. Every time we go to James makes a whole thing about how this is going to be the one!!! But nope, we still seated in the left side.

We had a quiet brunch. My stomach continues to hurt when I eat but I still enjoyed the morning with my husband. I would people watch and we looked at things on each other's phones. I had shared the styles of doors I would like for the house. The type of fence too. It was a good morning.

While we were out i decided I would like to stop at the craft store because I wanted to get yarn. And so we did exactly that.

The yarn was not as on sale as I was hoping. But I have an idea about creating a double layered loom knit blanket. Almost like a puff quilt.

We did have a 20% coupon though and I got 6 skeins of yarn for my project. I am very excited and I really hope that it works out the way I am imagining. It is going to be a lot work though! Nice to have something outside of my temperature blanket though.

We would get home and have a few hours to just chill. James would play some video games. I would work on knitting. We had Ruby trying to clean but she kept getting stuck. Poor Ruby. She has her good days and her bad days.

We would leave here around 1. I would do a quick little vacuum of the frog tank because the snails were going crazy. And very soon we were on the road.

It was a nice drive to DC. I worked on knitting and we listened to a podcast. There wasn't much traffic. And we would arrive in Eve's beautiful little neighborhood a little after 2.

She is moving to Trinidad at the end of the summer but she's going to do some other traveling throughout the summer. But the state department is sending the movers to come pack all of her stuff up tomorrow. Crazy! I am very excited for her. Like it's going to be a really amazing experience I am sure!!

When we got to her place her and her roommate had us up on her roof. We were the first guests but more would come. We had burgers and dogs and fruit and an amazing lemon cake. And I was just having a really good time.

I would have some great conversations. Specifically with this girl Charlie. She was so nice! We exchanged numbers and I hope we hang out some time because she was so lovely. Me and James would tell a whole story about when I was a furby influencer. And there was lots of baseball talk. It was fun.

Eventually we would join the table with everyone else. Where I had a really great time talking to one of Eve's friends who is into mushroom foraging. I got to show him my mushroom pictures and he was able to name them all!! He's much braver then me and actually eats them though!

We would be there for 5ish hours. We all tried to download an app to do palm reading. We had amazing lemon cake. We told stories. I got to talk about my arthritis stuff which was nice. It was nice to be able to talk through the whole craziness of last year and the chemo and the weirdness of that. I am finally feeling like I'm back to myself after a year.

We would leave there around 6. And after stopping in her apartment to use the bathroom and say hi to her beautiful cats, there were hugs and then goodbyes!!

It was a nice drive home. But the sky was getting darker and darker. There has been a tornado watch in DC and a severe thunderstorm warning in Baltimore. It felt like we were racing the storm home. But it would start to come down right before we parked.

But it wouldn't get bad for a little while. We were safely and securely in the house when the sky opened for real. Lightening and thunder!!

James would paint their nails. And I would just chill on the couch. Had a little dinner. And we have just been resting and having a nice evening.

But now I would like to go shower and get ready for bed. I have a long day tomorrow. Both camp and then an event. I really hope that it is an easy transition. Fingers crossed.

I hope you all sleep well tonight. I love you all. Good night!!!

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voraciousvore · 1 year ago

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Boarding School for Giants (14/25)

------ Chapter 14 ------

Joey was confused by my request, but humored me anyway, and brought me to a store nearby that specialized in sports and outdoor hobbies.

“You realize that everything in here is going to be giant-sized, right? If you want to go fishing, you’re not going to find any equipment you can use,” Joey informed me.

“I know. I’m counting on it,” I told him, not elaborating any further. I didn’t want to worry him or have him try to dissuade me from what I was plotting. I picked out some fishing line and a smaller fishhook suitably sized for my needs. The giant fishing hooks were all pretty fearsome, large and sharp enough to stab through me and turn me into live bait. I could hardly imagine a fish, really more of a leviathan, big enough to be caught on one of those. Joey bought the goods for me, which luckily were inexpensive. I left the store in high spirits. Joey was puzzled.

“What are you planning to do with this stuff?” he asked as he carried me back to the school.

“Well…” I figured it couldn’t hurt to tell him now, considering he had already bought the stuff for me anyways. “I’m going to make a grappling hook and use it to get my cellphone back. I know where it’s located. I saw the principal put it in the top drawer of his desk. I can get into his office, even if it’s locked, because I’m small enough to slip through the gap under the door. Then, I’ll use the hook to climb up, open the drawer, and reclaim what’s mine.”

“That sounds risky,” Joey noted, pursing his lips in thought. “Although, the principal is rarely around on the weekends. You’re not likely to be interrupted as long as you go today or tomorrow. Why do you need your phone so badly, that you’re willing to risk getting in trouble like that?”

“Trouble is my middle name!” I declared with a smirk. “But in all seriousness, I want to call my mom, and talk to her directly, without anyone else listening in. Find out what’s really going on, how she really feels. I want the truth from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“I see.” Joey was quiet for a while. “Eren, I’m sorry that things have been so hard for you here. I hope… I can help to make it better, at least.”

“You’ve already done so much for me, Joey. I can’t thank you enough.” I could feel his pulse quicken slightly through his skin. I had noticed, since that incident where I almost ended up breakfast, Joey had forgotten about wearing a glove. His palms hadn’t been sweating, though, so I supposed he was getting more comfortable with carrying me around. In fact, he was being very protective, as if I was his responsibility to keep safe. His caring nature warmed my heart.

We made it back to the school by late afternoon. Joey was thoughtful enough to stop by the lunchroom first and pick up my meal for me, so I wouldn’t have to bike all the way out to the main building for dinner. He then walked me to the human dormitory and set me down on the pavement outside. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, promising to meet up again soon. I was tired, so I decided I would initiate my phone heist tomorrow, when the day was young again. I retired inside to rest and relax for the evening.

Fortunately, nobody bothered me that night or opened the roof, so I slept in and woke up the next day feeling energized. I was ready to take my life back, to take charge again. I left the human dormitory and biked to the main building of the school with confidence, dodging falling leaves as I went. On the weekends the cafeteria served brunch, so I stopped there first so that I wouldn’t be doing a lot of physical activity on an empty stomach. I kept an eye out for my new giant friend, but to my disappointment I didn’t see him anywhere. The school grounds didn’t seem to be as busy as usual, perhaps because a lot of the giant students slept in or were away for the weekend. Regardless of the reason, I was grateful not to have to avoid as many giant feet or stares.

I snuck out of the cafeteria and down the hall to the administration offices, which were all deserted and locked up. Away from prying eyes, I crept under the door of the principal’s office, dragging my bike along with me. The room inside was dark, since the light was turned off, but muted sunlight still filtered in through the blinds on the window. I leaned my bike against the wall next to the door, pulled out my makeshift grappling hook, and crossed the floor to reach the opposite side of the massive desk. Even though nobody was in the room except for me, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, as if the creep factor from the principal permeated his lair even when he wasn’t physically present. The room was eerily quiet, magnifying the sound of my steps as I walked. I had to remind myself that the principal wasn’t on campus, and there was no way for him to know I was here.

I reached the gigantic, sturdy wooden chair behind the desk. All the furniture stretched high into the air above me. Getting into the drawer when it was so high up was going to be a daunting task. I swung the fish hook around on the fishing line until it had some decent momentum, then threw it up as high as I could. The first time, it clunked against the side of the chair and fell back down to the floor. I had to make several attempts before I finally got the sharp point of the hook to embed itself into the fabric of the chair.

I braced myself for the monumental climb ahead of me, then grasped the line in both hands and pulled myself up, hand over hand. The physical requirements were grueling, and my muscles started to ache from exertion. I regretted not bringing any gloves as the skin on my hands began to burn. Nonetheless, I made it to the cushion of the chair, clambering up with a final surge of energy. I stopped to collect my breath, nursing my throbbing palms, and surveyed my surroundings to determine my next move.

As luck would have it, the drawer I sought to get inside was within range of my grappling hook, and had been left slightly ajar. Another couple of swings and throws and my hook was successfully latched onto the handle. I swung out and scurried up the line, trying to ignore how high up I was off the ground. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if my hand slipped and I fell. Once I reached the handle, I hoisted myself onto it and sat down, dangling my legs over the edge. I wasn’t used to this sort of strenuous exercise, so I gave my arms another rest before proceeding.

I hooked to the top of the drawer and climbed up, then vaulted over and fell inside with a thump. The tip of the hook had chipped the wood on the inside of the drawer. I hoped the principal wouldn’t notice, but I wasn’t overly concerned. The next step would be to find my phone among all the clutter inside. Office supplies, mostly giant pencils and pens bigger than me, littered the inside of the drawer. I sifted through the miscellaneous giant objects, squinting in the darkness of the drawer to spy my relatively diminutive phone hidden somewhere within. I regretted not bringing a flashlight.

As I shuffled various things about, a small light suddenly appeared with the movement. My phone! I gleefully rushed over and dug it out from underneath all the junk. The battery was low, since the neglected device hadn’t been charged in days, but the lack of usage had preserved its limited battery life. I sighed with relief. I had just enough of a charge to make a phone call. Ignoring the other notifications and text messages from my friends, I pulled up my contacts and immediately called my mom. I anxiously waited while the phone rang, praying she would answer. I needed her to tell me the truth.

The phone clicked and I heard static as someone answered. I held my breath.

“Hello?” a groggy, slurred voice answered. It was her, but she sounded drunk.

“Mom!” I blurted out, hardly able to keep in my excitement. “It’s me! I’m so glad to finally be able to talk to you!”

A pause. “What do you want?” Her cold tone chilled my enthusiasm. I pressed onward anyway.

“Mom, please take me back. I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s so scary being here around giants. I know you heard what happened to me, and I’m so afraid. Please.”

Another pause. Followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. “Do you know why your dad really left?” I froze up. My mother had never been truly candid with me about his reason for leaving, yet another barb in our relationship.

“W-why?” My voice sounded tiny and weak.

“You were an accident. We never intended to have a kid together. We tried to make it work, but…” She choked, and her voice grew thick with tears. “…I tried my best, you know? I really did.”

“W-what are you saying, Mom?” My voice sounded so far away, as if I was no longer tied to my body.

“What I’m saying is… I give up. I tried to raise you right, but you turned into a little terror! You’re so damn ornery, I just can’t handle it anymore!” She was working herself up into one of her drunken rages. “I just can’t do it anymore! I’m done! I want you out of my life! I never want to hear from you again!”

“You can’t mean that…” I said in disbelief.

“Why the hell else do you think I sent you off to a boarding school for giants?! I know how dangerous they are to humans! I was expecting you to not come back! Don’t you get it?”

My breath hitched in my throat. I felt nauseous, like I was going to throw up. The true horror of what she meant began to dawn on me. I was stung to my core. For once, rather than shouting back at her some snarky or pointed remark, I was rendered speechless.

“Don’t ever call me again!” she snapped, and hung up on me.

I stood there, inside the drawer, mouth agape, phone glued to my ear as if she hadn’t just cut me off. I was in shock. I felt as if my heart had been violently ripped out of my chest. All at once, the weight of all my troubles, all my sorrows, and the fresh wound from my mother’s betrayal slammed into me. It was all too much to bear. I collapsed into a heap in a pile of giant paper clips and sobbed.

The truth was so much worse than what I had been expecting. I had been clinging to the hope, however futile and unrealistic, that perhaps there had been some sort of miscommunication, or misunderstanding, or maybe my mom had just been showing me some “tough love” to straighten me out. I hadn’t even imagined that she not only abandoned me, but was actively trying to kill me by intentionally dumping me in a dangerous place. The thought filled me with revulsion and despair. I had no will left, so I lay there crying, feeling small and insignificant inside the dark drawer, alone and broken.

Next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731606482091655168/boarding-school-for-giants-1525?source=share

1st chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600430392639488/boarding-school-for-giants-125?source=share

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #giant tiny #sfw g/t #boarding school for giants #g/t writing #size difference

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 2 years ago

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Hi! Request for 300 followers event. Genshin AU.🌸

It so happened that y/n birthday falls on a school day and she can't celebrate it with her family, which makes her very upset. But her friends decide to make a surprise and organize a cozy holiday together. As it turned out, the guy has romantic feelings for y/n and gently shows it. Even her roommate noticed it, but her doesn't notice it. And at the end of the celebration, he still directly confesses his feelings.

As one friends and roommate I see Xinyan and guy is maybe Thoma or Tartaglia. As an additional factor due to which y/n cannot celebrate her birthday with her family, it may be that she is a foreigner.

I'm bad with English and gender-neutral pronouns, so forgive me. Although I wrote about y / n in the fem, it would be nice if she was gn.

Love you😘

First ask for the event!

Wc: 2.3k

The snow is thicker up the mountain than back home, usually you would have complained to Dan that it was unfair that the students up there could get to see such beautiful sights as a freshly fallen snow on grass or the small icicles that formed on the roofs. Now, being one living in the so wished place you can't help but kick your younger self, it's beautiful indeed but you got seven comforters and it's still freezing cold

" YN!" A familiar voice whines over you as her hands try to rip you off your blanket cocoon " it's a Sunday night! And tomorrow our earliest class is at 9! Let's go to the practice room! Or even watch a movie or something!!" Even if she should keep her voice down and try not to be seen as to not get kicked out of your dorm intro her own xinyan still isn't shy about your 'illegal' sleepover 'everyone did it once! Xingqiu sleep four nights a week at chongyun's room. it's okay' she always insists

Looking to the side you see the clock, 12:07 am " today's class you would want to say"

" Same difference! We got nine hours, we can stand to watch a movie for an hour or so!" Quickly ripping a blanket out of your cocoon she whines at the many layers she would have to take off before you are out

" Give me this birthday gift, mkay? It's really cold and I really want to sleep. Pleeeeaase?"

Her body stiffens over you " aaah? It's your birthday?? OMG! Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to plan something for you!" She hugs you and kisses your head " happy birthday bestie!"

Hugging her back you answer " I'm just a bit homesick from having to spend my first birthday without my family and so" you try to detangle your hair with one hand

" Bestie, at least you should have told me, we could have gone out to shop for clothes or eat at xiangling's restaurant "

" Oh well, for next year then."

" Huff. Whatever "

The next morning the clock strikes at 8:30 and the mattress on the floor is empty and cold. Did xinyan really get so angry at you that she left early? The thought makes your chest ache

Putting on your uniform you walk to school to eat breakfast at the canteen. Maybe you could eat something sweet like the dango milk and Sakura mochi you saw last week at the Inazuma stand. Or maybe something savory like a kebab or a fisherman's toast? Choices choices choices.

By the time you arrive you have to make do with what was left, you did get to grab a bottle of dango milk but there were no mochi or taiyaki so you grab a rice ball. Hopefully the class won't last that long

Two hours hearing a teacher bicker about theater and make up for each character could have been interesting had curiosity not been in your head. Why did xinyan leave so early? You don't think the internships at the school band were until next month. Oh well, you can survive a class without your friend.

As soon as the clock ticked everyone stormed off the room. That means it should be around 11. Thankfully next class' teacher is absent so that leaves you free until 1pm. Maybe you could go to a cat Cafe for brunch? If you showed your student ID maybe you could get a birthday discount or something. But touching around your neck you don't feel the familiar fabric around it. You must have forgotten to put it on when you woke up, it should be in your nightstand

If you run, maybe you could get there by 12 and order a lemon key pie or a tres leches cake and some coffee or tea.

Running down the main stairs to your dorm you see a head peek out of a tree. Is that xiangling's hair? Before you approach someone grabs your hand. It's Thoma.

" YN!" His smile is bright and contagious enough that you match his energy in seconds " where are you going? Shouldn't you be in class?"

" Oh? My teacher is absent for next class so I have two hours free" you answer

" Really?" He exclaims before lamenting " it never happened to me before, at best we could get out early but we never lost a class in the middle of the day"

Softly you laugh " is there anything you wanted?"

" Oh, yeah!" He exclaims "as you don't have anything to do, will you come with me? I have to go run some errands and I would prefer to have someone to chat with!' His smile is wide and bright as the sun, it also serves the purpose of warming your heart a little.

" I was going to the cat Cafe but I can tag along with you" you follow him walking the commercial zone " what do you need to do?"

He vaguely answers " oh I just got to pick up a few things. Ayaka wanted some sweets and ayato's order arrived so I'm picking everything up "

" Okay, let 's go!"

The variety store is the closest one to the school, they sell everything from pens and paper to jewels and fabric. Looking around the shop while Thoma speaks with the employee you see so many kind of things, from violet gems that gave a tiny electric shock to a stand with different types of pearls right next to a feathery fabric.

Running your fingers up and down the material you feel the tiny feathers follow your movement. So soft and comfy

" Know i charged extra given the express delivery fee" the voice of the male employee sounds fed up, dragging every word

" Oh, yeah, don't worry, special occasion" looking to the side he asks " can i add something else?"

" Yes"

" Can I buy 3 meters of that fabric over there?" He points towards you playing with it

" Okay. Just let me cut it"

" Oh! I will come back for the fabric just ring it in and I'll come back later" sighting the cashier nods

" Okay, that will be 1500 mora plus the fabric " he mumbles some numbers

" Here, thanks " he leaves a bag with coins and grabs the bag " yn we are leaving"

The cafes and restaurants are closer to the exit, seemingly it's because students coming in will be starving and students leaving already ate at the school. You see xiangling's dad frying some rice and meat, you would greet him but you wouldn't want to break his focus.

The cafe that Thoma leads you to is an Inazuma specialty shop. Seemingly there has been an influx of Inazuman students after their borders opened a few years ago.

" Is Ayaka really keen on sweets?" It sounds obvious to Thoma but he knows you have yet to know her

" Of course" he accentuates those words " she has a liking for raindrop cake specially, but it's hard to get so she is happy with having mochi"

" Do you like sweets? I see you grabbing dango when I go to the cafeteria"

" Oh I'm not that much of a fan" he turns left on one of the corners " i like savory better. Do you like sweets?"

" I LOVE sweet things" he looks towards you, seemingly surprised from the emotion in your voice" the lemon cake that the cat's tail serves is identical to my aunt's. So nostalgic" you fake cleaning a tear

Thoma laughs " my, oh my. Didn't know you liked sweets that much " he enters a building and you follow along

The conversation with the girl was short but you couldn't understand a word. The Inazuman language is really different to the one spoken in your town. Quickly the girl goes behind to the kitchen and leaves you alone for a few minutes

" I have never heard Inazuman language before. It really is different from mondstrat's" you tell him

" It really is" he smiles lightly " it took me weeks to understand the locals. More so answer! It was so embarrassing. Once I asked for a box of tomatoes but got slapped because I asked the girl if she was pregnant!" He laughs. You truly hope it was a joke.

"No way!"

" I SWEAR! I was so embarrassed I couldn't go to her shop for a month. I'm so happy there is at least one shop that reminds me of home"

" Inazuman sounds so nice, tell me something in it "

Thoma thinks for a second before smiling "月が綺麗ですね"

You look at him in awe, admiring how each sounds " that sounds so beautiful! What does it mean?"

Has it gotten colder? You don't feel so but Thoma's cheeks have gotten redder. " it means 'The moon is beautiful, isn't it?' it is from a book written a long time ago"

The shopkeeper returns, but now, rather than her stern face from before she is wearing a small smile and handing Thoma a sealed box

Leaving the store you grab Thoma's unoccupied hand " your cheeks seem red so you must be cold!" Thoma's cheeks get warmer than before. It must be freezing.

Walking back to the academy the thought of checking the hour crossed your mind, looking at the clock next to the window of a shop you see it marks 12:40. 20 minutes until the next class. Shit! Turning to Thoma you excuse yourself

" I'm so so sorry! I really have to leave" kissing his cheek goodbye you start running to your next class.

The classes of art history, regional literature and dramatic reading go by and end at 7:30 pm the sun is almost completely down radiating a golden hue in its leave. Wrapping a scarf around your neck you plan to grab dinner at the cafeteria and maybe watch today's opera or play in the school theater. Maybe it's Yun Jin play, you heard they are very good.

Leaving the classroom you feel someone hug you " bestie!" It is xinyan " follow me! I got something for you"

" If it's about me missing my birthday, don't worry about it. Truly, I'm not upset"

" Don't be like that. Follow me" she runs to the exit and to the forest dividing the anemo and Geo dorms " quick, slowpoke!"

Jumping over a cut tree you catch up to her " ha! Caught you" you hug her around the waist so she can't escape. Either way she wouldn't be able, given the way she is laughing non stop.

" Happy birthday bestie" xinyan pats your head affectionately

"Surprise!" Chongyun, Xingqiu, xiangling and Thoma pop out of the trees yelling

" Now, tell me you didn't expect it. At least humor me" she begs

" Well, actually, i didn't"

" This could all be done because of Thoma'' she signals to him who only lets a soft 'hi'

"he took you around while we set this all up. He even managed to get some info" she pushes your shoulders towards him " and all that last second. Isn't he so reliable?" Her words are suspiciously honeyed

" Yes, i guess" you brush her off

" Now, c'mon the food is going to get cold, they can kiss later " xiangling yaps while everyone was talking " i didn't cook seven different dishes for you all to

" Xiangling don't say things like that!" Xinyan berates her slapping her shoulder softly

" It 's true. I didn't even add garlic as you as-" xinyan covered her mouth before she finished talking. Luckily you were too busy talking with the boys

" My auntie went to the city to buy you this" says chongyun while giving you small box

" Mine should come in a week or so. I asked for one those foreign novels, supposedly they are funny" xingqui exclaims " if only you had told us before"

" Who hung those lights?" You look around the top of the trees and see a wire with little lights around

" Oh, supposedly the hydro residence is going to use it for the new year party so i volunteer to untangle them if I can lend them for today" xingqui " they are supposedly new technology in fontaine"

" Do you want shrimp?" Chongyun offers one of the golden shrimps

" Xiangling!" Xingqiu cries out holding a dumplin " there are carrots in here!"

" I'M SORRY!!"

Watching them bicker about nonsense made you happy. Those were your friends.

" I got you a gift too" Thoma says in a whisper

" Oh, you didn't have to" you look at him, his face as red as when you kissed him goodbye

He takes a deep breath " no, i insist. Please come with me"

You two walk further inside the forest, until you couldn't hear your friends anymore

" So?" You sit in a tree stump " what gift deserves so much secrecy?" It's humorous really, how embarrassed he seems over one silly gift. He is so cute.

That is your line of thought until he kisses you. A kiss a bit too stiff, nervous and short for your liking. When you look at him you see him playing with tye hem of his uniform

" The gift of my… heart" that last part was a bit hard to spit, seemingly trying to get stuck to his throat " or my love. However it sounds Best" it seems that your friends helped him. Those are sentences only xingqiu could think of " so if you want my gift please tell me tomorrow or Friday, that way I can make you a coat that you will be able to wear this winter if you don't want the first thing" the sentences were long but quickly said. Thoma almost ran out of air

There is a second of silence where you two looked at each other and you give yourself a moment to admire him, his blond hair slightly messy, his jaw clenching, his chest rising up and down, his eyes blown wide with adrenaline.

" Uh, so, enjoy your party, i bought the cake you said you liked" he left running towards his dorm

Did he just kiss you, confess his love and now he is running away?? The audacity.

Some sounds come from bushes a few meters away.

" Did he chicken out?"

" We missed the kiss??"

" Yesss, finally"

" Are we going to be uncles?"

" yunyun, shut up"

That is why xiangling didn't use garlic in her stew then.

#genshin impact #gi #300 follower event #college days #thoma x reader #genshin thoma #genshin x reader #genshin x you #gn reader

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steamishot · 2 years ago

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eventful pt 2

saturday was a rainy day and my one day to do “nothing” at home. it’s really cold in the house when its cold outside. we only have one heater that’s situated in the living room and would either have to get a space heater or open the doors to our bedrooms for the heat to come in. i did some work for my day job that i was procrastinating on.

sunday, i was going to take my parents out to the great white at larchmont village for a breakfast. however, due to a power outage, the restaurant was closed. instead, i took them to bluestone lane 5 minutes away. i used my inkind credit and got the breakfast for free basically ($50 credit). later that day, i met up with matt’s family to eat DTF. their family usually doesn’t like DTF because it’s pretty small portions and not very filling. matt needed to eat cleaner/healthier and knew i love to eat DTF each time i’m back in town, so we opted for that.

dynamics feel like they’re going back to two years ago, when the mom was nice. she gifted me a new old coach crossbody bag when she saw that my purse was a similar style. i had some quality time with her showing her how to make imovie videos on her phone. in retrospect, it seems like she was jealous (?) that matt was spending what seemed like a lot of time with me during residency and he had limited time/energy for her, so she complained more often and was (passive) aggressive.

this time, we also got to meet M, T’s girlfriend. they’re like 18-20 years old and so cute.

monday was when i sat my ass down and caught up with work that i’ve been neglecting. i met up with my older friends M & J for shabu shabu dinner. the prices are so good for the quality in LA. we ate dinner and then hung out for a bit afterwards at a nearby starbucks. i’ve realized i’ve become a coffee > milk tea person now. there’s just too many variables with milk tea that could go wrong (i’m particular about the level of sweetness and intensity of tea) that i prefer now just going to coffee shops. also, coffee shops have non-caffeinated or decaf options that i enjoy.

M is in the process of separating from her husband/moving back to her parent’s house. it’s been a long time coming for her, and a really tough thing to do. they have been having similar ongoing issues for at least five years where her husband feels obligated to live under the same roof as his parents (and thereby she does too) though it’s not beneficial for their relationship, and he does not/will not budge. i don’t know the details of their relationship - i.e. finances, and what exactly makes the most financial sense/what they’re able to afford, what she has actually attempted to change things, etc. though i see a little bit of myself in her, where we are able to sacrifice for our partners and hope it is reciprocated in the future. it is an uneasy feeling to think that after years of sacrifice, your partner will not budge.

tuesday, i took my mom and grandma out to great white for the brunch i was initially planning on having with my parents. the food was good. unfortunately i made a dumb boo-boo and misinterpreted my meter. where i parked, there were two meters, one to either side of the head of the car. i stupidly looked at the wrong meter (i don’t know how to do LA anymore?) and assumed i was fine, only to come back to a damn parking ticket. i also got a haircut that day in chinatown with my mom’s company. flew out that night around 11:30pm.

on the path to being healthier: since sunday feb 20, matt has completely cut off coffee AND he is functioning fine replacing it with tea. this is great because it saves him/us a lot of money. it was a huge lightbulb moment for me. i’ve been pushing him to do yoga, meditate, exercise more, go to therapy to ease his anxiety while ignoring this huge thing that he is excessively feeding his body everyday. on top of caffeine, it’s the horrible but good tasting food we’ve been eating all the time. we’ve also cut out fried and spicy foods. who knew what you consumed affects your body/mind... lol

i was at my heaviest at 118 just recently, which i thought was a good healthy weight, since i’ve always struggled with weight gain. i also started consuming more desserts/sweets. before, things used to be “too sweet” or “too fattening” for me (which may be my subconscious thinking sugar/fat = bad). but i’m glad that i’m being more open to eating everything in general instead of being overly picky and then becoming scrawny as a result. now i feel like our diet is veering towards my preference of food. i almost wanted to order desserts today, but chose not to in order to be on this healthy diet with matt.

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hoe4hotchner · 3 years ago

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Chapter 9 - Brunch at the Walton’s

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an upper-class residential Virginian neighborhood, monogamous values rarely get broken. A dangerous serial killer chooses to lay into dormancy exactly there for the next five years with his latest victim. Or for as long as it takes to catch him. Two highly trained and widely different agents go undercover, posing as a married couple to scope him out and make the arrest. They’ll be nothing more than professional for months, working under the same roof.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Gun shots, loneliness and kind of angst in general at the end of the chapter.

Masterlist

Gif credit: @brilliantbimbo

Sunday mornings had always been your favorites, the way that you got to lounge around, charging your batteries for the oncoming work week. You loved spending them, walking around in nothing but big sweaters and fuzzy socks, genuinely enjoying spending the time alone in your apartment. You used Sundays to nurture your hobbies, knowing that you rarely had the time to otherwise. And some days, you just sat in front of the tv all day, catching up on the shows that you’d missed out on during your work calls and out-of-state cases. It was nice to just be able to be yourself that one time a week whenever you managed to get it off.

The sun was shining through your curtains as you woke up, a little later than usual, but who cared, no one was there to complain. Except for Aaron, but he was still in bed, sleeping away as he let his body regain its strength. There had been a certain lethargic atmosphere surrounding him the past couple of days. You couldn’t tell if he was fed up with the slow work that this mission had become or if he was slowly losing the spark to continue working. Whatever it was, he seemed dangerously close to breaking, and so were you.

With a nudge to his shoulder, you woke him up. He was confused, barely able to keep himself up as you reminded him of your breakfast date across the street. Aaron groaned in response. He couldn’t bear to hear another word coming out of Martha in that shrill tone that happened to be her natural voice. Although she had done nothing wrong, he hated her with all of his soul and body, more than he could ever say that he had done with you. He rubbed his face, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes as you got out of the bed and headed straight for the shower to freshen up. Knowing Martha, she’d judge you for your appearance. She always did. Not just with you and Aaron, but with everyone around the neighborhood. You made sure to look your absolute best whenever you knew that you would have to spend time with her and Jerry. Jerry was way more approachable and chill than Martha. Sometimes you wished that you were a man when cases like this landed on your desk. With Jerry, all you had to do was mention golf or hunting, and he could go into hour-long conversations about his hobbies. It was never about gossip and calling out the other females in the Hills like it was with Martha, and you were tired of it.

It had become an almost weekly occurrence by now that you ate brunch together with the Walton’s. Martha always insisted that you guys got together, that you were destined to be best friends because of how much the four of you resembled each other. When in reality, you’d been mirroring their way of life for months now, nothing more than that. If she knew the real you, she would’ve been disgusted by your personality. Your lifestyle and even your job. Martha had mentioned that she despised the government during your last brunch, how you had to pay taxes to them just to fund all their branches. She was sick of it. All you had done was bounce your leg under the table. Aaron had placed his hand on your knee, stopping the movement. He could sense your rage. As much as he wanted to let you explode at her, you needed to calm down. Aaron loved how passionate you were when it came to your job and the work that the government did for your country. And he couldn’t lie when he said he admired your passion, but it was not worth it to risk the case. Although he too was fuming at Martha’s words, he just sent Jerry a look of: “Wives am I right?” which was returned with an “I know” roll of the eyes and raise of the brows. You’d noticed the exchange between the two men, pushing Aaron’s hand away from you gently to not raise awareness of your real relationship status.

“Oh, the buns are done.” Martha squealed as the timer on the oven went off.

“I’ll help.” You offered, following behind her into the kitchen. You needed her alone, needed to figure out if she had heard anything about Corbin and Anna since the last time you had lured something out of her. Gathering the cutlery, plates, and mugs on the island, while Martha took out the buns from the oven, you leaned against the counter next to her, waiting until she was ready.

“Have you seen Ben and Michelle lately? I feel like they don’t like us.” You tested, hoping that she knew more than you did at the moment. Martha started pulling out the rest of the food that she’d prepared before your arrival as you asked her the question.

“You know now that you mention it, I haven’t seen them in a while myself. You’d think that I’d at least see them out in their garden or walking past the house on the street, but I’ve seen nothing. I did hear them arguing last night. I don’t think that they noticed their bedroom window was open. Michelle sounded upset, and well, you know Benjamin. I think he’s holding her back, trying to isolate her from us girls.” You nodded your head as she paused, searching for something for a brief moment before she picked up her observations again. “I honestly don’t think that they fit in here, not like you guys do. I think it’s best if we start a petition to get them out of the neighborhood as fast as possible.” Martha’s proposition bounced off of you as you mindlessly agreed to sign your name on the waiver after she had spoken to the rest of the neighborhood board or whatever they really called themselves. You couldn’t care less actually. All you hoped was that you managed to catch Corbin before he was forced out of the Hills with Anna, rendering your mission and the intel you’d gathered utterly useless.

You helped Martha carry in all of the delicious items she had prepared for your brunch. The freshly squeezed orange juice and the rich coffee that she always insisted on buying and having imported from some foreign country, because the cheap brands from the local grocery stores were too weak for her liking. The still warm buns and bacon and eggs, everything that you could dream of were there.

“Martha, you’ve done it again.” Aaron smiled as he praised her cooking, it was best to stay on her good side, and Aaron always made sure of that. Complimenting her, praising her, even offering to help with projects that she complained about Jerry not wanting to do, all in the spirit of keeping her as a close ally when they needed more information about the neighborhood and its residents.

“Oh, Nick! You’re too good to me.” She gestured her words with her hand, kind of pushing away the nice words Aaron had delivered at her. You just smiled at the exchange. It was nice. Having a quiet morning like this. It wasn’t filled with work like most of your mornings were. Cruz never called on Sundays, although you still observed and assessed every single little detail that you came across. It was nice to somewhat relax, and who could complain when delightful, organic, and fresh food was involved. You surely couldn’t and wouldn’t. Your hand was resting against your thigh, thumb swirling your fake wedding band around, anxiously thinking about what Martha had said. You couldn’t push the mention of their argument out of your brain, wondering if Anna was alright. Hotch smoothly interlocked your hands under the table, apprehending you from playing with the ring anymore. Over the cause of the mission, he had noticed you playing with it a lot. He had deemed it one of your tells, picking up on your nervousness or feelings of being overwhelmed each time. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. It was moments like these you cherished with him. Moments where you were able to lay your differences aside and lean into the roles of Nick and Amy completely, nothing stopping you from appearing like newlyweds.

“Can I just say how sweet the two of you are?” Martha smiled at you, having seen Aaron’s hand sneakily wrap around yours. You send her a small smile, cheeks flushing at the sudden realization that you’d been caught. You were about to answer her. Thanking her for the kind words as you pulled your interlocked hands towards your lips, pressing a small kiss to Aaron’s knuckles. It was an attempt to sweeten the idea of your relationship, when suddenly you heard the loud BANG of a gun being fired. Your head instantly whipped up at Aaron’s, seeing the same wide-eyed expression that you were giving him. Instantly, you were on your feet, leaving the older couple confused as you stormed out of their house, upholding your duties as law enforcement. That gunshot was definitely not supposed to resonate within the Hills. It was a warning you noticed. Why else would there only have been one?

When a loud scream caught you off guard, you knew the time had come. It was weird being ripped out of the safe and secure environment, you’d been living in for so long now. Barely even remembering how you functioned as a human outside of the Hills, and now plunged back into the mindset of being a Federal agent on a mission. Alongside Aaron, you rushed back inside your base, frantically searching for your Kevlars hidden in away in the nooks and crannies of the living room, while Aaron found the phone only embedded with Cruz’s direct line of contact. You heard Aaron’s side of the mumbled conversation between him and your section chief, calling in the troops for backup, signaling that the case was over and that your killer had decided to wake from his slumber again. You couldn’t be sure that Anna was still alive as you found Aaron’s vest hidden under the slats on the underside of the couch. You quickly threw it to him before he started loading your Glocks, preparing you to take down Corbin if it came to it. You were quick to find your own and strap yourself in, grabbing your gun off the table and storming back out on the street where people were starting to gather at the commotion. You caught a quick glimpse of Martha’s shocked expression, seeing the big bold block letters on your Kevlar that spelled out FBI. She had never thought that her “best friend” would betray her like that, lie to her face about who she was, but there was nothing you could’ve done to save her from the surprise, especially not when you were the essence of the thing that she despised.

“Michael Corbin! This is the FBI! Come out with your hands where I can see them!” You yelled, pointing your gun towards the front door after having seen the curtains in the window move. You stopped in the middle of the street, hearing Aaron emerge from your house, while the handle on Corbin’s front door simultaneously was pulled down. He had a strong grip around Anna. Her knees bucking under her, as he forced her out of the house with a gun pointed at her head. You watched her struggling in his arms out of fear, trying to get free.

“Get away from us! All I wanted was a nice life, a nice wife, and to be free of my mother’s wrath. And then you have to waltz in here and ruin everything. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as fake as the two of you! I knew something was up from the minute I stepped foot in this neighborhood. How could someone as smoking hot as you, love someone so old and grumpy as him!” Corbin yelled back, confronting you while you had your gun pointed at him. It only took the sound of the sirens blaring in the distance before his gun was aimed at you. His hand trembled immensely as he tried to focus on his task, getting away alive from the situation. Corbin knew that he was about to be surrounded, knew that he had to take to drastic measures to get away alive and start new somewhere else.

When Aaron noticed the gun pointed at you, he instantly sped up to a run, managing to push you away from the line of fire right as the flash of the gun rang through the air. It was like everything went into slow motion, your body launching to the ground, hands stretched out in an attempt to catch your weight and not ram your head against the asphalt. The bullet spiraled through the air with a small trail of smoke following it. Anna, who managed to yank herself out of Corbin’s grasp, bolting away from the scene, finally escaping his claws after being locked away for as long as she had. Aaron managed to fire his gun at Corbin before he was sent flying back by the bullet Corbin had fired.

“AARON!” You screamed, watching him tumble to the ground in a flash, body gliding across the ground as he was pushed back by the force of the bullet. Everything seemed to speed up again once you were on your feet. Before anything else, you spotted Anna being pulled to the side by the Walton’s, making sure that she was unharmed. The next thing you knew, you saw Corbin’s body, writhing around on the steps to his porch in pain. The bullet had hit him in his stomach. He was sure to stay put as you bolted towards Aaron. You had heard the confused murmurs of Aaron’s name being repeated by your neighbors, right as you had said it, their expressions scrunching up in an attempt to comprehend everything that they were experiencing in their small closed-off circle that they'd opened up to let you into. How they’d managed to let a serial killer and a victim, and a couple of FBI agents into their closed-off community. You knelt down next to Aaron’s body, frantically trying to strap off his Kevlar to see where the bullet had hit him. Before you could make sense of the situation, Aaron grabbed your wrist, trying to assure you that he was fine, that nothing had happened except having the wind punched right out of him. He ordered you to go cuff Corbin, just in case, as you heard the screeching tires of several large vehicles pulling up, their sirens being turned off to not make any more disturbances in the neighborhood.

You watched Morgan and Rossi scramble out of the SUV first, Morgan darting straight for you and Corbin to take over the arrest. He could see the look of despair in your eyes as you practically begged him to take over. Rossi had run towards Aaron, who was slightly starting to push himself up from the ground. The bullet had lodged itself in his vest, stopping it from penetrating his skin and harming him. The first SUV was quick to drive off, probably the one where Corbin was held in, as the interrogation process would be rushed to start as soon as possible and get his case over with. You spotted JJ trying to calm down Anna out of the corner of your eyes as you stood in the middle of the street, completely numb from the feeling of everything coming to an end as you had caught your guy. Every sound muddled together to a ringing in your ears. Looking around, you saw Aaron barking orders at your fellow agent's, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. By the outline of his lips, you figured that he was complaining about not needing to go to the hospital to be checked over, but the medics were already here. Snapping you out of your trance, Cruz’s hand clamped down on your shoulder, gently shaking you a bit.

“Are you okay, agent?” He asked, waiting for your eyes to focus on him. You could see the look of concern spread across his features as he waited for your response.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just a little overwhelmed. Is Hotch okay?” You directed the attention away from you, not wanting to come to terms with your own emotions, not yet, maybe when you were alone, maybe not. Everything was just too fresh right now to deal with.

“When isn’t he fine?” Cruz’s laugh bounced off of you, something that you would’ve found funny before this journey started, somehow made you annoyed with your section chief. “They’re only taking him to make sure he didn’t get hurt in the fall. The bullet got caught in the vest. Safe to say that he’ll need a new one of those.” You let out the breath that you’d been holding, hearing the words that you’d needed to hear. “You’re lucky, agent. Not many people would’ve risked their lives taking a bullet for another. You did a tremendous amount of great work on this case, and we finally have our guy. No more Morning Murderer. He’ll be behind bars for a long time. Agent, could you pack up everything before you leave here. I expect you to be in at 8 am sharp for a debriefing. I’ll go inform agent Hotchner. Once again agent, great work.” Cruz left you with a pat on your shoulder before he hopped inside the back of the ambulance to tell Aaron about the following day’s work. Something about his words kept lingering in your head. He was right. You were incredibly lucky. If it hadn't been for Aaron, the bullet would've penetrated your shoulder and left you to bleed out on the ground, or at least until the ambulance would arrive. Aaron's height had come to an advantage, and you both knew that. Something within you wanted to believe that he had done it out of his need to protect you. When in reality you knew that he had acted on his instincts, and quickly assessed the situation.

You watched as the team one by one left you in the Hills, driving back to Quantico to start working on the administrative part of the case, or at least what they could do from the number of files Spencer had brought back, and the details they’d be able to draw from Corbin during his interrogation.

When everyone was gone, and you were standing completely alone in the street, left by your friends and co-workers, you turned around, heading straight for the house.

“I guess it was all a lie, huh?!” Martha’s shrill voice pierced through the air behind you as you caught the sound of her steps coming nearer. “Your real name is not Amy, is it?! How much of it was a lie, huh?” She yelled angrily at you as she finally caught up to you. You stopped in your tracks, still feeling the numbness, the emptiness of everything.

“Everything Martha, everything was a fucking lie okay! We played you, our mission was to catch that guy, and so we did. You were merely a sheep in the herd of people that got caught up in this drama, okay! I’m not Amy and he is not Nick! My real name is (Y/N), are you happy now?! I’m sorry you got caught up in this okay! But I was forced into this just as much as you guys were. The only one who knew and got a chance to say goodbye to his real-life was Aaron.” You raised your voice at her in the heat of the moment, before stomping inside your house and leaving Martha in shock out on the curb. Her jaw hung below at the audacity you had had when talking to her like that. It was simply unacceptable.

Once behind closed doors, you sunk down on the floor between the two couches, your head felt like it was spinning and all you wanted to do was cry. You had to come to terms with returning to your own life again, and you didn’t know if it was something you could ever do. Something would be missing, the comfort he had brought you every night as he unconsciously cuddled into you in bed, the feeling of not being alone anymore. You never wanted to feel alone like that anymore, not like before.

Collecting yourself, you stood up, checking yourself over in the mirror decorating the foyer of the house. You looked absolutely horrendous, large bags under your eyes, a vague expression on your face, you looked sad, depressed even. With a sigh, you started gathering all the files you had stashed away between books, taped under the drawers of your dressers and bookshelves, between table clothes, everything you could find. It needed to be done. And now was the time before you eventually would feel another rush of sadness wash over you. You wanted to go door to door and apologize for how you’d deceived them, but this was part of your job. You had just done your job. And they would have to live with the fact that they weren’t as good at reading people as they thought they were. You just wished that Aaron could be here, help you close up the cage, and turn the page to the next chapter in your lives. But he wasn’t, and you had to do this all alone, yet again.

Tag list: @bitchwhytho @ashhotchner @ssahotchslover @witchybitch2 @wheelsupkels @red-red-rogue @katiehall99 @mintphoenix @slytherinprincess00 @skylar666 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @cheyxfu @hotchnerxo @rousethemouse @honeyofthegods @ssamorganhotchner @mayasreadingnook @avatarkanemi @mischiefmanaged71 @fullmoonshadowwrites @chelseagirl77 @itsmytimetoodream @isa-the-butler-simp @marvel-mars @blacksstarrynight @lethological-clara

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nothereforyou · 4 years ago

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Long Story Short, I Survived

Did someone order some angsty Steve x reader that turns into Bucky x reader?

The first morning without Steve beside you, after five years of having him next to you, is like being doused with cold water. One moment you’d been blissfully asleep, warm under the duvet that still smelled of him, and the next--well, reality could be colder than any river of ice. He’d chosen her, chosen to go back to where he was really from. Maybe he was never yours to begin with, maybe you were living on borrowed time, safe in his arms.

Life restarts slowly without him. At first, it’s not much more than eating, sleeping, and doing what you need to survive. Surviving is...you don’t have words for what surviving is after. Steve is still around, hovering outside the apartment you’d once inhabited together. He drinks coffee in the café across from the building, lets himself in once or twice a week to make sure you’re alive and the place hasn’t completely gone to seed. You scream at him the first time, scream we were happy!, insist he should’ve stayed. The bastard ignores you.

Steve keeps cleaning, you keep surviving.

Before long, you can get out of bed. You clean your own damn apartment, but Steve still comes. He sits on the couch you picked out together, looking irritatingly good and unfazed. He looks like an old man but you still ache for him. Your Steve, your handsome Steve who had fucked you on every surface in this apartment, looked like a grandpa you should be taking for a walk in the park. He’s still your Steve, deep down. He’s still the only man who’s ever made you cum and who made you laugh over brunch and who slipped a ring onto your finger and promised---

Was he ever yours to began with?

You can’t leave the apartment, the entrance of the building is so packed with reporters there’s barely room to get through the doors. You hadn’t realized the love of your life leaving you would include reporters, vying for the story of why Captain America left his wife. You wish they’d get the story and let you know why.

You’d been married less than six months when it all went down. A quickie wedding in a chapel that was somehow still open. You kept the photos on the coffee table and didn’t think too hard about what that meant.

Sam comes, takes you to get coffee. He talks about everything and anything, just not Steve, not the one thing you desperately want to talk about. It’s good to see Sam, to see someone who really knew Steve. He tells you about spending time with his sister, Sarah and her sons. You make it through the afternoon without crying, which is an improvement. As he leaves, he gives you a look that can only be described as pitiful. It makes you want to scream and rip apart one of the throw pillows, to scream from the roof tops that you’re okay and it’s not even that big of a deal that he just left, you’re fine, and for the love of fucking G-d, stop talking about it.

They don’t stop talking about it. You keep surviving.

Bucky coming to visit is a shock. You’d met him once or twice before he was dusted and you’d heard about him during the five years he was missing, but you weren’t friends. He stands in the doorway and stares at you, looking like he wants to turn and run. You stare right back at him, waiting for him to make the first move. You both stand there, staring at each other. After what feels like forever, Bucky wordlessly takes a seat at your kitchen table and stays.

It’s nice to have another person in that lonely apartment. Bucky sleeps on the floor in the living room, comes and goes as he pleases. But he’s there and it’s a stability you didn’t know you were missing. After a few weeks, you start going for walks through the neighborhood. The reporters have left, something else has caught their attention for long enough that they’ve left you alone. (Nobody seemed to be bothering Steve, then again, they probably didn’t know what he looked like. According to the general public, he’s on the moon.) It’s nice to get some fresh air and it’s nice to come home to someone besides the plants. You don’t talk, more often than not, you come home and Bucky’s sitting at the table, eating cold beans. But he’s there and it’s nice.

Steve stops coming and you both mourn. Bucky mourns for an almost what could have been and you mourn for the husband you spent all of six months with. It’s during this mourning when you two really find each other. It starts small, you bring Bucky a cup of coffee in the morning and he grunts his thanks. Bucky cooks breakfast before you leave for work at the bookstore down the street. It’s nice, reminiscent of when Steve was there.

Then Sam gives away the shield.

You’re having a movie night when the news about John Walker comes out. In the six months that he’d lived with you, you’d never seen him so angry. Bucky is seething with anger. He gets up and paces, muttering unflattering comments about Sam.

“Bucky? Is...this...did he…?” Your voice stops him. You sound so small and fragile. You’d seemed so solid and okay that he forgets you’re not. He forgot that your husband left you and your world crumpled right in front of you. And suddenly, he’s angry again, but not at Sam--that’s for another day--he’s angry at Steve in a way he hasn’t been before. How could he leave you? Beautiful you, who’s good, and makes coffee in the mornings, and smells like roses, and would probably look so pretty spread out underneath him. (That last thought is also for another day, when he can afford to think about what it means that he wants you spread out under him.)

And shit, you’re crying.

Bucky stands there in a panic when you start crying. It’s fucking stupid you’re crying, it doesn’t matter who has the shield, it’s not going to bring Steve back into your life, not in the way that matters. But it had felt like things were going to be okay when you knew that it was Sam who was going to get the shield and the title. Sam, who’s good and kind and who won’t let it corrupt him. This John Walker motherfucker is an unknown. He’s not Steve and he’s not Sam and he looks like the world has never told him no. What’s he going to do with all the power?

Bucky pulls you into his chest, lets your angry tears soak into his shirt. He awkwardly pats your back and pets your hair. Once the tears have dried, it makes you giggle how uncomfortable he is with comforting someone. Bucky smiles down at you, a heart breaking smile that’s too much like Steve’s but also not enough like Steve’s and makes your stomach flip a little, which makes you start crying all over again. After 20 minutes of crying and awkward patting, Bucky scoops you up and carries you to your bed. He lays with you all night, letting you cry and then holding you while you sleep.

It’s his first night in a bed (his first night with a woman, his brain helpfully adds) in...he doesn’t know how long. The thought makes him flee like the coward he is.

You wake up and Bucky’s gone. There’s a note on the table, says he went to ask Sam what this is all about. A knock interrupts your breakfast preparations. “Buck, you don’t have to--” It’s not Bucky, it’s three men in suits, and one John Walker, bearing flowers. You almost punch him, scream that he’s not Captain America and never will be. John thrusts the flowers at you and marches into the apartment as if he owns it. Before you can toss him out on his ass, one of the suits is explaining they have a plan for you and, unless you want them to recall certain activities you’d been apart of. Activities that would make you a war criminal. Activities that would send you to prison for decades.

So you, Captain America’s (ex?)wife, publicly become John Walker’s strongest supporter and girlfriend. The official story is that you’d met during the interviews (if there were interviews for the new Captain America, they hadn’t included you in them), and fallen in love at first sight. You were taking it slow, out of respect for your husband who was still out there somewhere (the moon, maybe?), but you were very much madly in love. Bucky and Sam come home from...wherever they’d been and find you cuddled up to their enemy. Every time John smiles and calls you kitten, every time you have to kiss him, you want to punch him in that stupid face of his.

The police station is a fucking mess. Bucky’s been arrested, the police are being racist and fucking with Sam, and to top it all off, John’s the one who frees Bucky. You’ve known Bucky long enough to know how much this pisses him off and then he spots you and his jaw clenches even harder. You have to hold yourself back from running over to him and explaining what happened. You desperately want to tell him that it’s not what it looks like, that you’re not wearing a stupid, flimsy sundress that brings out John’s eyes because you want to, someone dressed you and this is so you don’t go to prison. A quiet voice reminds you that maybe going to prison for a long time would be worth it if you never had to see that look on his face again. Words are exchanged, Bucky and Sam walk off, John warns them to “stay the hell out of his way”, which doesn’t sound as cool as he thinks it does.

You go home, home to the apartment where Bucky is. He’s at the kitchen table, eating cold beans again. There’s a bag by his feet (when had he collected enough things to have a bag?) and you realize he’s leaving. He’s so mad about Walker that he’s leaving, like Steve did.

“Don’t leave.” Your voice is small in the quiet, dim apartment. “Just...stay. Even if you don’t talk to me, just don’t leave.” “I’m going to talk to Zemo. You stay here with Walker.” Before you can think, before you really consider what it means if you do this, you surge forward and kiss him.

You stand in the kitchen, kissing for a few moments before Bucky pulls away. He stares down at you, looking wild and scared, before turning and walking out the door.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky and his beans are my otp #lemme know if you want me to turn this into something!!#this is the longest fic I've ever written #marvel x reader #fatws x reader #bucky x reader

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

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hi y’all<3 here’s a new section of the gallavich as seen from alternate POVs fic, this time featuring lip!!!! (i wanted to wait til after the ✨lickey drama✨ in the new ep before posting, but then i decided against it bc i didn’t want to re-write this lol)

i started to have way too many feelings while writing this so it’s a little lengthy and contemplative, but rest assured it features some domestic fluff/ian and mickey being disgustingly in love- i hope u enjoy<3

Lip shuffled into the kitchen of the Gallagher house, opening the fridge door and reaching past the clanging beer bottles to grab a metal soda can on the way back of the shelf, hearing a faint fizz escape as he popped the tab. It was late, the moonlight streaming in across the kitchen through the worn curtains and pooling on the kitchen floor— after Tami had crashed in their bed at the apartment after a long day at work and Freddie was sleeping soundly in his crib, Lip had come by the Gallagher house, without really knowing why. He just needed to clear his head, to get some distance from Tami and all her relentless nagging about moving and apartment hunting and his colossally obvious fuck-up with the bikes— he just needed some space, some less stifling air to breathe outside of their half-packed apartment crammed with boxes lining the walls.

It was funny; no matter how much energy Lip had poured into he and Tami’s first apartment, into painting the walls and agonizing over their kitchen backsplash like it was his first-born son, whenever Lip thought about home, whenever he felt that pit of uneasiness growing in his stomach and he just needed a place where he could lie back on a couch and loosen the knots in his shoulders and breathe in familiar air that would fill him up, instead of the too-clean smell of Tami’s flowery potpourri that she’d placed on the expensive coffee table in their living room— Lip always found his feet leading him across the slabs of sidewalk and past the chain link fences towards the Gallagher house, no matter the time of night. He had only been in the house for a few minutes before he felt the tight-knit something in his chest begin to unfurl— he didn’t even want to start to think about what was lodged there. This had been a crazy fucking couple of months, and he wasn’t going to start getting sappy about selling the house now, not when they were so close. He’d dug a hole too deep this time, and he needed the money. He couldn’t fuck up again— not with Freddie to take care of. No matter what it cost him.

So that’s how Lip ended up sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table at 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, sipping at an overly-sugary pop that was no substitute for what he really wanted to be drinking right now—he could imagine how it would warm the insides of his stomach, how it would cushion whatever weird fucking ache was in his chest right now. But— no. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to do that now. Everything about selling the house, about moving on, was about getting his shit straight— about leaving the bad parts of this sagging roof and these stained floorboards behind him.

Lip slouched in the wooden kitchen chair, scrolling on his phone and finally letting out a breath he didn’t really know he had been holding in all day, when he heard a creaking of footsteps padding at the top of the stairs— too heavy to be Liam or Debbie, too careful and unfumbling to be Frank dragging himself through the house. Lip flickered a glance up from where he was sitting and met Ian’s eyes as he turned the corner of the stairs, his skin looking translucent and overly pale in the moonlight like the ginger motherfucker he was.

Ian nodded his head towards Lip in acknowledgement, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that his older brother with a whole ass family and apartment of his own was decidedly squatting in the kitchen of his childhood home, drinking a pathetic-looking can of Dr. Pepper. Ian slid open the fridge door, grabbing a beer and swiftly popping the cap off by knocking the bottle on the side of the counter—and then in an instant it became one of those quiet, familiar nights when it was just Lip and Ian in the kitchen, sometimes letting easy conversations flow between them, but other times, just like this— just sinking into each other’s presence in the silence. Ian’s shadow mingling with the moonlight on the kitchen floor immediately snapped the atmosphere from lonely and self-pitying and stale to something lighter, something familiar—like the worn, buttery leather of a baseball glove that fits just right.

Instantly Lip was brought back to so many nights before this, of he and Ian orbiting each other in the kitchen at night— when they were kids and would creep down the stairs and eat fistfuls of junk food that Fiona had forbidden, or steal warm sips of the open beers Frank had left on the counter. This was where they’d processed Monica’s return, late at night while they passed a cigarette between them and Ian hadn’t tried to hide the tears that were freely rolling down his freckled cheeks, back when they were both just confused kids who clung to each other— this was where they’d processed Frank’s alcoholic meltdowns, too many to count, and all the love and loss and confusion that had passed between these walls, all the collateral damage of living in this fucking neighborhood. And Lip felt a sudden pang in his gut, sharp and present, when he realized that it might be one of the last nights that he and Ian got to spend in the kitchen like this.

Lip immediately shoved the thought down with all his might, a hydraulic press squeezing out any sentimentality. He had to do this— for Freddie, for Tami. He had to man up and move on, even if it meant physically wounding the crumbling walls to ease the pain of the parallel jagged wounds somewhere deep in his chest, or screaming and shouting until veins popped in his neck, so loud that he knew he was radiating his pain outwards like a fucking atomic bomb.

But tonight, Lip had no more fight left to give. He just wanted to let these four walls hold him one last time, without even realizing that was what he had needed until this moment. Ian slid a chair out from the kitchen table and sat beside him, leaning back and dragging out a slow, sleepy breath.

Lip cleared his throat, softly. “Where’s Mick?”

“Passed out upstairs.” Ian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lip raised his eyebrow, almost involuntarily, and Ian immediately jutted his chin up in a half-nod, an affirmation, as he leaned back even farther and took the first sip of his beer. No, he wasn’t manic and yes, he was fine. After all the years that had passed since Ian was still figuring this shit out, Lip sometimes forgot that checking in on him wasn’t really his job, not anymore.

Lip took another sip from his soda can, a movement to fill the easy silence. “How was your guys’ night?”

Ian shrugged non-committally, his shoulders still slumped back in the chair, his lips puckered around the mouth of the bottle as he stared off into the distance at the peeling kitchen wallpaper. “Eh. It was fine. I dragged Mickey out to try and make more gay friends. Ended up being a mistake.”

Lip held back a laugh, taking a sip from his own drink to mask his smirk. He had ample auditory evidence that Mickey was plenty as gay as Ian, but it was still hard to imagine Mickey leaning into all of this shit— Ian used to wear golden underwear and frequent gay clubs and go to social justice brunches, but none of that really seemed like it was Mickey’s scene.

“Oh yeah? Mickey not the easiest person to befriend?” Lip said it with his eyebrows raised, like the joke was obvious.

Ian looked up at him, like he’d been snapped out of a sleepy train of thought, staring earnestly like Lip’s jab had flown right over his head. “Actually, it was kind of my fault. I was the one who made us leave this dinner party thing we got invited to. They were all talking shit about the Southside, about how they hated their families, and I couldn’t really… connect with them, I guess.”

Lip pondered that, taking a breath and stretching his arms above his head. God, he was sore— he hadn’t even been fucking working, aside from hauling those bikes from place to place to avoid the cops, but all the pent up stress and tension was starting to linger in his bones.

“Yeah, it was the same for me. In college, or whatever. Joaquin was the only person I really talked to, because he got all the shit I was always going through.”

Ian nodded contemplatively—but he was staring off into space again, almost like he was half asleep. Lip took another sip of his soda. He could bring up the house shit again right now—it was all that they’d been talking about for the past few weeks—but for some reason it felt too raw, too intense to bring up right now, like it would cut through this peaceful moment, this island in the vast sea of uncertainty Lip knew he was bringing down on all of their heads. So in this moment, he opted for smoother waters.

“Why’d you guys go looking for new friends, anyways?”

Ian finally broke out of whatever drowsy, pensive trance he’d been in, his lips sloping into a smile. “Mickey kept giving me shit for always doing what you do, after breakfast today. I figured… I don’t know, I just got all pissy and tried to prove him wrong.”

Lip felt the corner of his mouth tick upward at that. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Ian grinned, and held out his beer bottle, stretching his arm across the table. Lip tapped it with his soda can with a light “Cheers,” then took the final sip. He crushed the can to a disk on the table, pressing it down firmly with the heel of his palm and watching the sides compress. Ian’s eyes were cast downward at the table, watching his movements.

“How’s stuff with you and Tami going, all the packing and shit?”

Lip turned the flattened can on its side, contemplatively spinning it like a top on the table and fidgeting with it between his fingers.

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.”

He could hear the breathiness as he said it, how deflated his own voice sounded. And Lip knew could make himself say more— he knew if anyone would get it, Ian would.

“It’s just… fuck, man.”

He looked up and Ian was staring directly at him now, his expression unguarded— listening. Listening like he always did in these moments. Lip let out a low chuckle, trying to shield his own vulnerability.

“How’d we get so fucking old? How is this… it, y’know? Finally leaving the fucking nest, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, placing his beer on the table. “I think you already left the nest when you had a baby and moved into an apartment with your girlfriend.”

Lip shrugged, fiddling with the crushed can again between his fingertips. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“And you are the one making us do this, for the record.”

If Ian’s tone wasn’t as playful or as tentative as it was, Lip would have worried that he was upset— but judging by Ian’s still-comfortable slouch and his steady expression, Lip knew he was fine— he was weathering the storm, just like Lip was.

Ian leaned forward.

“Hey. Mickey was giving me shit—but it is true. You’re my best friend, even though you can be a fucking asshole sometimes.” Ian’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Ian’s eyes flickered around the kitchen as he spoke, and Lip heard everything that was unsaid. Even though you’re kicking us out of the house. Even though you’re changing everything. Even though there isn’t a focal point to our lives anymore.

You’re my best friend.

And Lip felt that pang in his gut again, sharp like a dagger.

He’d said it before, and he’d had no problem saying it over and over again in Mickey’s absence, up until the months before the wedding— Ian did always go a little bit “loco” when Mickey was around.

Which, fuck him, I guess, for caring about his little brother with an undiagnosed mental illness who was off living in the Milkovich House of Horrors slash meth lab with Mickey fucking Milkovich, the bully with greasy hair who Lip wrote papers for in high school and who now was a literal, actual, godforsaken pimp. Lip had seen a teenage Ian bruised and drunk and curled into himself crying over Mickey too many times to ever think that this shit was a good idea— and years later, when Ian almost threw away everything, almost threw away stability and sanity and his fucking family to follow Mickey Milkovich across the Mexican border, Lip knew he had to say something, even though it was an unspoken rule that he and Ian didn’t really critique each other’s love lives since the Mandy-and-Karen fiascos of years past.

So he’d said it, that day in the kitchen, after Ian had returned on a Greyhound bus and they were still processing the dull pain of Monica’s loss— and Ian had taken the feedback with a closed-lip smile, like his head was somewhere else, as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle label with his thumb.

And then less than a year later Mickey was released anyways, and ended up standing in a tank top and boxers in the middle of the Gallagher living room, when the house was crawling with strangers and Freddie was barely two weeks old— and Lip had taken in a sharp breath, a bundle of hesitant nerves sprouting for whatever the fuck this situation was going to become; but not one that he could really give attention to, with all the other bullshit that was pulling at his focus, like the desperate screeching of his newborn kid and the mascara running down Tami’s face.

Later that night, when he’d had a spare moment to breathe and Tami was finally calmed down and sleeping in their cramped bedroom, he’d run into Ian in the moonlit hallway as he was stumbling his way out of the bathroom, drowsily rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up. And Lip had stopped him with a whisper, placing a hand to tap Ian’s shoulder as Ian blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey. So uh… I see Mickey’s out.”

He’d seen the defenses immediately raise in Ian’s eyes, like he knew what Lip was going to say next.

“Yeah.” Ian had said it soft, quietly, like he was afraid of someone waking.

You sure that’s a good idea? Lip could feel the words itching on the tip of his tongue, and he was aching to say them again, all these years later— and yes, maybe his head was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn’t really have the authority to be doling out relationship advice to his little brother right now, but so much of this reminded him of things that had happened in the past, of Mickey Milkovich crashing on Ian’s bedroom floor until he inevitably couldn’t anymore, until the pressure cooker of his presence mingled with Ian’s inevitably exploded— or at least that was how Lip saw it. There were too many wounds, and they were bound to leave scars— Lip was honestly surprised as fuck that the Gallagher house was Mickey’s first stop out of prison, after everything that had gone down between the two of them.

But, for Ian’s sake, Lip tried to reign it in—despite the fact that they’d just been commiserating about “being in love with crazy people” as they crouched on the living room stairs the night before as Ian sipped on a beer, sputtering out a “fuck no” when Lip asked if he was going to marry Mickey (which was an equally as batshit question as if Lip was going to marry Tami). Despite all of this— now that Mickey was back, Lip could see that this was something Ian wanted, that this was something Ian was treading carefully into, one more time. He was definitely stronger now; even Lip could see that.

“He gonna be hanging around here a while?”

Ian had given a gentle, sleepy smile. “Yeah. Think so.”

And Lip had just reached out, and clapped Ian’s sleep-warmed body on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man.”

Ian had walked the remaining length of the hallway, opening the bedroom door— and in the shadows, Lip could see that Mickey was curled on the old, concave mattress of Ian’s single bed that he’d slept on since they were kids— and Ian had lifted the thin blanket and pressed up next to him, the mattress sinking beneath their collective weight, settling in and pressing a kiss to the top of a snoring Mickey’s head without a second thought. Huh.

That was the beginning of Lip starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time with Mickey would be different— and it was. As Mickey started to become a daily fixture in the Gallagher house, constantly pinned to Ian’s side, Lip had noticed how something solid had shifted—they weren’t reckless kids anymore, for starters. He hadn’t really seen Mick and Ian physically together since Ian was catapulting off the deep end, in the weeks after Ian had gotten dragged away by the P.I.s and Mickey had gotten locked up for some crazy fucking stunt trying to murder Sammy. Things were too intense then, too technicolor—for some reason, Lip thought Mickey being back meant that they’d return to being that way.

But now here was this guy, placing a gentle hand on Ian’s chest and saying “Woah, wait a minute” to protect Ian from the batshit P.O. that had just barged through the door—and Lip couldn’t help but realize that was something that he would have done to protect Ian, in a universe where Mickey was still behind bars.

After then, Lip just kept seeing it— the ways that Mickey showed up for Ian. Not even in the ways that he used to, like forcing Ian to take his meds back when everything was uncertain and Ian was slipping through their fingers like sand in a sieve; but in a more solid, adult way, in a way that made Ian buzz whenever he was around him, in a way that made Ian happier and lighter. And maybe it was just the sex—part of it had to be the fucking sex, considering how loud they always were— but Lip realized, after a couple of weeks of Mickey’s presence in the house before their whole eventual engagement fiasco, that Mickey was Ian’s friend, in addition to all the other things he was. After all the years of uncertainty, they’d finally grown the fuck up— Mickey was someone who brought out the best in Ian, and it was like Ian had been waiting for this moment, for Mickey by his side, before he could fully and totally bloom.

And it was weird how emotional that made Lip— after seeing Ian as a hollow shell in a jumpsuit pushing garbage cans around a college campus, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t who wore patterned button-up shirts and threw around fucking useless five-dollar words that Lip didn’t understand like “gender identity” and “intersectionality”— Ian had finally made it, beyond being the bruised, scrawny kid getting sexually abused by a creepy 30 year old man in the back room of a mini-mart, or getting high off his ass every night and starving himself to fit into a golden thong, or wearing a baggy janitor suit with dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. Ian had done that shit on his own, and made himself into something in Mickey’s absence, sure— but so much of him being the full, happy person he was in this moment was because of Mickey, and Lip could see that now.

Ian was himself— he wasn’t a shadow anymore.

And that was why Lip had said he thought he should marry Mickey, in the end— because there was no doubt in his mind that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.

Lip could still see it now, in the way that Ian was lounging comfortably in the living room, like he had his whole life— but now Mickey was resting just as comfortably beside him. It was a few weeks after that night in the kitchen, and Lip had just pitched the FOR SALE sign in the Gallagher front yard— now everyone was huddled in the living room, for what they now knew was one of their last lingering nights in this space. Liam was sitting next to Lip, pressed into his side, seeking the comfort that Lip knew he needed through all of these massive fucking changes— Franny was playing on the floor and Debbie was sitting beside her, and across the room Ian and Mickey were pressed side-by-side on the fraying loveseat, scrolling through the lease document for their new apartment on the battered laptop. They were murmuring things to each other that Lip couldn’t really make out— but Mickey was pressed against Ian, slouching into him slightly, and Ian’s eyes were light. In his flicker of a glance towards them, Lip noticed that Mickey was playing with Ian’s hand, swiping a finger over his wedding ring, as Ian scrolled through the paperwork and started to read all the contract information out loud— and Lip smiled to himself as he tried to tune out all the sappy bullshit that was going on in that corner of the room.

Ian was going to be just fine.

Hour later Lip strode out the door to the front porch, a cigarette he’d bummed off of Ian wrapped in his fist— he didn’t smoke anymore, especially not under the same roof as Tami, but there was something about the gravity of this night, of the flimsy red and white sign rooted in the front yard, that made Lip’s fingertips itch for a cigarette and made his brain buzz with the want of nicotine to dull the sharp edges of everything he was feeling—for smoke to float in front of his face while he sat on the front steps just one more time.

He perched on the front steps as the sun was just starting to set, the fish-scale shadows of the chain link fence encroaching further and further into the yard as he flicked at his lighter.

He heard a light cough from somewhere in front of him— and saw that Mickey was outside too, blowing smoke out of his mouth and leaning against the fence in the front yard facing the house. Lip nodded at him in acknowledgement, then took the first drag. Fuck, he’d needed this.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Mickey said it into the open air, like he isn’t really talking to Lip— his eyes were off in the distance, staring at the paint-chipped front façade of the house. Which was fucking bullshit—why would Mickey be staring absentmindedly, almost fucking wistfully, at the Gallagher house?

It’s not like he and Mickey didn’t talk— they definitely did, pragmatically flinging banter across the kitchen to each other at breakfast when coordinating rides for Liam or grocery list items when Debbie was off at work, existing in the same space every morning— and Mickey helped him haul literal tons of iron when he’d helped him steal the bikes, had haggled over his cut. But never like this—never with any weight, never in a way that was this casual, or this familial, about fucking feelings.

Part of that was probably because it was hard as fuck to worm your way into the Gallagher family—as wide open as their door always seemed to be, with people filtering in and out and crashing on hallway floors or the lumpy couch, this house only continued to function because of its nucleus— because of Lip and Ian and Carl and Debbie and Fiona and Liam and yes, even Frank. Everyone else was a passerby, an impermanent blip crossing through the way station; Jimmy-Steve, Sean, Carl’s slew of girls, Mandy and Karen.

Monica.

None of them were Gallaghers— none of them considered this place to be home, or got all the privileges that came with that. The Gallaghers, the real Gallaghers, had seen every one of these people come and go— and something slippery suddenly crept into Lip’s realization that despite all the odds, despite all of his doubts about him—Mickey had chosen to stay close to these four walls just as much as Lip had.

“Mickey’s family.” Ian had said it over a mouthful of bacon at breakfast a few weeks ago, and Lip had immediately shot him down; but maybe there was some truth to what Ian had said, some truth to the oddly unfailing consistency to Mickey’s ten years. Which meant that maybe…

Maybe it was time to make a fucking peace offering, or whatever.

Lip hummed in acknowledgement to Mickey’s question, pulling himself out of his train of thought.

“Hey. Mick.”

Mickey looked up at where Lip was leaning on the porch, his brows furrowing like he was bracing himself for a confrontation. “Yeah?”

“My head’s been too far up my ass the past couple of months to say it, but, uh. I’m glad you’re family, y’know?”

He’d been passively thinking it for months— but he’d never said it to Mickey, never this directly. He hoped Mickey got it, without brushing it off or shooting him down with some snarky fucking comment like he always did. Lip meant it— he was glad, he was grateful, he was ready to let Mickey Milkovich keep being a part of his fucked up familial life. And he hoped that Mickey saw that.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette—but he didn’t say anything in reply, not for a moment. And then:

“You’re as sappy as your fucking brother, Phillip.”

#i’ve said it once and ill say it again nothing makes me more emo than ian and mickey sharing ian’s old bed #also sorry this was kinda ANGSTY what can i say #lip is Too Much #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

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lupismaris · 3 years ago

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Blackberry Crepes- silverflintham black sails modern au ficlet

(i saw a few posts about how love is sharing food and making breakfast for your loved ones and lets just say this is part 1 of a series in which Flint cooks for his loved ones when saying i love you might not be enough)

Sleep was something of a stranger to Silver. He liked to joke that he didn’t need it, that he could just cat nap for half an hour here and there, and be good for a few days, that he was just built different, the perks of life on the run and never having a real routine. But in truth he’d push himself until his body gave out and he slept for 18 hours and woke up feeling like death warmed over. That was the only way he’d be able to get any real sleep. Pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, or, as he had eventually learned with Flint and Thomas, getting well and truly laid until his brain shut off and his body felt like lead. He preferred the latter, of course, but it still wasn’t something he felt he could readily ask for. Especially when it wasn’t enough to keep his mind quiet. Dreams, nightmares, they’re funny things. You can think you’re too tired to dream and then on your way into an REM cycle you get blind sided by the most vivid night terror you’ve had in the past three months. You could be napping on the couch when the phantom limb starts acting up and your mind conjures memories of when you lost it or just vague ideas of what life would be like if you hadn’t and you wake up unable to tell which is worse. You could be strung out and coming down from an orgasmic high and then feel your stomach drop when you finally fall asleep and your mind tells you it isn’t safe, jolting you violently back to consciousness. Or you could be dozing in the early morning hours, the way Silver had been, after a good night, a genuinely good night, and find yourself halfway between deep sleep and waking, faced with fears you’d buried so far deep you hoped they’d suffocate. They’d gone to dinner, on a date even. Flint and Thomas had made a point to be home and get dressed up and take him out on the town and pay complete attention to him, like he was just a normal lover and not, well, himself. It was still an adjustment for him, this idea that he could just have this, a normal relationship with men who actually wanted him, where using each other wasn’t part of it, where the end game wasn’t someone’s bank account or an act of violence, where there wasn’t even an end game to consider. By the end of July the charms of summer had started to wear thin, even for Silver, and he was tired of the heat and the mirror like cage of the city, he was tired of the long days and the long conversations and the longer shadows on the blistering asphalt. He was tired of the haze that made his mind question what was and wasn’t real, despite knowing what was. It left him on edge and he knew Flint could tell, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. If Thomas knew, he was at least polite enough not to give it away. Dinner had been lovely. A little Spanish place by the promenade, followed by a short walk since the evening was cooler than expected and a breeze of the Hudson meant it was almost blissful. There had been wine and Flint’s homemade limoncello tarts when they got home and endless lazy kisses and one of them always touching him as if trying to keep him tethered. There had been sex, great sex, not that Silver had ever had bad sex with the pair of them (the smug rotten bastards), but the kind where Silver had been able to let go and drown in it for a while, let someone else carry the load, and do the thinking for a while. It still hadn’t been enough.

Silver sighed, a cloud of smoke curling around his face as he watched the rooftops shift and glimmer in the faded teal skies of four am, his second cigarette of the hour dangling somewhat carelessly from his fingers. He had tried, valiantly he felt, to stay in bed with Flint and Thomas, to sleep curled up with them the way Flint always hoped he would after sex. Some nights it worked and he’d wake up when Flint went for his blasphemous morning run. Most nights though he’d wait until Thomas was out cold and snoring like a bear, then kiss Flint goodnight, and slip back to his room next door. He’d fallen asleep tucked into Flint’s chest, with Flint’s arm around him and the deep rumble of his breathing filling his ears. Thomas was spooned up behind Flint, clinging to his husband like a child and snoring loudly, but that too was somehow comforting. He was safe, he was loved, he was home. And suddenly the next thing Silver knew he was choking on nothing and fighting the air, sitting bolt upright in bed with a wordless, noiseless scream of fear. The only saving grace was that it didn’t wake the others, Thomas still sound asleep and curled up under the covers, Flint spooned up behind him, years younger in sleep, a different man. Silver had sat there shaking for some time, half an hour, five minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Once he could breathe without wheezing and his hands had stopped shaking violently, he steadied himself and slipped out of bed, grabbing his crutch from where it rested dutifully against the nightstand. There wasn’t much he was good at in life, but John Silver had always been good at running. This wasn’t any different. Now, he was wrapped in an old blanket, hidden away on the roof where he’d been putting together his own little makeshift garden. Plants that he’d found half dead or dying on the curb, abandoned succulents from friends, houseplants he found on discount at the hardware store that he’d barter down to a dollar. He liked the distance heights gave him, always had, was always climbing things as a kid to try and get a better view, try to hide away from prying eyes. It was harder now that he had the prosthetic, but the elevator could take him up to the loft, and the stairs to the roof weren’t too steep, so he could manage them with his crutch. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the little patch of green paradise that Flint and Thomas had nurtured down below, he loved it and the time they spent there. But this- this little scrap of roof top, with it’s homemade shelves of plywood and resurrected plants, was his. Silver took another drag from his cigarette and watched a flock of pigeons shift their course in flight, heading west towards Manhattan where the morning crowds were no doubt slowly beginning to stir. Even on Saturdays, the city got a bright and early start if it ever truly decided to rest. He could hear tidbits of conversation from his perch, voices carried up to him like secrets as their owners walked past, heading home from work, from a night out, leaving home to go to work, whatever their little lives demanded, existing in spite of themselves, for themselves. Cars hummed past, cabbies and uber drivers trying to catch the last of the club goers as they left the bars in search of a trip home, picking up the true early bird tourists as they tried to beat the others to some absurd event or another. He could even hear music, someone’s window open on their block he thought, and the faint repetitive sound of a piano as they worked through their scales. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. The neighborhood would be well and truly awake soon. The running group would be on the corner waiting for the stragglers, hitting the asphalt by five am. The store fronts and bodegas would start opening up around six, the bars by eight if they served brunch, and the world would come to life at Silver’s feet. He had until then to quiet the noise in his head and remember how to put his mask back on. The sound of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought for a moment that maybe, if he kept still, he’d go unnoticed, they the sparse shelves and plants and the blanket might hide him well enough that Flint, because it was always Flint, would go back down stairs and go for his morning run and leave him well enough alone. But he knew better. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been up here?” came the sleep heavy rumble of a voice. “Depends on whether you want to be disappointed this early in the morning,” Silver replied dryly. And there it was, the telltale sigh of disappointment, because Flint was going to be disappointed no matter what answer he got. “Silver-” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “Do what?” Silver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He heard Flint move across the roof, the soft footsteps of bare feet on the weatherproof matting slow and well chosen, stopping next to him. “This thing you do where you try and bully answers out of me. I don’t fucking feel up to these games, alright? I just- I don’t,” Silver said, risking a look upwards. Flint was shirtless, as he always was when fresh out of bed, but he’d pulled on a pair of old sweatpants before going to look for Silver. He’d left his hair loose, the rich copper strands hanging in a curtain around the left side of his face, the shaved under cut peaking out along the right. Silver could still see the pillow prints on his cheek, and his beard was disgruntled and unbrushed the way it rarely was when he left the house. Silver loved him like this, he loved Flint always, but there was something about Flint like this, soft and at ease, bare chested and vulnerable that managed to settle even the worst of Silver’s deep seated insecurities. Because who else got to have Flint like this? Who else but Silver and Thomas got Flint at his gentlest? They looked at each other for a moment, Flint frowning softly with his hands on his hips and Silver wrapped up in his blanket, saying nothing, saying everything they could. Then Flint sighed and sat down next to him. “I’m not here to bully you,” he said gently, taking the cigarette that Silver was neglecting. “You were gone when I woke up, thought I’d check on you,” He paused, relighting the cigarette with his trusty old lighter, “but as you were not in your room I figured something was bothering you and you’d be either working in the office or up here.” “You didn’t have to check on me.” “It was for my sake, not yours.” Silver smiled faintly, his eyes stinging from what he hoped was just exhaustion but was probably tears. He didn’t look at Flint, just blinked them away and watched the sky lighten little by little as Flint finished the cigarette. “You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” Flint asked after a few minutes of silence. “Whats not what you’re doing?” “Bullying you.” “I mean it’s kinda what you do.” “Is that how you see it?” Flint wasn’t looking at him. He was reaching for the French enamel cigarette case that was sitting next to Silver, one he’d stolen in Monaco several lives before, and lighting another cigarette. Silver watched him, a little wistful, and incredibly exhausted all at once. “No.” He said. “Yes. Depends on when you try and do it I guess.” That got a low hum from Flint, smoke filling the air for a moment in a pensive cloud. Silver waited, oddly tense, hoping that Flint would listen to him, and not try and play one of their fucked up little games so early in the morning. They were doing really well these days, not playing any games at all, having real, honest conversations like well adjusted adults who hadn’t done all the awful things they’d done, to each other, to others. But sometimes it was so much easier to just be awful to each other, to fall back into the old way of doing things. “I only check on you to know you’re still here,” Flint said finally. “I only ask if you’re alright because if I can fix it, I want to. I don’t care if you lie to me about what had you out of bed this morning. I don’t give a shit if you never tell me the names of your ghosts, I’ve told you that a dozen times, I know you remember that as well as you remember the names of my own ghosts.” Silver did remember, both the ghosts, and the plaintive way Flint had asked him to trust whatever it was they had between them. “I just want to know you’re still here. That you’ve not gone running off again. That you’ll run to me next time this,” he waved at the rooftop and the skyline as if encompassing all of Silver’s faulty coping methods, “fails and you’re out at sea. I just- I ask those questions to reassure myself, alright?” He paused, taking another drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. Silver could see the age starting to show on his face again, in the soft lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, the scars on his nose and throat, the endless sea of freckles, the faded ink of his tattoos, the streaks of gray in his beard. Before his eyes, the man he loved, his Flint, was appearing, returning to flesh and blood from the land of dreams. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, pup,” Flint added, finally turning his head and catching Silver looking at him. The sea green of Flint’s eyes always seemed to hook Silver, regardless of whether he wanted them to. They could be the deep inky black full of secrets or the still gray of quiet waters, it didn’t matter- if Flint looked at him, soft and open and endlessly patient the way no one else was, Silver would eventually break. Flint knew it, but so far, he never seemed to abuse the power he held. Silver smiled faintly. With a soft groan he shifted onto his knees, loving the way Flint’s hands immediately reached to steady him whether he needed it or not, and crawled into Flint’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping the worn blanket around them both. He took the cigarette from Flint’s lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray, as Flints hands settled like an anchor, warm and sure, at the small of his back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, old man,” Silver said, brushing Flint’s hair out of his eyes, “I promised you were stuck with me. No amount of nightmares are gonna change that.” He kissed Flint softly, smiling at the low rumbling purr it got him, at the way Flint’s hands pulled him closer, spread wide on his back. It was a soft, innocent thing, no heat, no hunger, and that too was still something novel to Silver, that he could have this innocent kind of intimacy with someone, with a man like Flint. He craved it as much as he craved the wilder side of love and was grateful that Flint seemed happy to satisfy both moods whenever they arose. “Good,” Flint said, once the lazy kiss broke and Silver tucked his face into Flint’s shoulder with a happy sound. “Because while I would absolutely give chase, I’d rather not have Thomas trailing after us as well. You know the kind of trouble he gets up to, just imagine him trying to find you.” Silver snorted with an undignified burst of laughter. “No, god, he’d be impossible.” “Exactly. I’d have my hands full just trying to keep him in one piece. I’ve got enough gray hair as it is, pup, don’t go giving me anymore before my time, alright?” Flint lifted his chin as Silver’s fingers petted the gray streaks in his beard, letting out another soft rumbling sound. “Alright. Though I do think it’s sexy.” “Yeah yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, nuzzling his messy curls. “C’mon, why don’t we head inside, I think it’s a reasonable time for coffee.” “What about your run? Your awful five am morning ritual I can almost never talk you out of even for a blow job.” “I feel like skipping this morning.” Silver lifted his head, leveling Flint with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. Flint returned it with a fond smile. “Its Saturday, I feel like making breakfast,” Flint said with a shrug. I love you, Silver heard. “Can we have blackberry crepes? And scrambled eggs?” Silver asked after a moment. “And that fancy bacon you got from the farmer’s market?” Flint smiled, still fond and impossibly warm. Silver’s heart skipped, flipped, and settled in his chest. Flint had heard the unspoken, skittish, and undeniable “I love you too” tucked into Silver’s reply. Flint coaxed him into another soft kiss, still wearing that same smile.

“Blackberry crepes it is.”

#my fic #black sails #black sails fic #silverflint #silverflinthamilton #james flint #john silver #thomas hamilton #opening act of spring bs mdau fic #jamie's fic prompt fills #reuploaded because of the bot bullshit #i was up till three am working i dont need this shit rn

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Shelley The Raven

did yall ask for more tattoo bois? lol cuz here they are.

I got my essay done earlier than i thought i would and had time to fuck off before bed so have double brunch date tattoo au bois - i did not edit this at all so plz have mercy lol

Warnings: use of the word ‘bone’ like too much, meeting le boyfriend’s friends, talkin about when the boys fucked, swearing? maybe? If i didn’t use a swear word i would be shocked, bit horni at the end there

____________

“Sweetheart, why are you so nervous? The girls love you.” Jaskier fixed the collar on the emerald green dress shirt he’d gotten for Geralt for his birthday. Three weeks was a little early in the relationship for birthday presents, but Jaskier had said he just looked ‘too good in green and I couldn’t resist’.

Geralt swallowed and cracked his neck, “They’re your friends. I want them to like me.”

“They adore you! Even in your monstrous zipper pants,” Jaskier giggled, cupping Geralt’s cheeks in his hands and placing a quick peck on his nose.

“Not my pants,” Geralt grumbled, wiggling his nose and earning a quick kiss on the lips, “Should I shave?”

“Do you want to?”

“Jask. Please. I don’t know how fancy this place is, just get me ready,” Geralt whined wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and leaning into him with most of his weight, his head resting on his shoulder.

One high messy bun and a failed experiment with a necklace later, they were off to meet Yen and Triss for brunch. Hugs were exchanged all around and Geralt was rather pleasantly surprised to be included, even if Yen whispered in his ear that he looked much better in jeans with a smug smirk. They sat down and grilled Geralt for a few minutes until their server showed up. Jaskier’s hand didn’t leave Geralt’s knee the whole time, a gentle reminder that it wasn’t a job interview or interrogation. Even so, Geralt was grateful when Triss steered the conversation away from him.

“Mmh, yes. Mary Shelley is the baddest literary bitch. Don’t try to hit me with that ‘Agatha Christie’ shit right now J,” Yennefer waved her breadstick at Jaskier like they’d had this conversation more than twice, “The woman kept her dead husband’s calcified heart and lost her virginity on her family’s grave. That’s metal as fuck.”

Geralt nodded, “So you did Shelley the Raven?”

Triss grinned and Yen looked between Geralt and Jaskier with wide eyes and a surprised smile like she’d just been told a secret, “Oh, you’ve met Shelley and the ladies?”

“Alfie and Chad are ladies?” Geralt shot Jaskier a grin that bubbled into a full blown smile with how red his boyfriend’s cheeks were.

“Alfie is short for Alfina. Chad is just the bastard child and an asshole.” Jaskier explained, resting his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands.

There was clearly an inside joke or embarrassing story to go with this and Geralt was doing his best to wait patiently for it.

Yen tapped the boy’s shins under the table with her Docs, “You two boned didn’t you? Like with feeling.”

“Yennefer,” Triss’ tone was full of warning, but her expression was gleeful, “He didn’t have to show him the ladies.”

Geralt blushed and took a too-big swig of coffee that burned the roof of his mouth while Jaskier heaved a deep sigh.

“Oh shit, you totally boned,” Triss gasped.

Jaskier wrapped an arm around Geralt’s and hid his face in his shoulder as he mumbled, “Can we stop calling it ‘bone’?”

“Oh my gods tell me everything.” Yen laid her hands flat on the table and leaned over so her hair was brushing the empty plate.

Triss gave a long suffering sigh, “You don’t have to say anything,” She addressed Geralt directly as she rubbed a hand over Yennefer’s shoulders, “She just gets very worked up over new relationships.”

Yen sat back and crossed her arms as the server set down everyone’s breakfast, “It was the first date wasn’t it? That’s the only reason you’d be blushing so much.”

Geralt and Jaskier shared a look, both of them trying not to laugh.

“Yup,” Jask squeaked, “that’s the only reason.”

Triss’ eyes went wide and Geralt didn’t have to know her well to know she put the pieces together, but to her credit she said nothing. Yen eyed them the rest of brunch, even as the conversation moved on and Jaskier recovered his ability to speak.

When they’d gotten back to Geralt’s place Jaskier’s phone fell off the counter from ridiculous number of messages that came flooding in at once.

Geralt came up for air from where he was leaving little nibble marks on Jaskier’s shoulder as they laid on his bed, “You gonna get that?”

Jaskier hooked a leg over his hip, and shook his head, “It’s just Yen. Triss probably told her we defiled the studio.”

“Mmmm, good. I wasn’t done.” Geralt purred, nipping at Jaskier’s collarbone and drawing a breathy whine from his boyfriend.

Suffice it to say, brunch was a success.

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years ago

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*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

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Make A Wish

Book passage: Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

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

AO3 Link here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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