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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔

Summary: In the middle of the civil war, you and Aemond manage to spend some time together.

Warning: Definitely smut, and definitely fluff. Maybe in that order, maybe not. But most importantly, angst. Fire & Blood spoilers (still not canon partly)

Masterlist (Part 25 - Part 27)

Aemond was unseen and unheard of for three whole days, as was your father. You knew it to be a very little amount of time of war like these, but it felt like months for you and your daughter.

You had been miserable about the way you had parted, him reaching out to you and you being stubborn because you were scared for him. For what he was set to accomplish despite the risk on his own life.

So when you heard the familiar flap of wings that each time made your heart leap in excitement out of your window, you rushed for the gates in order to greet him, Naerys in your arms.

He was surprised as he advanced on the bridge, as was the court who was for the first time seeing you outside and in better health, but you had eyes only for Aemond as he closed in on you with a proud smile on his face.

You then chose to take his good mood as a good sign that nothing bad had happened in the Crownlands and not ask him about it, instead taking him for a long due tour of Deep Den, tour he had avoided because of the cold look the court were giving him whenever he was there.

He had politely agreed, following you as you showed him the grounds, the main hall, the stony towers and the gardens, delighted by the way you glowed with happiness each time you explained something to him with passion. It makes him wonder if you have ever looked this beautiful before, here with his daughter in your arms. You had both just exited the stateroom when you were met with your mother and her ladies-in-waiting, clearly on a stroll of her own.

“Prince Aemond. Back so soon!” she said as she approached. “How is my lord husband?”

Aemond, caught off guard by her agreeable behaviour towards him for the first time, chose to indulge her for your sake.

“He is doing very well. He has made himself indispensable to the council, and is living up to the Lydden name,” he replied, glancing briefly at you. “I would have brought him back to you, my Lady, but I’m afraid that he is not very fond of dragon rides.”

“Well, this was to be expected. Only Targaryens are bold enough to ride such beasts.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Aemond as Lady Melara’s gaze landed on the babe in your arms where silver hair was already covering its tiny head, leaving no room for doubt about her very dragon-related heritage. She glanced back at you.

“Daughter, I am glad to see that you have recovered almost completely. I presume you will be able to present yourself at my side for the delegation?”

You frowned, confused.

“What delegation?”

Your mother’s eyes darted to Aemond for just a second, annoyance found in her expression before answering you.

“Lord Tarbeck, of course. He will be arriving within the week along with his army. They are travelling to the Crownlands for…” she inhaled, glancing at Aemond again. “Bring support to the royal family. Thus House Lydden has been requested to host them in their crossing of the hills.”

You understood the resentment your mother, a secretly Black inclined, felt toward Aemond as she was forced to host the Lannister bannermen in her own home. But you had no time to assess it or the way Aemond straightened beside you.

“Does father know about it?”

“I presume he does, since we were given no choice.”

She smiled, but it was insincere, as she was now avoiding the Prince’s eye and waiting for your reaction. However, he was the one to talk next.

“They should not come, this is not a good idea.”

You both looked at him, surprised that him of all people would disagree.

“This is to enlarge your own army, is it not? Why would you be against it, your Grace?” your mother asked, an inquisitive brow arched high over her right eye.

Aemond took his time to reply, wishing to be both clear and remain civil at the same time.

“I was under the impression that Lord Lydden had taken precaution to keep word of your daughter’s presence here to a minimum. I fear that having a whole army stationed here defeats this purpose as well as endangering both my wife and my child. You should have refused.”

Lady Melara seemed to be momentarily taken aback to hear you referred to as Aemond's wife, but she quickly recovered.

“Ser Adrian Tarbeck’s and Lord Lannister’s missives were very clear. I cannot refuse such guests without staining my honour and my House’s.”

“I will write a clearer missive then. They can very well camp in the mountains. No need to come here. I will see it done,” Aemond concluded as you were amazed by his calm demeanour. He was definitely in a good mood.

Your mother remained speechless, not expecting such a gesture from the Prince that she did not always see eye to eye with and simply made a satisfied and dignified sound before glancing down at Naerys once more, trying to hide her embarrassed smile and changing the subject.

“May I take her?”

Understanding that the topic of the Tarbeck visit had oddly come to an end without even the need for you to intervene, you gladly indulged her, your mother not wasting an instant to pull her granddaughter into a warm embrace and speak to her softly, her face now full of adoration.

“She surely is freezing, out in the cold like that. I will take her to the nursery,” she announced, turning on her heels without even waiting for your approval. “Won’t we, darling?” you heard her say to Naerys in a motherly voice.

Aemond’s gaze was fixed on them as they departed, and you could only take his arm reassuringly, smiling at his never-failing protectiveness as his daughter was pulled away from him.

“Come. There is one room I haven’t shown you yet.”

He reluctantly detached his eye from the older woman disappearing in an adjacent corridor before following you to a room much more bright than any others in the mountain-carved castle and looked around.

“You wanted to show me the library?” he pointed out as two scholars that were previously sitting in silence raised from their chairs to leave, abandoning their reading to escape the presence of Aemond. Good, you had counted on that.

“I wanted to show you the finest reading material of the Westerlands,” you said in a sarcastic manner as you waved to the not so many humid books resting on the poor-looking shelves. “So you would finally understand why I spend that much time in the company of books in the Red Keep, as you often inquired why.”

“It sure is… more deprived,” he observed, taking in the many scrolls messily stacked on a nearby table and some gruesome covers further back in the room. Compared to this, the library in King’s Landing looked like paradise, and you have yet to set foot in Oldtown, where the Citadel had the most renowned amount of books.

“Not much to enjoy, wouldn’t you agree?” you kept on, taking advantage of the fact that you were alone to rummage through the scrolls without care and grab a book about mountain wilderness.

Aemond’s gaze was not on the books, however, only on you.

“And here I was thinking that you spend your time there solely to be in my company,” he teased, thinking back of his studies as a young boy, and you reading next to him, eyes focused on the page as your hair fell around your face, alone in your own world. How he had loved those moments of tranquillity.

“Nothing could distract me from a good book, not even you,” you said with confidence as you advanced further in the room, toward the study area, Aemond hot on your heels.

“Mhh... Is this a challenge, my Lady?”

You turned to give him a disapproving look but he was already right behind you, your face almost bumping into his chest, glancing at you with a grin.

“A challenge you would surely lose,” you said daringly, feeling his hands take hold of your waist and make home there.

“I do not like to lose,” he whispered huskily before kissing you, taking your breath away in the process. You flattened your hands on his chest by instinct as he leaned more into you, demanding entrance into your mouth with his tongue. You gladly obliged as you felt consumed by his warmth again, a feeling you would never grow used to.

“You sure are in a good mood, my prince,” you managed as you parted for air, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Mh.” He brushed his lips along your jaw, a soft caress making you shiver. “I could make you much happier than I am if you let me.”

His hands dangerously slid downwards as he took your mouth again, but your hands went for his, grabbing his wrists to prevent him from moving further down.

“An appealing idea, my prince, but I’m afraid that it would have to wait,” you breath out apologetically, making him frown.

“What do you mean, my love?”

You hesitated.

“My health might be better but bringing a new life into the world does not come without consequences. I only require a little more time.”

Your labour had been difficult, and you had studied with a maester wearing a silver chain enough to know that the woman's body needed time after such a strain. Although saying those words pained you, as you could feel the burning lust that spread in your belly at his touch.

“I see,” he acknowledged as he took hold of your head to kiss your forehead, but you could clearly sense how much he tried to steel himself from your previous heated exchange. “Then I shall be patient,” he told you in a reassuring tone.

But you could not, and you would not let that opportunity pass by.

“You don’t have to be,” you stated, hands sliding down to his shoulders gently.

He frowned again but you silenced him with a kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip as you backed him toward a chair near the wall.

“Please sit,” you demanded, making him give you a puzzled look before lowering him down with a pressure on his shoulder.

“Are you punishing me in some way, my Lady?” he asked looking up at you above him, still confused as you could only give him a sly smile in amusement.

When you lowered yourself onto your knees between his thighs, his face lighted up in understanding, what you were doing finally dawning on him as you slid your hand passed his groin and reached for the belt at his waist.

“Ah…” he exhaled, his eye darkening as you unfastened his buckle slowly to uncover the lower part of his abdomen, his pale skin glowing where his muscles were already tensing in anticipation.

“Is my Lady not afraid that someone will enter and find us in this compromising position?”

“You seemed unbothered enough by it a minute ago if I recall correctly my prince,” you retorted, grazing your nails from his lower belly to the growing bulge under his pants. He hissed, you licked your lips.

“You had just challenged me. You know how competitive I can be.”

“It does not matter,” you replied, your hands now pulling down the fabric that covered him. “No one will dare enter if they know Aemond Targaryen is in the room.”

His reply was prevented by the biting of his lips at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his finally freed member, making his chest heaved in a sharp breath. You kept on.

“So tell me, what has you in such a good mood?”

He groaned, his gaze fixed on your agonisingly slow fingers on him.

“You really wish to discuss of this matter now?” he growled, mouth slightly parted, tone almost scolding.

“Why not? It is a good time as any, none of us has any other use for our tongues than for talking. For now at least.”

You had said that in a fake innocence manner, and the implication of your words for what would come made him take a sharp breath and you slowed your motion, waiting for him to yield to your demand. He growled again in frustration, lulling his head back before reporting his gaze on you with a sigh.

“You strike a hard bargain, but very well. The Blacks are conflicted, Daemon wants to put forward his first-born son Aegon as heir while... while the Sea Snake wants his…” he was having a hard time in keeping his breath even as you squeezed a bit more along his length, “...his bastard grandson on the Throne.”

“He wants to trumps Jacaerys heritage? This goes against Rhaenyra and the Velaryon’s will,” you thought out loud as you put more pressure on Aemond with your palm.

“Yes,” He hissed again, growing harder by the second. “Even Stark is lost at what to do about it.”

You were a little stunned by Daemon’s disregard for his late wife’s son, not even willing to rescue him from the Greens as he rotted in a cell. But the Rogue Prince has always been unpredictable.

“This certainly explains your high spirits,” you concluded as you reported your focus on your ministrations, your hot breath against his sensitive skin.

His grip on the armrests of the chair tightened by his want for more friction, making his knuckles turn white.

“Is my Lady satisfied with my answer?” he panted. “Because I would very much appreciate it if we could come back to the matter at hand.”

You smiled at the pun, satisfied on how his breath was becoming heavier by the minute as you slid your hand up and down.

“I’m sure you can grant me another subject on which to discuss, my prince, you have managed fine until now,” you teased again.

“Y/N…” he painfully exhaled, his dark eye fixed on your mouth, and you wondered how wild his imagination was growing at the moment. You repressed a laugh at his despair, your knees weak at the sight of him left so wanting, his lips parted and hands itching to touch you, but it was the sound of your name on his tongue and spoken so desperately that made you yield. You licked your lips before fulfilling his desire.

You were slow at the beginning, wanting to taste him, working your tongue over him, and the low growl he emitted had you believe that it was the sweetest sound you have ever heard.

“Ondoso se vīlībāzmi -!”

It wasn't the first time you heard him speak in High Valyrian but you could not ignore the way it made his praise far more enticing to you. You raised your eyes at him through your eyelashes, meeting his dilated pupils fixed on you as he bit his lips in frustration, desiring more friction.

The long groan that escaped him next as you took him in your mouth without warning had you satisfied, he arched his head back in pleasure, overwhelmed by the sudden heat.

“F-fuck. Why have I not thought of it earlier? I would have you on your knees in each room of this damn castle if I had.”

From there he was a groaning mess, praising your beauty, swaying your hair away from your face when he could, struggling not to thrust his hips upwards as he felt your cheeks clench around his length at times, making him swear some more.

You could feel him grow more desperate as you continue your task, his tip bumping into the back of your throat, doing your best not to disappoint, led by his whimpers and by the way his breath fastened in his chest.

“Yes, that is good. That is so good Y/N I-” he slightly bucked his hips upwards when your hands tightened around the base of his shaft, another low growl emanating from deep inside his throat. “Fuck-, you were made for this surely,” he huffs, but you are too busy going faster, encouraged by his praises.

His voice cracked, his breath got stuck in his throat, his body tense and the next moment, he came undone, moaning lowly, eye closed in pure pleasure, his hardness jolting at the continual friction.

His dazed mind forced him to take a moment in order to regain control of him again. Then he leans into you, wiping your mixed liquid at your mouth with his thumb lovingly before kissing you.

“Come on, get up.”

He sat you on his thigh, taking care in putting his now limp member away before massaging your knees with his fingers, and you wished he had not put them this close to the heat between your legs.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said pensively as he caressed your hair, hand brushing the side of your throat.

You give him a disagreeing look.

“Oh, hush up, you.”

And then you leaned into him, kissing the side of his face before resting your head against his shoulder.

You were awoken by a gentle tug on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes wide, trying to make out your surroundings in the dark.

“It’s alright, calm yourself.”

The soft voice of Aemond had that very effect and you felt the palm of his hands press against the side of your head to keep you still, your breath rattled.

“You were having a nightmare, I woke you up. It is fine now.”

By flashes, the recurrent dream you had since you learned that Aemond had been made prisoner all these months ago came back into your mind, like a bad memory. You realised that it was the first time you had this dream again since your reunion with Aemond.

“I’m sorry I woke you up…” you breathed out, voice breaking as you realised how late it was.

“Mhh,” came his low tone. “Naerys would have anyway.”

You could decipher the glowing of his sapphire by the moonlight that filtered through the windows, his other living eye invisible to you as he looked straight at you, and you were certain he could see the anguish in your eyes.

“What is it that plagues you so much Y/N?” he asked, flattening your hair on your head soothingly.

“I do not want to talk about it,” you weakly replied, averting your gaze from him and lowering your head, gathering up the sheets that had fallen off from you anxiously. He let a moment pass in which you could feel him tense a bit.

“It is about me, isn’t it?” he guessed, noticing the way you fled his gaze and your body shivered.

You shook your head to chase the ill images on your mind, eager to forget them.

“Tell me,” he demanded calmly.

“It’s… I don’t remember.”

“I know when you are lying to me Y/N. You were calling me in your sleep. Tell me.”

You looked up at him at that, realising that you had not only screamed in your head during your sleep.

“It is just… a bad dream I had since my time in Bitterbridge.”

You could not see it because of the dark but you sensed his jaw clench. You had never talked about your time with Ulf more than necessary, not wishing to bring back bad memories or angering Aemond if you ever told him of what had transpired. “I thought it would be gone by now, with you at my side again but…” you felt your throat burn, unable to continue.

“It is only a nightmare, you will soon get rid of it, you will see,” he assured you, his thumb now grazing your neck.

“I see you die Aemond," you finally admit, now wanting for him to understand that your turmoil does not come from anywhere. “I see you on your knees, Black Sister over you, ready to strike, and then I see your blood be spilled on the throne,” you had said the last piece as loud as a whisper. “It is always the same, and I don't think that I can bear it any more.”

You had reached for his arm at that, and in return you were hardly flushed against him while you refrained a sob from escaping your throat, his arms now wrapping around you.

“None of this will ever happen. I will never be on my knees and certainly not for the Rogue Prince. I will kill him for you. You’ll see.”

“I do not want that Aemond,” you said against his chest. “I do not want that for you, don’t you understand?”

He fell silent, not letting you go as he buried his nose into your hair and stroked your back, his breath the only indication that he was neither angry nor calm, but something mysteriously in between. You had no idea what he was thinking, his silence making you uneasy, but you would have given anything to never leave this position. For him to never leave you.

“Go back to sleep,” he said after a while, voice a little more firm than before. “I am right here.”

Your tired state made you compliant, and you fell into his chest as you laid on the bed, your body strongly secured against his. You had not been certain that you would be able to fall asleep again but you were later awoken by Naerys’ cries, confirming that sleep had not completely eluded you. The next morning you remembered foggily Aemond’s voice telling you to stay still as he left your side, and moments later your daughter’s cries had stopped and you had fallen asleep again.

High Valyrian: "By the Warrio-"

A/N: Short but efficient. Tell me if you liked it.

-0- Part 27

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year ago

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A Strange Sort of Family

hi, resident evil fandom, i'd like to throw my hat in the ring

look, i don't even really go here, the fandom mold just got into my brain and would not fucking leave. this is my first time writing any of these characters so if they feel a bit rocky, please forgive me. my media analysis brain has been spinning nonstop since we started the resident evil brain rot and ho boy would I love to sink my teeth into a proper horror fic but! i don't know if i'm there yet so i figured i'd start a bit easier for me :)

also--we all know there's no way ethan's just gone from the franchise now, right? like, sure, he's dead, but he died like 30 minutes into re7 and that didn't fucking stop him

ALSO also big shoutout to @dragonsareaqueerthing and @greenninjagal-blog for the encouragement to actaully make the words go :) hopefully i'll be spending more time in this fandom now that I've got that ball rolling

Read on Ao3

Warnings: talk about events of shadows of rose dlc, nothing explicit, bullying

Pairings: implied ethan/mia/chris, but Ethan & Rose is the focus

Word Count: 10,919

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Sometimes a family is a molded bioweapon, a traumatized agent, a former bioterrorist, and a series of golden, sparkly words. Sometimes family is decorating your room with your mother, sometimes family is hugging a pillow because your dad isn't here anymore. Sometimes family is training too hard and going out for ice cream, sometimes family is a dinner where your parents won't stop teasing you.

Or, five times Ethan Winters was there for his daughter, and one time Rosemary Winters was there for her father.

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Okay, well, maybe slightly, but only in the way she's able to shake off some of the lesser things that would've made her really upset before. She's no longer threatening the lives of the agents that call her Eveline, to her face or behind her back when they think she can't hear them. Even when she really, really wants to. Small victories.

But despite her best efforts, she still returns to the cell block of a room—Chris had been so insistent that it wasn't a cell, but it was all concrete walls and a tiny window and a camera that she knows is in the corner—and curls up on her bed, jamming her headphones in and refusing to engage with the outside world until she could summon up the resolve to impersonate a normal person again.

Today had been no exception.

Rose throws her backpack onto her desk chair and slings her hat over the hook, kicking her shoes off and collapsing face-first onto the bed with a groan. More tests today, always more fucking tests. Didn't they have every inch of her shitty, moldy body cataloged by now? She has half a mind to start making shit up when they ask her the same stupid questions. 'How are you feeling today, Rose?' Oh, you know, just getting stuck with more needles than a fucking porcupine, how do you fucking think I'm feeling? Yeah, no, no homicidal instincts yet, just had one murderous thought the other day when I was imagining mold eating the bitch who called me a charity case. Although I did go to the park after I snuck away from that asshole you have tailing me on Tuesdays to see if I could amass a mushroom army, how was your day?

A small laugh leaves her throat at the thought of the doctor's face if she actually did say that, but then she'd probably have two assholes tailing her until they deemed her 'no longer a risk.' God, they were supposed to be these super highly trained agents, then why the fuck do they suck ass at being subtle?

Turns out, even having mold superpowers means she still has to breathe like a normal person, so she drags her face up from the bed and doesn't even bother to fully get up to inchworm up to the pillows. She mashes her face against the slightly cold surface—honestly, the best part about this prison-cell-ass room was that the air conditioning was always on Arctic, so her pillows were always cold—and grabs her phone, squinting at the notifications.

One from school saying her group project deadline was coming up…something from some shopping website she'd logged onto out of pure boredom three weeks ago…and a text from Chris.

Rose sits up a little more and opens the text. "Overseas this week…sorry I'll miss the—you fucking dick!"

Of course Chris is working this weekend, of course he's not gonna be fucking here to take her to the cemetery—great, that means another two hours of bus rides until she can actually go see her dad. She swears he does this on purpose sometimes, how often does he actually need to go overseas for 'work?' And it's not like anyone else here would be able to take her, she's learned her fucking lesson about asking them for anything more than more fucking food. Not bothering to stifle her groan, she flops back onto the bed, only for her phone to clatter out of her hand and onto the floor.

Great. Now she has to move again to pick it up.

She decides that moving is actually not what she's going to do right now, letting one arm hang over the edge of the bed, her cheek scrunched awkwardly against the lip of the mattress. She tucks her face against the collar of her jacket and rubs her thumb against the ring on her finger.

"Sorry it's gonna take me longer," she mumbles, "I really wanted to spend longer with you this time."

Her eyes widen when gold sparkling words appear on the floor next to her phone.

it's okay

"What the—" she whips around to look at the door, closed tightly, and jerks back— "how—"

The words are still there. The words are still etched into the floor, right next to her phone. She should check if they're on the camera—no, they can fucking hack into her phone whenever they want, and she doesn't—she can't—if this really is—

Rose swallows the lump in her throat as the words shift and change.

you ok?

"I—what—how are—" she swallows again, camera in the corner of the room, "uh, M-Michael?"

A pause as the words reform: sure

"I mean, I—I know," she says quickly, "I know what—I know what this is, I…I remember, it's just…"

camera, I know

"How is this possible?" she whispers, not daring to move from her haphazard scramble up the bed, "I thought you were—I mean, at the end, when we, uh, did the thing, it seemed like you were…that you were going again."

The words sparkle again as she grips the sleeve of her jacket—his jacket.

apparently i'm bad at it

"Bad at what?"

staying dead

Another laugh chokes its way out of her throat and she reaches out without thinking about it, just to touch the words. They glow a little bit brighter as she touches them and the tips of her fingers glow. Almost as an afterthought, she grabs her phone and shoves it behind her, hopefully muffling the microphone and at the very least, getting its cameras away from her dad.

Her dad. Those are her dad's words, that's her dad, he's here, he's here.

"Are you—is this…are you really here?"

sort of, as the golden words swirl around, part of you

"What do you mean, 'part of me?'"

not a scientist

"You're the only other m—person like me I know, I'm sure it'll be fine." She can almost hear the little huff of laughter as the golden sparkles swirl again. It seems like it's the same as it was when she was in there, with her dad only able to say a few words at a time.

i'm part of the mold, just like you, we're sharing a part right now

"Are you always sharing a part with me?"

i wish i could, and she feels her chest hurt a little bit, takes energy

"I guess that makes sense." Her arm begins to ache from being so stretched out. "I really miss you."

i miss you too sweetie

Fuck, she's 16, she should not be getting this choked up over her dad calling her 'sweetie,' but fuck it, she's a mold person and her dad's dead, she's allowed to sniffle a little when those words glow warmly under her fingers. Some hysterical part of her wonders if he'd be able to give her a tissue or a hanky the way he gave her guns and chem fluid in there, but she scrubs at her nose with her sleeve and decides that it's enough right now that he's here, in her room, still calling her sweetie.

***

She almost recognizes it the second time, a tug in her gut. Given that she's got her hands over her face and is currently doing a fabulous impression of an angry seal, it'd be harder for her to see it. Still, she can't help the dumb smile on her face when she rolls over.

bad day?

"Oh, you know," she mumbles, "just your average day of being a human guinea pig."

She snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle it. "You know I get a look at their notes sometimes? That's what they call you, just your initials."

surprised they're still talking about me

"What do you mean? Of course they're still talking about you, you're the—" she cuts herself off. The golden sparkles swirl.

i'm the what?

"Never mind."

The floorboards wait expectantly, but she twists the ring around her finger, chewing on her lip. After another moment, new words appear.

can i help?

"With what? With the tests?"

with you

Another tug in her gut, this time at the fact that she can't actually remember the last time someone asked after her, not their biggest liability or their most dangerous weapon. She props herself up on the cold pillows—thank you, government AC—and sighs. "I'm just really tired."

i bet

"Like—are they bored? What do they get out of sticking me with the same needle fifty different times? And it's not like they talk to me about anything, they just look at each other and then fake-smile at me and they tell me 'you're doing great,' like I'm supposed to know what that means. And the other people aren't any better! They keep trying to train me how to do a thing but they're not—it's not like they tell me why we're doing something or what I'm supposed to be doing instead, they just tell me I'm wrong and that's it."

that sucks

She huffs. "You have no idea."

After a moment, though, she realizes that might not actually be true. From what little she's actually managed to get Chris to tell her, and what she can learn from Mom, they were both held in BSAA's quarantine for ages before they moved over to Romania. And if Mom knew about Dad's…not-aliveness way before he did, then they must've done some sort of tests on him too.

"Can I ask you something?"

anything

"Did they, um, did they test you too?"

The floorboards stay empty for a minute, but it feels more like he's thinking than it does him avoiding the question. Sure enough, after another moment, words start appearing again.

they did, they didn't tell me anything either, just that i was lucky

"Lucky how?"

to have made it, even when i didn't

"You did, though," she mumbles, fiddling with the ring again, "you—this part of you made it. Chris told me, Mom told me. You…even after you were…gone the first time, you…you came back. The important parts of you, they came back."

and i'm grateful for it, for you

"You're gonna make me cry," she mutters, scrunching up a little tighter.

i love you Rosie

"Shut up." It's empty and they both know it. A few extra sparkles swirl around and she could swear he's laughing. "I love you too."

Sunlight streams in through her tiny window and she finds herself looking at the way the leaves on the tree dapple the shadow across the floor. Part of her dad's words are still glowing. She looks at the nightstand, bare except for her charger and alarm clock, then over at the desk where her school stuff is, then at the dresser. She reaches out and touches the metal bedframe. It's cold underneath her fingers.

what's wrong?

"Nothing." The words remain and she sighs. "I'm just being mopey."

you're allowed to mope

"Someone at school said something today," she says before she can think better of it, and she winces at how young she sounds.

bullies?

"Not really, it wasn't even really about me, I just—it's stupid."

if you're upset it's not stupid

"They were just talking about this thing they got for their room, okay?" Embarrassment makes her curl her fingers into the loose fabric of her jacket. "It's this mirror thing that hooks up to your phone and lets you play music and stuff from there. They were just talking about it and I thought—see, I told you it was stupid."

There's another pause. The breeze rustles the leaves outside. The shadows dance over the walls.

do you want it?

"Not really…I don't like mirrors that much anyway. And it's not like they'd let me just have another thing that connects to the Internet in here." She glances at the alarm clock. "I barely got them to let me get a laptop for school stuff. I don't think they've got a 'Mold Bioweapon Allowance' in their budget."

The silence grows thoughtful. She turns her head to look at the floorboards again, watching the few sparkles there swirl around.

it's your room, they say finally, it should feel like it

Rose scoffs. "What am I supposed to do, walk up and ask them to sponsor a shopping trip?"

why not?

"They're not gonna do that. They're just gonna brush me off again or tell me they're busy."

you've tried?

"I told you, I barely managed to get a laptop, which is something I need to be able to do schoolwork or anything, even have a taste of what being normal is like. And even then I had to argue for like, ages, and I had to get one of my teachers to write an email saying that it's necessary." She swats the white pillowcase, bitterness seeping into her words. "Everything else isn't necessary. They're all about practicality, like I'm just some other expense they have to deal with."

what about Chris? or Mom?

"Chris isn't here. He's always off somewhere doing something or he's here glaring at me like I'm some stupid new recruit that he doesn't want to have to train. And Mom's…I don't want to bother her, you know? She's got her own life now."

she's your mom, come the words almost before she's done speaking, she'd want to know

Rose sighs, sitting up to lean against the headboard. She twists the ring around and around her finger, chewing on her lip. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like she's…like she doesn't want to know."

Another pause. What her dad had said before, about them sharing a part of the mold—she can feel something in her chest. An emotion that isn't quite hers, something like a deep and exasperated sadness. It's faint, not quite enough to put words there, but she can tell when she needs to look back down at the floor.

she does love you, let her

"Okay. I'll try."

thank you

"Would you come shopping with me?" she asks, even when she knows the answer. "If you could?"

The room gets a little happier as the sparkles swirl around.

i'd spend all day with you

"What did you want to have in your room? When you were my age?"

telescope

"A telescope?" She laughs. "Did you want to be an astronaut?"

astronaut ew

She laughs again and the sunlight seems a little brighter.

***

She meets Mom at a coffee shop near the big bookstore downtown. She's not wearing Dad's jacket—it still feels weird to do, even after Mom's said it's fine—but she has his ring on a necklace under her shirt. Mom waves her over to a table in the corner, nodding to the smoothie already waiting.

"Pineapple mango," she says as Rose sits down, "your favorite."

"Thanks, Mom." She takes a big drink, savoring the weird feeling the pineapple leaves on her tongue. "How're you?"

"I'm okay. Work's been getting busy again recently with the month's end rush." Mom swirls her straw around her coffee. "Did I tell you about this new thing our boss is trying to make us do?"

"No, what?"

"Apparently some young CEO in the area made it big on corporate social media about 'team building exercises,'" and Rose is already groaning in sympathy, "so he sent out this survey this past week about what activity we'd rather do."

"What were the options?"

"This group painting class thing, where we all paint the same picture—"

"Like in kindergarten?"

"Like in kindergarten," Mom agrees, "there's a bar-arcade place that's just opened up on the West Side that does private events, and then there's a good old-fashioned work dinner."

Rose makes a face. "That's it? No, like, crazy obstacle courses, or escape rooms, or anything?"

"We barely had the budget for the normal year-end stuff."

"So what did you vote for?"

"I ended up voting for the painting, actually—"

"What? Mom, that's so lame."

"Hey!" She jokingly flicks a napkin at Rose. "Lamer than the most awkward dinner you can imagine or sitting and drinking for a whole evening?"

"Isn't that what adults do? You sit and drink and talk?"

Mom sighs, shaking her head as they both laugh. "Yeah, well, I figured it might be better if we tried to do something that wasn't just sitting and drinking."

"I guess."

"Besides, I'm still missing something for the bathroom upstairs. Maybe I'll hang up whatever I manage to make there," she adds, winking at Rose.

It's supposed to be a joke at how bad at art she is—really, even Chris looked at her stick figures and struggled to find something nice to say, and Mom just laughed it off—but Rose's smile fades and she shuffles a little in the chair. She drinks more of her smoothie. Dad's words turn over and over in her head.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Mm?"

"Would you…" She fights the urge to reach for the ring. "Would you help me decorate my room?"

Mom's brow furrows. "At my house?"

"N-no, my…my room at the compound. It's stupid, never mind."

"It's not stupid, Rose," Mom says, picking up her coffee, "I'm just—I guess I'm just surprised. Most teens don't really want their parents anywhere near their rooms."

"Yeah, well, forget it."

A car drives by. Despite herself, she reaches for the ring anyway. Something warm pulses in her chest.

"It's just," she manages, "I don't really have anything in there. It's just the military stuff."

Mom's coffee cup hits the table with a thud. "What do you mean you don't have anything in there?"

"I mean, there's just a dresser, a desk, and a bed. And my little side table thing. They didn't really give me any—"

"How much time do you have?"

Rose blinks. "Huh?"

"How much time before you have to get back?" Mom's already getting up and putting the lid back on her coffee. "We're not that far from the big stores and I have my car."

"I, uh, I think I have a few hours, so—" she scrambles up too, reaching to grab Mom's arm— "wait, you're really okay with doing this?"

Mom pauses for a moment, then reaches out and covers Rose's hand with hers. "You're my daughter, Rosie, I'd love to help you decorate your room."

A lump appears in her throat and she swallows it down. "Thank you."

"Come on," Mom grins, "what are you thinking you want?"

"Uh, I was thinking maybe like a whiteboard? That way I could write down stuff that I might forget? Or like—a magnetic one so I could stick stuff to it?" She gets into Mom's car and they start driving. "Or a corkboard—I've seen a lot of people pin like, pictures and stuff to a corkboard on their walls."

"What if you get both? A corkboard to put pictures and cute stuff and then a whiteboard to write on?"

"I also want a lamp. The normal lights just make my head hurt. And they buzz, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you're talking about. It's like the world's most annoying crickets, isn't it?"

"And there's no, like, in between! It's either no light at all or—"

"Or my eyes are being scorched out, that's right."

They pull into the parking lot of the store and get out, still bouncing ideas back and forth. Mom grabs a cart and they head straight for the stationary section and they spend about five minutes talking about the different corkboards and whiteboards. Then Rose decides she wants magnets so she can stick stuff to the whiteboard, then Mom spots a cute set of push pins, and then another mom and daughter walk by with one of those fancy photo printers that print out pictures from your phone like Polaroids, and they just have to get Rose one of those.

As they pick out lamps and wall decor and sheets that actually have some color, she's struck by how normal this is. She's with her mom. They're shopping for stuff for her room. They're freaking out over the pillows that have little penguins on them. She's actually smiling and laughing and she's excited. She can't wait to get back and put all this stuff in her room.

She just…wishes Dad could be here too.

"I think I'd prefer the yellow lampshade, but it's up to you." Mom looks up from the shelf to notice she's gone quiet. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says quickly, wiping surreptitiously at her face, "…just…I kinda wish Dad was here too."

Mom's fingers stutter on the box and for a moment, she thinks she's going to see those walls go up again, the ones that always go up when she tries to talk about Dad, but then Mom puts the box down and rubs at her wedding ring. She still wears it sometimes. Rose reaches for Dad's, under her shirt.

"I wish he was here too, Rosie," Mom says quietly, "he'd be so proud of you."

Rose swallows, and her eyes catch on a tiny monkey LED lamp further down the shelf. She picks it up. "I think he'd vote for this one, don't you?"

A hint of fond exasperation comes to Mom's face. "God, did I ever tell you what happened when he found out that you loved that little monkey you got when you were still a baby? He tried to buy everything monkey-themed he could find because he thought you might like it."

"Wait, really?"

"I had to get Chris to help me talk him out of buying an entire monkey crib for you."

Rose puts the monkey lamp in the cart. Mom smiles and they keep walking. They end up spending way more than she thought they'd be and sheepishly tries to put some stuff back, but Mom won't hear a word of it and bags everything up.

"Chris can help cover the cost if he's so worried about it," she declares as they pull back up to the meeting spot where the car is supposed to take Rose back to the compound, "anyway, all of this should have been done years ago."

"Thanks, Mom," Rose says, "I had fun."

"We should definitely do it again. I'll help you decorate your college dorm too."

Rose smiles and gets out of the car. It fades a bit when she sees Paul again, leaning against the side of the van with his arms crossed. She turns her back deliberately on him and goes to help Mom get all the bags out of the trunk.

"You're late," Paul says, like he has any right to sound like a smug, condescending asshole.

"By like five minutes. Open the trunk."

"What's all that?"

"Stuff. For my room."

"Well, I—hey!" Paul finally moves when Mom just opens the trunk and starts putting the bags inside.

"You must be the agent Rose told me about," Mom says, her voice saccharine as she dusts off her hands, "is that right, honey?"

"Yeah," she mumbles, "that's him."

"Paul," he says, "Ms. Winters."

"Mia." Mom holds out her hand and he takes it, Rose peering at them from under the brim of her hat. Her eyes widen when Mom yanks Paul closer to her, her smile fading as she hisses in his ear. "Call my daughter Eveline again and I'll break your nose, are we clear?"

Paul jerks in surprise, before turning his head slightly. "Stand down, it's fine, I can handle it."

"You can't afford to make a scene in such a public place," Mom says, her voice still perfectly even, "and Chris won't risk harming me or Rose. So you can start treating my daughter like a person or I can break your nose right now and Chris can clean up your mess."

Rose can't stop her snort as Paul sheepishly walks back to the front of the car and gets in. Mom watches him go before she turns around and says, loud enough for him to hear, "Make sure you send me pictures when you get it the way you want it, okay?"

"I will."

"And if you decide you want anything else, we'll get it next time."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, Rosie." She glares once more in Paul's direction before she walks back to her car.

Rose doesn't stop smirking as Paul drives them back to the compound. He slinks off with his tail between his legs after helping her get all her stuff into her room. She can't cover up the camera—and let them know she knows about it—but she can play her music out loud as she decorates, hanging up the little plants they found and pinning a few photos to her new corkboard. It still strikes her how normal all of this is, dancing to her music and putting up all of her new things, finally collapsing onto her now-colorful blankets with a laugh.

She texts a few photos to Mom, who responds with gushing reviews and excited emojis, before she rolls onto her side to look at the floor.

"What do you think?"

The words only take a second to appear.

it's beautiful, sweetie

"You were right," she murmurs, "it was really nice to let Mom take care of me a bit."

i'm glad

"Oh! I forgot to show you the best part!" Rose jumps off the bed and goes over to the far wall, switching on the fairy lights she hung from the ceiling amidst a bunch of fake vines. "Now the camera will just think the glowing is from the lights!"

Golden sparkles swirl beneath the soft glow.

you're so smart

"I mean," she blusters, trying not to show how pleased she is, "I was just tired of lying down to talk to you all the time."

i see, still clever

"Thanks." After a moment, she reaches over and picks up the little monkey lamp and her stuffed monkey, safely hidden beneath her pillows. "Mom told me you wanted to buy a monkey crib for me."

it would go with the onesie

"You got me a monkey onesie?"

mom has pictures

"I'll have to ask her next time." She chews on her lip, running her fingers over the seams of the monkey's ear. "I wish you could've been there."

me too

"Mom threatened to break Paul's nose if he was rude to me again." The light swirls as Dad laughs and she laughs too. "I'd kick him in the nuts too."

that's my girl

***

"Stupid fucking dickhead," she spits as she slams the door, throwing her backpack onto the chair so hard it scrapes across the floor. "Fucking asshole! I'll fucking rip his head off, the fucking bastard!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a tiny sparkle from the floorboards, and she stomps over to the lights, turning them on. Almost immediately, golden words swirl up.

what happened?

"Your buddy Chris fucking happened!" Rose throws herself onto the bed and punches the pillow. "He keeps treating me like I'm some—some fucking gun that only he knows how to fire and I'm fucking sick of it!"

It had been especially bad today, too. Chris apparently woke up and decided yeah, today's the day I'm gonna be a total fucking asshole for no goddamn reason. He started them out sparring, which he never does, he always has them warm up first because it's important not to strain yourself, except apparently not today when she was thrown against the fucking ground three times before she could even open her mouth long enough to say hi.

Or maybe ask what the hell crawled up his ass that morning.

And then he kept fucking looking at her like he was disappointed! Like it was her fault she wasn't expecting to be slammed up against the wall or pinned to the ground by a man fucking three times her size and then grunted at when she winced in pain because that fucking hurt, you asshole! And he kept on saying these stupid little comments that just made her angrier and angrier and then he had the gall to be like hey, you need to get a handle on your emotions like he wasn't pushing every single fucking button he knew she had!

You need to be sharper, he'd said like he had any right to try and be reasonable as he almost dislocated her fucking shoulder, emotions make you sloppy.

Yeah, well, he could try being sharper when he was being bullied for no fucking reason.

And when she'd finally screamed at him that she was done, that she didn't want to fucking do this anymore, he had the fucking audacity, the nerve to scoff and cross his arms and tell her that no, she wasn't done, she was only done when he said she was done. And yeah, she hadn't really made the decision to rush at him after that, her body did that on its own, but he literally just tossed her aside like a fucking doll and then said she wasn't leaving until she could do the fucking stupid thing he wanted her to.

She tried. She really fucking did.

But she couldn't do it.

And Chris kept refusing to help, saying he'd been training her for so long already, that he'd wash her out if she were any other recruit—to which she'd screamed that she wasn't, so why the fuck was he being like this? And he didn't fucking answer! He just told her to try it again and he kept making her angrier and angrier and she could tell Chris was getting angry too which just made hers worse because what fucking right did he have to be mad at her? What the fuck did she do to him?

It ended really badly. She'd gotten so mad she'd thrown herself at him again, not caring about proper technique or what was smart or anything, she just went for him. He grappled her, obviously, and that was supposed to be their tap-out, fight's-over thing, but she hadn't stopped. She'd scratched him and punched him and kicked him even when he growled at her to yield, and when that didn't work, she'd bit him.

Chris fucking wrenched her off of him and threw her across the room and she heard three guns click.

They'd glared at each other, Chris holding his arm like it was a fucking biohazard, and then he'd stalked off without a word while agents forcibly shoved her back to her room.

She's panting by the time she finishes, glaring a hole in the wall right below where the words normally appear. Her hands still tingle from where she'd hit the walls and the pillows. She looks up when she sees the familiar swirl.

you shouldn't have bitten him

The anger surges up her arms and she clenches her fists. "That's all you have to say? No 'I'm sorry he was such a dick, Rose?' 'You didn't deserve that?' You're fucking defending him?"

i didn't say that

"I just told you that your friend, the person you told to watch over me and keep me safe was fucking bullying me for no goddamn reason and the only thing you can say is that I shouldn't have defended myself?" Betrayal steeps vehemence into her words. Her nails bite into her palms. "I'm fucking glad I bit him!"

he's trying to help

"How in the fuck is he trying to help," she cries, "by being as bad as the bullies in school? By treating me like a freak that needs to be kept muzzled and on a leash?"

you did bite him

She picks up one of the pillows and hurls it at the wall. It hits with a pathetic thwap and falls limply to the floor. It only makes her angrier when she sees the words calm down when the lights stop shaking.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! You're supposed to be on my side!"

i am

She barks out a humorless laugh and picks up the pillow, throwing it back on the bed. "You're not on my side, you're on his. I don't need you lecturing me too. Just leave me alone."

More golden words swirl as she turns away, throwing herself onto the bed and curling up tightly around her stuffed monkey. She chokes around the lump in her throat and wills herself not to cry. She'd almost cried in front of Chris today already, she won't give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry now. She won't, she won't, she won't! It's not fucking fair that Chris did that. It's not fucking fair that he gets to act however the fuck he wants and then she's the only one punished for it. He gets to go all over the fucking world and only see her when it's convenient to him and he gets to be an asshole about it.

Dad's not even alive.

A sob chokes out before she can stop it, and then it's too late. She's blubbering like she's a stupid fucking baby again and she can hear the echoes of their voices in her ears. All alone, poor freak Rose, crying like a baby who doesn't get her way. She's so weird, she's so stupid, she can't do it. She's useless, she's not strong enough. Just go away. No one wants you here. No one wants you. No matter how hard she presses her hands to her ears, they won't fucking shut up!

Maybe she should've fucking kept the purifying crystal. Maybe she should've left with no powers and had a normal fucking life. Maybe she should've just left her dad to—

As soon as the thought threatens to cross her mind, she recoils from it. Guilt and anger war in her gut as she nearly grows sick. How could she fucking think that? After all he'd done to save her, protect her, how could she think about something like that, even if it was in a fit of rage?

A strangled noise escapes her throat and the bruises and injuries from her humiliating 'sparring session' abruptly make themselves known. Her body screams in pain; her shoulders ache, the bruise on her ribs throbs, and her jaw feels like it's about to explode. She has the hysterical impulse to bite herself and she wonders if it would hurt more than everything else. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses a glow coming from the floorboards now and she curls up tighter, burying her face in the monkey's tummy. Fuck it, she's been called overly emotional and childish enough times already, she may as well throw her tantrum properly.

It's like falling into the Megamycete again; she has no idea how long she lies there, wallowing in her own emotional turmoil. Flashes of the bullies, of Chris's stupid fucking face, of watching herself get tossed around and left behind…even stranger things like massive castles filled with screams and horror, creepy old houses that just feel like tombs, deep water and clanking metal, all filled with whispers of freak, dangerous, stupid child, not good enough. Everything is too loud and too quiet and she just wants it to be over.

When she finally manages to rouse herself from whatever malaise she'd fallen into, the sun has long set. Her clock shows that it's close to 10—that would explain why her stomach is trying to dig a hole in her intestines. The anger fled unknown hours ago, leaving her weary and wrung out. In its absence, she no longer feels like the bioweapon that she's supposed to be, only the scared and lonely child. It's cold. She's hungry.

There's still a soft golden glow coming from over the side of the bed.

Her lip wobbles. She doesn't want to face the consequences of yelling at her dad and throwing a pillow at him, but she can't stop the blooming warmth that he didn't leave. She crawls to the edge of the bed and peeks over.

i'm sorry Rose

She sniffles and rubs her cheek on the sheets. "'M sorry too."

you were right, i should've been on your side

"You're always on my side," she mumbles, "I know you are."

still

She sniffles again and tucks the monkey under her chin. "Why was Chris so mean today? Did I do something wrong?"

i don't think so, sometimes he's just like that

"Why?" She's ignoring how much she sounds like a baby, thank you. "It's not fair."

no it's not sweetie

Rose closes her eyes, basking in the soft glow of her dad's comfort. "Was he ever mean to you when you were training?"

yeah

"What did you do?"

broke his nose once

It startles a laugh out of her. "You what? Wait, what happened?"

he was being an asshole, so i punched him

She giggles again, both at the image of Chris's surprised face with a broken nose and at the fact that her dad got so angry with Chris that he punched him hard enough. A few more golden sparkles surround the words before they change again.

you shouldn't try it though

"Aw," she complains, mostly for show, "but you did it."

do as i say not as i do

She's quiet. After a moment, she lets her arm hang down to touch the words again. They glow gently. "I don't like fighting with you."

me neither

"I'm sorry. I was being a brat."

The words swirl up quicker than she's ever seen.

you were upset at something unfair, not a being a brat

She sniffles again, reaching over to grab a hanky and blow her nose with a sharp honk. She throws it over to the laundry basket and lies back down. The words have changed.

if you need to hear it, i forgive you

"I forgive you too."

rest

She nestles up against the pillows. "Will you stay until I go to sleep?"

of course sweetie, i love you

***

Mostly Rose doesn't dream. She'll close her eyes and open them again and it will be hours later and it's time to get up. Most of the time when she does dream, it's weird half-memories that aren't hers mixed with something she does actually remember. She has dreams of a house with a red chimney being taken apart by little robotic goats, or of a crocodile swimming through a swamp filled with dead crows, or of bugs crawling over test tubes and dirty flasks. Some of them make sense when she digs into the files she's not really supposed to have access to, some of them don't.

On rare, awful occasions, she has nightmares.

She's been curled up and unmoving for who knows how long, desperately trying to feign sleep. The mold in her keeps prickling like there's something else in the room, watching her, just waiting for a sign that she's awake to pounce. Her white-knuckled grip hasn't wavered either. She dares hardly breathe; even though her rational brain knows there's nothing there, there can't be anything there, her entire body is screaming. She can feel the milky sweat beginning to ooze from her palms.

Something creaks.

She goes stiff as a board.

A creak, a groan, a rumble as the air conditioning turns on and she forces herself to relax, cracking open one eye to see that yes, this is just her room, there's nothing to be afraid of here, she's fine.

Her eyes land on the switch to the fairy lights.

The small and whimpering part of her lunges for them, for the warm glow of the light, her dad's words, in lieu of running to her parents' bed to be comforted. The other part hisses that the second she moves, whatever's lurking in the dark will strike. The monkey wheezes as she tightens her grip, staring at the innocuous plastic box hanging against the wall.

With a sudden burst, she launches herself from the bed, slapping the button, and curling back up beneath the safety of the blankets.

Immediately, the soft warm light chases away the worst of the shadows and she can peek over her shoulder to assure herself that yes, nothing is there, she's safe in her room, everything's okay. Golden sparkles are already swirling, a quiet inquisitiveness filling that one empty part in her chest as she lies back down. He's rotated his words so she can read them easily.

what's the matter, sweetie?

"Nightmare," she whispers, more into her pillow than anything else.

i'm sorry

She curls up tighter, trying to pull the blankets up almost over her head. The sweat's almost ruined her monkey—she's going to have to wash it again—and she wipes her hands on the sheet. The absence of it hits the cold air and she shivers, hunching tighter in the covers and sniffling. A sudden and sharp ache sears through her chest and she shudders, harder this time, only the top of her nose peeking out over the comforter. She's so cold. Not in the way where she can pile more blankets on and it'll go away—she could put the whole world on top of her and she would still be cold. This horrible, achy, exhausting cold that seeps into her bones and makes her want to cry.

what can i do?

"You said in your—in your letter," she hiccups, "that you'd hold me when I had nightmares, and—and sing to me until I went back to sleep."

But the words on her wall are just words and words can't hold anybody.

She wants a fucking hug, goddamnit. No one touches her anymore, not unless they're running some stupid test, or sparring, or escorting her roughly down the hallway like some—some prisoner. The last time someone touched her and it wasn't that it was Mom, telling her she'd help decorate her room and that was so long ago, everyone else just—just—

"I want to go home," she sobs and it lands like a dead weight in the still room.

what do you mean?

"I want to go home, I want to go back to that house you showed—showed me when I was in there, where you—where your memories are and I can actually h-hear you and it's warm an'—an' safe, and you love me," she cries, not caring that it's the middle of the night and she's talking to a wall, "no one here loves me. No one loves me, the doctors think I'm some—some experiment that's run too—too long and the agents all think I'm a l-liability and Mom's not here because she gave me up and Chris h-hates me."

he doesn't hate you sweetie

"He does! He does, he does, I can feel it." She hugs her monkey tightly to her chest. "He h-hates me for being the reason you're not—you're not here anymore and he hates me for reminding him that you're dead and he hates me for—for being like this and—and—and—!"

shh…shh…shh…

But he's not here and she can't hear him shushing her and she's all alone in her cold, dark room and she wants to go home.

don't cry, Rosie, it's gonna be okay sweetie

"It's not. 'S not okay."

The wall doesn't move for a moment, then it swirls again.

scoot back, i'm going to try something

Frowning, she does, shuffling awkwardly back until she's on the far side of the bed. The golden light swirls around for another second, before it writes itself on one of the pillows.

hug me

"D—Michael?"

i'm right here sweetie, i love you so much

With trembling fingers, she reaches for the pillow, touching the words with a soft gasp as they glow warmly against her still-slick palms. A sob of disbelief leaves her throat and she bundles it to her chest, burying her face in it. A soft scratching and buzzing fills her ears as more words write themselves across the pillow, but she doesn't pull her face away to read them. Not when this is the closest thing to hugging her dad she's been since she was in the deepest stratum of the Megamycete, crying over his dying body. Not when she's still so cold and the words are so, so warm. She tucks her face into the crook of the pillow's embrace and she cries.

The words don't stop writing themselves over and over and if she focuses hard enough, it almost sounds like her dad is humming.

She falls into a light sleep, not willing to miss a moment of actually being so close to her dad, soothed by his presence. Soon, light has begun to break through the window, the auto timer on the lights long since activated to switch them off. The pillow is all gross from a mixture of drool, snot, and tears, and she sheepishly tries to wipe it away when a small glow comes from underneath.

it's okay

"It's kinda gross."

my privilege, i'm your dad

"Still."

ew, remember?

A watery smile. "Thanks."

i love you so much, i'm so proud of you

"I love you too," she mumbles back, curling her arms around the pillow. Another set of words writes itself and she leans back.

do you really think Chris hates you?

"I don't know. He…he looks at me like he can't sometimes. Or like he's waiting for me to…I don't know, turn crazy or bad or like he's waiting for me to turn into you, almost." She rubs her fingers over the pillowcase. "He used to be nicer."

have you spoken since?

She doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. "No. He's been out of town again. He's supposed to be back, um…"

She leans over to check her phone, eyes widening when she sees the date.

"Uh, today. Shit, I actually think we're supposed to have a training thing today."

Before more words can write themselves, there's a knock on her door. She freezes, phone still in her hand, pillow clutched close.

"Rose?" Fuck. "It's Chris. Can I come in?"

be brave, says the last flutter of words before her dad vanishes, i love you

"…yeah."

Chris opens the door. Rose tugs on her dad's jacket over her pajamas and clutches the pillow in her lap. She doesn't look at him. He moves around a little in the doorway before he shuts it with a click. After a moment, the bed dips and groans under his weight and she sneaks a glance at his arm. Her bite mark is still there.

"Surprised they let you walk around before that healed."

"You didn't even break the skin."

It's probably meant to come off in a way that means she doesn't have to worry about it, but it stings anyway. She turns away again.

A car drives by outside.

"I owe you an apology," Chris says finally, his voice low and gruff, "I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, but she shifts to face the window instead of the wall.

"There's been talk of getting you moved to another squad," he continues, and her stomach drops—is Chris leaving too?— "and I thought…if I could prove that you were good with us, that we had it all under control, then they'd drop it. Leave you alone."

At the rustle as he shifts, she glances over at him. His jaw works and his hand twitches on his knee.

"I thought…" He trails off, then scoffs at himself, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought."

He turns to meet her gaze and her gut clenches at the obvious guilt and remorse she can see there. She swallows.

"You were mean." Her voice comes out a lot smaller than she'd hoped. She swallows and tries again. "I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Rose," he says in a rush, turning to face her, "please don't think that."

"So you're not trying to get rid of me?"

"Shit, Rose, no, I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're—I think Mia'd kill me if I tried, no, I'm just—" he takes a breath— "I'm just trying to keep you safe, okay?"

"Then you should've said something! I would've trained harder if I knew—we could've—I would've done something else, did I do something wrong?"

"No," he insists, shaking his head, "no, you didn't do anything wrong."

Relief begins to pool warily in her chest. Her grip on the pillow loosens and she scoots a little closer. "I'm sorry I bit you."

He shakes his head again. "It's fine. You, uh, you have good bite strength."

"Good bite strength?"

"Yeah. Your contact's really good." He gestures to the bite mark on his arm. "Got all of them in there too."

"Thanks," she says, laughing a little. Chris smiles and it's a bit easier to breathe. She gives herself a shake. "So, what's today? Weapons, sparring, how to punch boulders?"

"Actually, I, uh, thought we'd go get ice cream."

Rose pauses, looking up at him, blinking as if she'd heard wrong. "Ice cream?"

"Weather's gonna get cold soon, the good place around the corner's gonna close." He shrugs. "Been craving it."

"Yeah…yeah, ice cream sounds good."

"Great."

And before she can think too much of it, she throws herself at him and hugs him for all she's worth. She feels him stutter, not quite sure what to do, and then his arms slowly wrap around her, holding her just as tightly. And oh, she's on fire, Chris is big and warm and solid and he's holding her like she's something special and she's gonna fucking cry her eyes out if she stays here a moment longer and she's gonna die if she lets go. Chris lets out a noise of dismay when she sniffles and scoops her up, like she's a little kid again, holding her in his lap and now she's making a mess of his shoulder too.

She could swear she feels Dad smile.

***

+1.

"I'm telling you," Rose says as she lounges on her bed, "you're wrong about the cover. It's actually pretty good."

i like the classics

"Yeah, well, you're old and boring, so that makes sense."

The sight of the old-fashioned emoticon frowny face makes her burst out laughing. "Oh my god, that's so lame. I don't think I've seen someone use that in years."

it's a classic!

"You gotta get with the times!"

totes dope fam

Rose winces at the immense amount of psychic damage those three words dealt, her neck protesting as she almost cringes it out of alignment. "No, D—Michael, just no."

lol

She tosses the pillow playfully at the wall again, laughing when another frowny face appears on both it and the wall. "Aww, okay, I'm sorry, here."

She picks it up and cuddles it and the frowny face turns to a smiley face. Lying back down, grin still on her face, she toys with his ring. It's gotten shinier from all the rubbing, except where she ties the cord around it so she can wear it as a necklace. She turns it this way and that, watching the sunlight glint off of it. As she does, she catches sight of the engraving on the inside.

Always and forever.

"Do you want me to tell Mom and Chris about you?"

The words swirl for a moment.

up to you

She pushes herself to sit up, propped on one elbow. The ring glistens as she slides it back onto her finger, turning it to and fro. "I don't know. It feels bad keeping something like this from them, but I want to be selfish about it too, you know? I kind of like having you all to myself."

it's not selfish

"And what if Chris thinks it's bad?" She twists the ring harder. "What if he tries to take you away from me?"

i won't let that happen

Her shoulders drop a little and she picks up the pillow again, cuddling into it. A few words write themselves across it just so she can feel their warmth and she rubs her cheek against it. "Don't you miss them?"

all the time

A melancholy that isn't hers hangs in her chest and she squeezes the pillow again. "Then should I? They miss you too, you know. I think they'd be happy to, you know, hear from you again."

The words fade and the wall glows again as he thinks. She lets him have his time, rubbing the ring back and forth, listening to the slight rattle it makes as it spins around her too-small finger. When she hears the familiar soft scratch again, she looks up.

they're happy now, i don't want to ruin that

"They're not happy," she can't help but say, "they still miss you."

content, then

"You wouldn't be ruining anything," she argues, "I thought—I thought I'd never get to see you again after I got out of there. The day I heard you again? That was the happiest moment of my life."

mine too sweetie, or my un-life i guess

The words glow brighter as her fingertips glow too. She gets up and lays her hand against the wall, smiling as their powers dance together. "I really think they'd be happy."

A pulse of warmth runs up her arm to her chest as the words shift once more.

when you think the time is right

"I'll tell you, I promise."

i'm so proud of you, Rose, i love you so much

"I love you too."

That time doesn't come on their terms, though, because that would be easy. No, instead it's when she and Chris are over at Mom's house for dinner and Chris asks a question out of nowhere that almost makes her spit all over the table.

"What?" Mom asks as Rose glares a hole in Chris's stupid forehead.

"I said," Chris says like an unrepentant asshole, "who's Michael?"

"Michael?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rose mutters, staring down at her lap.

"I was coming to get you for training last week and you were talking to someone called Michael." Chris takes a bite of steak and talks with his mouth full, like an asshole. "So who is he?"

Mom elbows her, winking. "Someone you like?"

"What? Ew, gross, no!"

Chris and Mom just laugh and Mom elbows her again. "Don't worry, I was your age once too. That's how I reacted when my mom asked me about my crush."

"Michael isn't my crush!"

"Boyfriend, then?"

"No, he's not my—" she covers her face and sighs. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my crush, he's not someone from school, happy?"

"So who is he?"

Well, fuck it, no time like the present. She pushes back from the table, muttering about using the bathroom. They wait until she's halfway up the stairs to start talking again, their voices low in that way where she knows they're still talking about her, but she pays them no mind as she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. She braces her hands on either side of the sink and takes a deep breath.

"I'm guessing you heard all that."

The words swirl up right below the mirror.

yeah

"I mean, it's not like we'll get a better opportunity."

probably not

"Are you ready?"

are you?

She rubs at the chip in the linoleum and turns on the cold water, just to make sure there's no milky sweat on her hands. "I'm nervous."

me too

"No matter what happens," she says firmly, "no matter what they do or say, I'm here for you, okay? I've got your back. I love you."

i'm so proud of you, sweetie, i love you too

The words glow cheerfully against the weird tile pattern and she reaches out to touch them. They share a moment before the words fade and she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders in the mirror and nodding to herself. "Right. Let's do this."

She marches back downstairs and Mom and Chris do a horrible job of pretending not to be nosy and expectant. She sits back down and folds her hands in her lap.

"I'll tell you who Michael is," she begins, "but you have to promise not to tell anyone else."

"I promise, honey," Mom says, miming zipping her lips shut.

"Chris, you promise too."

Chris looks at her for a moment like he's going to disagree, then he winces as Mom kicks him under the table. "I promise too."

"Good." She takes another breath and reaches for the ring around her neck. The second she brings it out from under her shirt, Chris's silverware clatters against the plate and Mom inhales sharply.

"Rose," she says shakily, "where did you get that?"

"Before I said yes to joining you," Rose says, "I met K outside the lab. He told me there might be a way to get rid of my powers for good."

Chris frowns. "K never said anything like that to me, what do you—"

"I'm getting there. He took me to the lab where there was a piece of the Megamycete, and said that—"

"He what?"

"Will you both just listen to me?" The two of them quiet down. "Thank you. So, like I was saying, he took me to see the piece of it and said that there was a purifying crystal that Miranda discovered that could take the mold out of someone. All I had to do was look through the Megamycete's index of consciousness to see if I could find it."

"That's incredibly dangerous, Rose," Mom says quietly, and Chris looks like he's trying to strangle his fork. "Please tell me you didn't—"

"I wanted them gone," she interrupts, looking at her Mom, "they were—I was just a freak with no friends. Someone offered me the chance to be normal, are you telling me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you were a teenager?"

Mom looks at her for a long moment, but she doesn't disagree. Rose squeezes the ring and keeps going.

"It wasn't that easy, obviously. It was…really hard. And really scary. I had to fight my way through these, like, twisted versions of the places in Miranda's village, like that big castle and the creepy doll house, and there were all these versions of me that kept getting killed and tortured, I fought a version of Eveline too—"

"Rose," Chris tries to say but she doesn't let him.

"—but I had help," she continues. "There was something helping me. It helped me figure out where to go, what to do, gave me a gun and taught me how to use it. There were these glowing words that would appear when I needed them most and it…it was like having a guardian angel."

"Michael," Chris says, and she nods.

"Yeah, I called him Michael. He—he kept trying to get me to leave, said that it wasn't safe, but I wanted to find the crystal and so he helped me. And then we found out K wasn't actually K and it was all a trap set by Miranda—"

"It was what?"

Chris is already getting up. "Is she still in there? Do we need to—"

"Sit down, Chris, it's fine, we beat her. She's dead now, like, really, actually dead. She crystalized and turned to dust, I saw it."

His face still looks like he ate a lemon, but Chris sits slowly back down. He exchanges a worried look with Mom and she puts her hand on Rose's shoulder. "You said 'we?'"

"Me and Michael." She looks down at the ring and turns it over in her hand. "Until I found out who he really was."

Mom gasps, a small and shuddery thing. She holds her hand over her mouth and stares at Rose. "Ethan."

Chris makes a noise too as Rose nods. "Yeah. It was him the whole time. He…he protected me. From Miranda, from Eveline, from everything."

"He loved you so much, honey," Mom whispers, her eyes growing wet, "he never stopped loving you."

"He showed me our house in Romania," and to her horror, she can feel her voice growing thick too, "with all his memories. I heard his voice, Mom, he—he wrote me a letter, did you know?"

"Yes," Mom says, trying not to sob, clutching her shoulder, "yeah, honey, I know. He cried so much while he was writing it, he wanted you to get old enough to read it with him, oh, Rose…"

She swipes a hand under her nose and turns to Chris, who's doing that big, tough, I'm-too-manly-for-my-emotions-right-now thing and reaches for him too. After a moment, his hand turns and covers hers. He's trembling. "He taught me how to fight, Chris. We—we fought together. He shot the monsters in the face with a shotgun and gave me his power so I could kill Miranda, once and for all."

Chris swallows heavily. "Your dad was…he was one of the best men I've ever known, Rosie. He would be so proud of you." He sniffs. "You said he shot them in the face with a shotgun?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, that sounds like Ethan, alright." Mom laughs and it sort of sounds like a sob but she and Chris are smiling now, so it's okay. Chris looks back at her and nods a few times. "So you were talking to him, then?"

"Yeah. When you walked by on Tuesday, I think it was…yeah, we were arguing about whether the original Blade Runner was better than 2049." She wrinkles her nose. "He said the original was better but I like the remake."

Chris frowns. "What do you mean, he said—"

The words scrawl over Mom's dining table, illuminating their faces.

i like the classics, that's all

Rose would laugh at the way Chris almost falls out of his chair if his hand and Mom's weren't trembling. She looks at Mom, who stares at the glowing words, and at Chris, who looks like he's about to be sick.

Mom breaks the silence first. "…Ethan?"

The words move, now right next to her forgotten plate.

hi honey

"You're—you're—"

bad at staying dead?

Mom's breath leaves her like she's been punched in the gut. "Oh, Ethan, I—I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

breathe, it's okay

She squeezes Mom's hand as she takes a few shaky breaths. "What—how is this possible?"

rose

"We're both part of the mold," Rose says when Mom looks to her, "he's…he's using my part right now, we're sort of sharing it."

told her i'm not a scientist, figured you'd get it :)

"No one uses those anymore," Mom mumbles and Rose whispers a quiet told you so! as the smiley turns to a frowny for a moment, before the words change again.

i know it's been hard, i'll always love you

"Oh, Ethan," Mom whispers, reaching out to touch the words. She gasps as a flicker of warmth pulses through them and Rose squeezes her hand again. "I miss you."

i miss you too

Another glow flickers up next to Chris, who startles and stares down at the words in shock.

you too

"E-Ethan, I—" he cuts himself off as the words swirl again.

thank you for taking care of my daughter

Chris swallows heavily. "She's incredible, Ethan. You should be proud of her."

always am

"I'm sorry," Chris whispers, and something in Rose's gut clenches at how close to tears he looks too, "if I'd been faster, we could've gotten you out of there, we could've…"

it's okay, Chris, we're all okay

"You're dead."

i died in 2017, doing pretty well considering

"He is really bad at staying dead," Rose adds, "Miranda said so too. You should've seen her, she was so mad at us."

Chris looks like he's having a hard time deciding whether he wants to laugh or cry. The sparkles swirl again.

she's a fighter, she gets that from you too

His free hand jerks and Rose squeezes the one in hers. "You can touch, Chris, he won't bite. That's my thing."

it won't hurt, promise

Chris takes a deep breath and slowly touches the words. His breath leaves him in a rush as they glow warmly under his fingers. Rose smiles as she feels the mold connect all of them there, in that moment, through her and Ethan. Some part of her clicks into place. As if he can feel it too, which he probably can, another set of words appears in front of her.

we're so proud of you, Rosie

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles as she feels heat rush to her cheeks, "shut up."

no :)

Mom laughs. "We finally have all three of us together again and you want us to not tell you how proud we are of you?"

"They've got a point, Rosie."

"I'll break your nose!"

"No, no," Mom says as Chris squawks, even though she's still smiling, "no breaking Chris's nose."

even if he deserves it

"Hey!"

As they all laugh together, Ethan's words still glowing in the warm, quiet house, Rose sits back in her chair and twists her dad's ring around her finger. Sure, being a mold bioweapon teenager was weird, but if this is the family she gets to have because of it, it can't be all bad.

#dragonbabbles #fic #resident evil #resident evil 7 #resident evil 8 #resident evil biohazard #resident evil village #resident evil shadows of rose #rosemary winters #ethan winters #mia winters #chris redfield

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fireh0es · 2 years ago

Text

I Found [Love] - A Buddie Fanfic Post 6x13

This is a Buddie Fanfiction I wrote on the fly using the prompt of Eddie coming down sick and Buck making him breakfast in bed with Christopher’s help.

Rating: G || Word Count: 2k [Short, One-Shot]

On most mornings, Eddie would wake up around seven o’ clock in the morning to the sounds of his phone’s alarm, the soft chirping of the birds outside, and the warmth of the rising California sun as it poured through his bedroom window. He’d get up and take a shower before waking Christopher and giving him breakfast, then it was off to school for Chris and off to work for him.

This morning, Eddie woke up around ten o’ clock in the morning to the screeching shrieks of the inconsiderate birds outside and a sun that was burning far too bright, nearly blinding him. His head was throbbing and his throat felt constricted. He remembered having a slight tickle in his throat from the day before, when he had coughed a bit too hard at the firehouse after a structural fire. He had figured it to be the smoke, but apparently it was not. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew immediately he was way late for work. Luckily, it was a weekend, and Christopher wouldn’t have to go to school, but he was going to have to call Bobby and explain himself-

A loud crash sounded from the kitchen accompanied by a yelp, bringing his train of thought to a screaming halt. Eddie flung himself upright despite the pain in his joints, scrambling in his sock feet across the hardwood floors of his halls. His voice was raspy and painfully raw. “Christopher?! Chris..!”

As he approached the kitchen, his eyes flew wide to see a scattering of flour and broken glass across the floor, coated in huge splashes of deep red. Buck and Christopher stood in his kitchen above the mess, his son’s hands coated in blood. “Christopher, what the hell happened? A-Are you okay-”

Before he could step forwards onto the glass, Buck held his hands up in front of him, waving frantically. “Eddie, Eddie- wait! It’s just food coloring!” Pausing in his approach, Eddie stopped to examine the scene further, seeing the now empty bottle on its side on the countertop, the cap sitting neatly in a puddle of the dye on the floor. He looked to his son’s red hands, then to his face and was surprised to see a stern frown.

“Dad! Go back to bed, breakfast isn’t ready yet!” Huffing out a soft breath of relief, Eddie smiled and shook his head as he glanced over to Buck, who offered a goofy little apologetic smile from behind Christopher. Eddie tried to speak but was gripped by a hoarse barking cough, which he tried to stifle with his elbow.

“Hey, don’t worry. I can clean this up- You’d better not piss off Gordon Ramsey over here, though.” Buck gave a wave of the spatula that he was holding, gesturing Eddie away from the room dismissively before lifting Chris to set him on one of the dining chairs. “And don’t worry- I already called Bobby. You're on bed rest and I’m spending the day with my Christopher. Isn't that right, buddy? Now, back to bed with you, Walking Dead.”

“Yeah, out with you!” Chris called in a horribly butchered attempt at the chef’s Scottish accent. Eddie huffed out a chuckle and rolled his eyes, putting his hands up and wandering off to the bathroom to try to dig up some cold medication. With a hefty dose of Dayquil in his body, Eddie didn't even remember going back to sleep.

***

“Okay, Dad. Breakfast is served!” Chris’ voice pierced through Eddie’s dreamless, medicated sleep. He lifted his head from where it was buried in the pillow, catching the scent of pancakes in the air. Chris was way cleaner than he usually ended up after helping Buck cook- he then guessed from the totally new set of clothes he was wearing that Buck had made him go wash his face and change. His hands were still aggressively pink, and probably would be for at least the next week.

Standing at Chris’ side was Buck, holding a wooden platter that looked tiny in his hands. Eddie couldn't help but to quirk the corners of his lips into a smile seeing Buck hunched over the way he always was, making him look even more lumbering than usual. A big, goofy grin was plastered across his face, a fresh cloth napkin slung over his shoulder.

Eddie rolled onto his back, propping a pair of pillows behind him as Chris gave him an expectant look, watching as Buck set the platter down across his lap to reveal… surprisingly pink heart shaped pancakes with whipped cream and berry smiley faces on them.

“Raspberry pancakes with ricotta cheese, berry compote and whipped cream! Bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast as well, of course.” A pair of Tylenol and a glass of orange juice sat his nightstand, with a little get well soon note from Chris. Eddie couldn't help but to smile as he looked up at Buck, an eyebrow lifting.

“Wow, is it Valentine’s Day or something?” Eddie went for the Tylenol and juice first, watching Buck’s ears turn pink as he ducked his head bashfully.

“N-No, it was actually Chris’ idea-”

Buck’s blubbering was cut short by Christopher’s laughter, “Buck, I only said I wanted pink pancakes with smiley faces, you’re the one who made them into hearts!”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie decided to let poor Buck have a break from the teasing by taking a few bites of the breakfast the two prepared. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if Buck had surpassed Bobby in terms of cooking. Eddie barely cooked for Chris anymore these days. On the (few) days that Buck was staying back at his loft, Christopher would ask to order in some food rather than asking him to cook, but when Buck was over, his kitchen would suddenly turn into their playground.

“Wow, Chef Ramsey. You really outdid yourself this time. Gonna teach Buck how to cook like this someday?”

Chris gave a little smirk as he turned to leave the room, looking up at Buck. “Maybe one day, once he’s earned his jacket.”

“Woah, ouch!” Buck put his hand over his heart at Christopher’s words, getting a little laugh from him before he left. He was likely going to the living room to play as many video games as he could while Eddie was glued to his bed and couldn't steal the TV. Little bugger.

“Thanks for helping Christopher with breakfast, Buck.” Eddie moved to grab the cup of juice off his nightstand but was stopped when Buck yanked up his sleeve and pressed his wrist against his forehead. Sighing, Eddie glanced up at Buck’s concerned face, searching his soft blue eyes. He was so… domestic these days. “What’s the news, Doc? Will I make it?”

“I dunno- no fever, but fatigue, coughing…” Buck paused thoughtfully for a moment, before giving his head a grim shake as he withdrew his wrist. “No, sorry, I think you gotta make your peace.”

Trying to laugh only made Eddie cough, nearly unseating his platter from his lap, but before he even moved, Buck had already scooped the tray up, holding it safely while Eddie had his moment before setting it back down. He’d never met someone so attuned to the needs of others. He felt as if he didn't even need to speak with Buck most of the time, it was as if he could read his mind to a degree. It was probably good that Buck couldn't actually read Eddie's mind.

“Damn… I think it's bronchitis. Heard it's been going around ever since the COVID restrictions were lifted,” Eddie rested his head back on his headboard for a moment. “You could get sick being here, Buck. You should be at work.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Besides, this way I get more time to hang out with Christopher. My house is still kind of a hotspot, and honestly, this kinda stuff is great. Stuff I should know, ya know?”

Eddie felt his jaw flex and his lips purse before he could hide it. “What do you mean, ‘stuff you should know’? You aren't still talking about Connor’s kid, are you?”

His tone was sharp enough that Buck seemed a little taken aback. “Uh… W-Well, I mean, it's my kid too, right? What if he ends up knowing me or wanting to know me, like Denny? I just want to try to be a good dad-”

“You aren’t that kid’s father, Buck.” Eddie set his fork down harder than he had intended, causing his breakfast platter to wobble a little. Not wanting to wear it, he set it down onto the nightstand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to face Buck. “Not really. Look, you did a great thing by giving them a chance to be parents, but that's where your job stops. You have to be okay with that being the likely outcome of this donation.”

Buck gave a soft huff, getting defensive for a moment before letting his walls down. He sat down on the bed next to Eddie as dread set in on his face. “What if I don't want it to, Eddie? I’m not ready to have a kid of my own, but I still want one, I think… I want a son-”

“You already have a son,” The words tumbled forth without much thought. Buck always managed to pull at his self-control, making Eddie spill the contents of his heart that were better kept contained. “I gave you one. He's in the living room, he cooked breakfast with you this morning. Is that not enough? Our family?”

“Our… Family?” Buck looked like he could be blown over by a feather, his blue eyes open wider than he’d seen before. His lips were parted, moving as if he intended to speak, though most of the words weren't coming out. “B-But Eddie, he’s… You’re his dad.”

“And you’re his Buck.” Eddie gave a soft smile. He couldn't have admitted this a year ago, even though he knew it. He knew it since before that day at the pier when Buck saved Christopher’s life. It just never felt right to put words to it. The feelings that he’d gotten with Ana were never around with Buck. Buck felt natural as a part of the family. Chris chose him just as he’d chosen Ana, but their family didn't feel prepackaged. It didn't feel wrong or distant, like he was just going through the motions. It felt… easy. Easier than expected. Maybe because he had chosen Buck as well. “Whether this is what we planned or not, we’re here, Evan. We’re a family. Chris wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.”

Eddie moved his hand, faintly brushing his knuckles against Buck’s. He heard his breath catch and felt Buck’s eyes on his face. He didn't know if he could bring himself to hold his hand, not in this conversation. The words alone were intimate beyond his typical range of comfort. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn't for you.”

Buck’s blue eyes lingered on their hands for a moment before lifting to meet his own. Buck reached forwards, always the one to cross the gap first, closing his hand around Eddie’s and making all of his uncertainty melt away. “Eds…”

“All I’ve ever wanted in my life is someone who cares about Chris as much as I do,” Eddie gave Buck’s hand a squeeze. “I don't know what this is, what we are. We’re a different kind of family, and that's fine. I just need you to realise that I meant it when I said you weren’t expendable. Chris needs you, and so do I.”

Buck’s eyes fluttered for a moment. He wasn't blushing anymore, instead looking as if he was filled with wonder, some sort of… hope. He knew how much Buck had always wanted a family. He knew because he knew how badly he’d always wanted the same thing for Christopher and himself. Buck’s eyes were transfixed on his own, and suddenly, he was leaning forwards and parting his lips.

“Woah, slow down there, cowboy,” Eddie chuckled as he pressed a hand on Buck’s chest, stopping the approach. Buck’s face lit up with embarrassment and the urge to perform what he now referred to as the ‘Buckley Bolt’, yanking his hand away from Eddie’s grasp.

"Eddie, I'm sorry, that wasn't- I should go-" Buck began to stand, face crimson, but before he could run Eddie grasped his wrist in one hand and lifted the other to touch his fingertips to his cheek, grounding him. “Hey- I’m sick, remember? One of us has to be healthy enough to take care of Christopher. Maybe… maybe when I’m better, we can talk about… us.”

A soft smile spread across his friend’s face. Buck nodded, settling back down as Eddie let him go. He reached over and gave Eddie's hand one more squeeze. "Yeah, yeah, I'd… I’d like that.”

#911 fic #911 s6 #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buddie #6x13 #this episode had buck in full dad mode and im living for it #really wanted to explore the donor story as well from the buckley-diaz family perspective #buckley-diaz family #buddie fanfic #sorry they don't make out or anything #im a slowburn queen #they'll get there one day #911onfox

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chiropteracupola · 2 years ago

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lake trip!

french vacation!

the one with the tattoos!

lake trip! in this fic (which I've already sort of illustrated in these two drawings) we're asking the important questions of Can Keith Swim, and Would He Admit It If He Couldn't. to make a long story short, he's not having a good time in that lake!

french vacation! so I've noticed that a lot of FOTH fic tends to skip over any time that Ewen and Keith might spend in France post-book, and so this would be my own idea of what they might get up to while they're there. there's hand-holding. there's eighteenth-century surgery. there's sitting in a park glaring at the pigeons and also at the French. it's a good one, I think.

the one with the tattoos! answered here!

[snippets under the readmore]

lake trip:

“You don’t often show me that,” said Ewen gently, and reached out to gently brush a dripping fingertip against the twisted scar that ran unevenly along Keith’s chest. Keith started back, bringing up one arm to cover the mark of the wound he had taken that night on the shore at Morar. He knew he was perhaps too protective of that mark, hating to see it in a way that he did not hate the traces of saber-blades and musket-balls that still showed elsewhere on his body. But that scar was yet too new in flesh and in spirit to be touched, despite the long years that had passed since Lachlan MacMartin’s dirk had put it there.

“Don’t concern yourself with it,” he muttered, ducking his head. But Ewen had the advantage of him, and slipped a little lower in the water so that he might meet Keith’s eyes again.

“Why should I mind it?” he asked, his voice warm and earnest, and placed his hand over Keith’s, as gently as the tiny waves that lapped around their hips. “It is a mark of your strength, that you survived such a wound, and oh, Keith, how glad I am that you did.” Ewen shifted his thumb against Keith’s hand, the tip of it just barely brushing against the hollow below his collarbone. Under his touch, Keith shivered, and Ewen frowned.

“Is the loch not to your liking, then?” and at that, Keith could not help but smile, for only Ewen Cameron would have asked that question in such a manner. It was for that reason, among the many others, that Keith had come to love him.

“It is only a little cold,” and he brought up his other hand to twine his fingers between Ewen’s.

french vacation:

“Don’t expect for him to wake up for a little while longer,” said Doctor Cameron, in a tone clearly intended to placate. “We thought it best to put him under for the time being — the repairs, they did not go quite as we expected.” His smile faded at Keith’s stricken expression, and he scrambled to cover his error. “He will recover, do not fear for that! But I do not know if he will ever get the full use of the leg again.”

“He will,” and Doctor Cameron raised an eyebrow slightly at Keith’s rather forceful words, but let him pass into the room where Ewen lay.

Most traces of the surgery had been carefully cleared away, the bloodied linen taken from the bed and replaced with clean sheets. But there was a smudge of scarlet on the bedpost where some not-yet-washed hand had come to rest, and the last of the washing-up water still stood in its pail at the top of the stairs, red-tinged and glinting in what little sunset light entered through the narrow window. Keith did not stay long to look at it, for he knew his purpose well. A stool was already set out at Ewen’s bedside, as if it had been prepared for his arrival, although Keith was sure that it was only another leftover from Doctor Cameron and his pair of French surgeons. Even so, he took up his place beside Ewen, firmly positioning himself in order not to be shifted from his post.

Someone had drawn a sheet up to Ewen’s waist before taking their leave of him, positioning his body like a doll. His hands rested flat against his sides and his collar was drawn up neatly around his throat, so little untidiness showing that Keith’s gaze was instantly drawn to the swollen shape of splints and bandages around Ewen’s thigh. He reached out, letting his hand briefly hover just above the well-wrapped wound, then pulled back his hand, uncertain of Ewen’s state.

Instead, Keith simply remained there, and listened to him breathe. He counted and catalogued the pattern, long slightly snuffling exhales, short smooth inhales. Had he really grown so accustomed to life at Ardroy’s side that he could distinguish the subtle difference as he shifted slightly in his sleep? No, that could not be so.

#em draws stuff #em writes stuff #heronposting #writing fic set in that gap between the Book and the Books I Ignore is always fun #it's a good space for letting everyone (as the poets say) Hit Da Bricks from their respective military obligations #and their sad canonical and/or historical fates

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sabraeal · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 24,543 times in 2022

That's 2,898 more posts than 2021!

88 posts created (0%)

24,455 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bubblesthemonsterartist

@ponyregrets

@infinitelystrangemachinex

@akai-vampire

@ninox-ios

I tagged 4,603 of my posts in 2022

#ans - 586 posts

#arcane - 572 posts

#spy x family - 547 posts

#fmab - 476 posts

#twisted wonderland - 317 posts

#obiyuki - 270 posts

#hakuouki - 158 posts

#akatsuki no yona - 154 posts

#a:tla - 115 posts

#bnha - 110 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#also i love the look obi and shirayuki give each other when she's like you must find your vocation. it's two adults just being like 🙄kids

My Top Posts in 2022:

WFB, Tanbarun arc: Obi meets the real reason she had to leave everything behind.

[Read on AO3]

Obi can admit: even after spending the day with Umbrella Corp’s heir apparent, even after knowing that Richie Rich couldn’t find his ass with both hands-- but in a nice way-- he hears the tiny tyrant’s little proclamation and thinks, what’s his game?

He may not be on the fast track to Summa Cum Laude, not like Doc-- and apparently this kid, if Daddy keeps paying out that Big Pharma money to keep his grades at the top of the curve-- but Obi doesn’t need any fancy academic distinction to suss out that Raj’s celebratory kegger idea belongs straight in the ‘godawful stupid’ pile. And with the quick way Doc goes bloodless at the offer, the air’s got that tangy Calculated Insult taste to it.

That is until he squares up right in front of this Timothée Chalamet looking motherfucker and is blind-sided by his bright-eyed, dummy wide smile. Despite the vibe in this room reading like the end of a slow-burn thriller’s first act, this idiot thinks he’s doing everyone a favor. The kid somehow took one look at Annie Hall here and thought that her brand says vomits Pabst Blue Ribbon as an extracurricular. There are times where Obi considers his past gold star failures and thinks he’s nature’s worst clown, but Shenezard-- Shenezard could fill a whole car.

“Raj,” Doc chokes out, looking like she’s two steps from a body bag. “That’s very...generous of you, but you don’t really--”

“No, no.” Between blinks, Raj springs forward, seizing her hand. “Shirayuki, you are the generous one, coming here after all this time to make amends--”

“I’m not,” she reminds him, steely, like the tooth of a bear trap. Or maybe the blade of a guillotine. “I’m here to present a paper.”

“--So you must give me the opportunity to be likewise magnanimous.” One hand may be taken, but the other’s free to snap, loud as a gunshot in the empty foyer. “Sakaki, see to it.”

His lawyer ventures a weary glance, closing his briefcase with a final snap. “Mr Shenezard, you know I can’t be party to providing alcoholic beverages to underage students.”

“Right.” His fingers snap again; the brothers passing by flinch. “Brian will take care of it.”

One of them-- the tall one, built like a linebacker with boat shoes that earn the name-- sighs. “Aw man, not again.”

“I told you, dude,” the other one mutters, pushing him through the doorway. “You can’t make eye contact.”

Raj doesn’t even bat an eye, just stares down at Doc, flushed with victory. “See? Simple. Get yourself ready, Shirayuki,” he warns warmly, “for tonight you will be fêted!”

Between Princess and Prez’s egos, there’s no elbow room for any other opinions on the frat’s event committee, but even still, Obi knows there’s some logistical issues to putting together a kegger in barely five hours. It’s the sort of thing he’d worry over if he thought for one second that Doc wanted anything to do with this half-assed excuse for a hook up, but she flees the scene the moment Raj gets distracted enough to drop her hand. It’d be a shame to get all heated when she’s already hanging out a window, escaping the only way she knows how: dangerously.

Real kind of Doc to save him the hassle; if he had to concern himself with her tender feelings, why, he’d barely have time to agonizing over what to wear. Since that’s apparently how he’s going to spend the hours between dinner and drunk o’clock: staring at his backpack full of clothes and hating every stitch on them.

It’s not like he didn’t bring nice stuff; Chief had briefed him-- and Big Guy, and His Lordship, plus a hastily emailed primer from the Big Boss with a rubric for sartorial formalities-- but he can’t exactly wear a sports coat to a keg stand. Maybe CEO Barbie could wear her designer pantsuit and not get a drop on it, but Obi doesn’t have the sort of face that can wear business formal like gym shorts. And the rest of it...

Well sure, jeans and tees would match the vibe; certainly be a step up from the early December board shorts he’s sure will be in fashion tonight, but it’s not-- not--

Hot. His Majesty said this trip would only be four days, a quick jaunt over state lines to see to it that Kihal’s momentary expulsion wasn’t in vain. Packing light seemed smart. He didn’t need to bait the hook when the only item on his itinerary was a poster session and an academic dinner.

He still doesn’t need to; his whole job here is to make sure Doc isn’t eyeing any third-story windows, not his ass. She’s six inches of leg and a drawer full of Victoria Secret away from being his type anyway, and he only came here because-- because--

Her hand had look so pale against the checkered tablecloth, so limp, like it hadn’t been held in years. Like she’d given up on someone being there to take it. He’d held it in the car-- still wet and clammy, a complete accident-- and even now it burns in his memory, the first warmth he’d felt since someone put five inches of cold steel beneath his rib cage. And stupidly, his first thought was, Doc deserves someone who would.

His second is, I’d like to be that someone.

It’s a fucking mystery why. Sure, he-- he likes her, in a real Disney Channel Original, baby’s first crush way, but this whole situation he has at Wistal is a glass shoe, set to shatter the moment he has a diploma in his hands. The last thing he needs is a reason to cling to the shards, expecting more than anyone wants to give him. Besides, he knows by now-- they could hug him and squeeze him and call hims George, but Obi’s the kind of guy who sees and open door and runs through it. There’s no point to being more friend than the job entails. Not unless he wants someone putting up flyers to find their lost Obi, at least. It’d certainly be a first.

“Right.” His palm scrub over his face, muffling out the rest of the world for just a second. That’s all he needs to remember what’s important here. “Just put something on, asshole.”

It’s a stupid thing to worry about. If these clothes didn’t smell like musty library, he wouldn’t even--

Something flutters, right at the corner of his eye. Not big enough to be a threat-- he can tell that right off, but it definitely didn’t come from his stuff. No, looks like it blew out of the trash, pushed along by the sudden burst of hot air from the vents. His mouth tilts, sliding right into a smirk. Speaking of flyers...

Phi Sigma Pi Crunch Time Kegger, this one reads; he has to squint to see the grainy oval in the center is just a photo-realistic barrel. $5 at the door. 8pm on December--

Ha, well. Look at that. It’s today. What a coincidence. Seems he’s not the only one concerned about what’s covering his ass.

See the full post

27 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

The Opposite of Shame

[Read on AO3]

It should be easy.

That’s what Zen had said they paddled the last few yards into the canals, a stream of water curled onto his palm, shaping itself into a pearl, too precious to even touch. At least, easier than what you were doing, he’d laughed, letting it splash back down into the water, splattering into Mitsuhide’s lap. After squeezing water out of vines, a whole city of it should be nothing.

And yet sweat beads at her brow when she tries to coax a trickle from its slow currents, dripping from her fingers like a recalcitrant cat. Her boots brace against the ice, and she hauls, the way laborers would, pulling and straining and still-- it flops back down to the surface, swallowed up by ripples like it never left at all.

Shirayuki sprawls right back onto her rear with a huff. That’s what she gets, bending with only half her head. Maybe if she was still ho-- where she came from, she might have managed it. There was something about knowing every vine curled around her window and every plant in the streets of Ba Sing Se that made the motions come easier to her, that made bending nearly mindless. But here...

Ba Sing Se may have been raised from stone, but there were trees there, gardens. Little window boxes where grannies raised their kitchen herbs and children tended their mother’s flowers. In Agna Qel’a, it’s all...ice. Ice and snow and water a shade warmer than freezing; a paradise for a waterbender like her, one who had always hidden her skills lest some neighbor suspect she was the Avatar. Water was next in the cycle, after all, and to see a child with green eyes bend something besides stone would bring her before of the Fire Lord faster than the Earth prince could snap. Even the ancestors would be hard pressed to say what would happen to her when he found out she was simply mixed-blood, a waterbender wearing an earthbender’s face.

And yet this is not the safe haven she imagined, the home she had yet to find. Instead it’s barren, as cold and uninviting as Master Haruka. A woman need draw no more than a dram, he’d said, voice cracking like a whip in the temple. Any more risks being unseemly.

Unseemly. She gets her feet beneath her, letting her attention slide alongside a likely stream. Haruka’s voice echoes in the confines of her skull, What does a healer need that couldn’t fit in a skein?

Healer, he said; woman, he meant. How Kiki could come from a place like this, her bending honed to a blade’s edge, and yet its Master Bender could still say to her face-- impossible.

Her teeth grit, cheeks flushed. Zen might have warned her at least. He’d made this place seem like a refuge, like heaven, like home, and now not only does she have to worry after Haruka, but even Raj--

She can’t think about that. That’s the whole purpose of this: to not think about it. Another thing that’s supposed to be easy. After all, Shirayuki forgets things all the time. Meetings, meals, sleep-- it all fades away under the sinuous stretch of leaf and vine, her fingers reaching and stems rising to meet the motion, as easy as putting on a glove.

But that’s not what it’s like here. Not when it’s so cold that algae barely blooms. Hard to lose herself when every surface reflects her face.

“Lookin’ pretty serious there.”

Shirayuki concentration shatters, easy as a plate on a pub floor. The stream of water she’s pulled-- larger than she’s ever managed before, even if it still wiggles and drips against her control-- drops, tumbling back into the canal with a plop, big enough to soak her boots.

No, both their boots.

“Ah, uh...” She doesn’t know his name; a realization that pulls her up screeching a moment too late. They’ve only met twice, after all-- once when he tried to scare her off, and again when he caught her at Laxdo. Each time he’s appeared like fog off the water, disappearing just the same way, intangible and unannounced. “Sorry.”

Satisfaction glints like a knife’s edge in that man’s eyes, as if he suspected he might get this reaction. Or worse, meant to do it.

Well, that’s what he gets, anyway, coming up on her all unaware like this, a strange man in a strange city. He’s lucky she doesn’t have her plants, otherwise he wouldn’t have much room to be giving her smirks and sly eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss.” His shoulders twitch, a distant cousin to a shrug, as he shakes off his feet. “I was asking for it sneaking up on a lady all alone like that.”

It mollifies her to hear him admit it. Just a little. “Here, let me at least--”

Her hand flicks out, ready to wick the water off him-- it’d be rude not to-- but he shuffles away with a laugh, his own warding her off.

“I said don’t worry about it.” His smile is wide, if not a little lop-sided. “You barely got me. It’ll dry off on its own.”

She frowns down, eyeing the waterline on his boots, wet splotches climbing all the way to his knees. He can say what he likes, but it’s freezing at the poles, and even dry he’ll still be cold. She should really--

Her teeth clamp down, keeping her protest locked behind them. There’s no reason for her to worry about a man that only shows up to cause her trouble. “What are you doing here?”

His grin sharpens to a point, through strangely, she’s sure it isn’t aimed at her. “My my, young miss. You may not wear a necklace like these water folk, but that question has teeth.”

She lifts her chin, stubbornly meeting his eyes. “Should it not?”

For a moment, he’s still. Not the way a person is, all hitched movements and stifled breaths, but the way eel hound does before they strike-- motionless. More like a statue than a living being.

And then his mouth splits in a grin, tongue clucking against his teeth. “And after I caught you in my arms, too. Folks just aren’t as grateful as they used to be.”

Shirayuki stares, confused. “Used to--?”

See the full post

28 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

900 Followers: Pick Your Adventure

The pairings have been chosen, and now it is time for you to choose what you would like to see! Each pairing has four options, let me know which fic you like most for your holiday gift. Voting is open from today, 8/25, to Friday evening, 8/26!

VOTE HERE

30 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

At Your Command

[Read on AO3]

Written for @kaedix‘s birthday! Kimber requested an Ella Enchanted AU, and I originally set out to write a canon universe one where Obi had the obedience curse...and I made something close to that, and yet entirely new as well...

The carriage pulls up right outside the alley; even in the street’s shadow it shimmers with shellac, like wet cobbles on a dark night. With all the hansoms that clog Port City’s arteries, it’s unremarkable, just another box among many. Save that it’s here, where no one with the money to hire a cab would be caught. And save that it’s arrived right on time, just as he’s been told it would.

A boot hedges out of the shadow, followed by a narrow limb, stretched enough to be part shade itself. The carriage merely waits, hunkering down at the alley’s mouth with all the gravitas of a fat tabby used to table scraps. It could play this game all day, its hefty shape says; could he?

He edges out the barest bit more, letting the light from The Beggar’s Barrel fall across the knife-sharp planes of his jaw. A tilt of his head sets one eyes to flash like a coin, stark beneath the low-slung band of his cap. A dangerous look, he’s been told, the kind that keeps bigger boys from trying to roll the one who’s skin and bones. That’s the thing about being skinny; all it takes is a good, feral grin, and only fools want to feel out your edges.

It gets the job done too; he’s hardly got his chin up from his collarbone when the door swings open, revealing an even deeper dark inside. “Get in.”

It strikes like a whip’s lash, the air knocked clean out of him. “Me, milord?” He gives a hearty laugh, making a good show of peering around the narrow alley. Good thing there’s not enough light to show him sweat. “You’re sure you have the right pl--?”

“You are Nanaki, aren’t you?”

His soles itch as he shuffles closer, trying to stave off the burn. Another breath or two and he’d find a long walk over hot coals more pleasant than standing here. “Today I am. Though maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like someone else...”

A shadow shifts in the dim of the cab, not small. “I have little patience for mummery. Hurry up.”

He’d likened those words once to a goad to an ass, but tonight-- tonight he has to catch himself before he stumbles. There’s not much pride in him, but what’s left refuses to meet his client on hands and knees, crawling up the steps like a cur. He’s got a reputation to keep, after all.

“Your wish,” he grits out through clenched teeth, taking those stairs in a single bound, “is my command.”

The inside is black as pitch and just as sticky, the shadows clinging to the corners as stubbornly as a stain. Still, he catches velvet beneath his palms, the cushion plump as any young miss, not the aching black lacquer benches of one of the city’s hansoms. Plain it might have looked from the outside, but this is no jumped-up merchant’s night out. Whatever money bought this is old, like the quarter itself.

He’d stretch his other senses to the task, but there’s no need; once the carriage has clopped and swayed itself to smoother cobbles, the shade snaps up. Lamp light pours in, painting the cab in gold.

Hardly necessary; this man is made of it. His business has never extended much to textiles-- too much speculation for his blood-- but the fine weave on that wool coat alone would fence enough to keep him well fed and warmly housed for a year, fingers firmly in pockets. That doesn’t even account for the linen of his shirt, or the brocade of his waist.

His fingers scour runnels through velvet. This man isn’t money, he’s a noble. No wonder even the barest command from that mouth sets him scrambling.

It’s not the first time a man more title than name has sought him out-- he’s got a reputation after all, a good one. A knife with legs, a man called him once, and he’d liked that just fine. A tidy little image; one that keeps the unsavory types from trying to stiff him. But this man-- this man looks nothing like those small, sniveling lordlings looking for a sure answer. No this one, this one--

This one could be a killer himself. If the calluses on his hands are a hint, he already was. Men don’t get ones like those from playing around in the training yard. This was a man used to fighting.

No, a man used to winning, unless he mistakes his guess. A dangerous sort to get in bed with, and a lethal one to get in business.

Well, let it never be said he passed up a bad idea when it sat itself in front of him. “Nice ride.”

The lord grunts, displeased. “Tell me how this works.”

His mouth itches the minute the words hit air. It’s not like this with everyone; most times he’s got a few moments-- maybe even a few minutes-- to dance around, to let them replace a strict order with a weaker one, maybe even slip the lead on the whole thing altogether. But his lordship here wields commands like a rider holds his reins, and oh, he’s not in the habit of letting a bucking stallion keep his head free.

“Well, I’m not sure of the mechanics.” His teeth flash, an effect lessened by the glare of the lamplight. Hard to seem so dangerous when all of him can be seen, black washed out to gray. “But the hitch the horses up front, you see, and then the driver--”

“Not the carriage,” his lordship snaps, brow furrowing like a thunderhead on a horizon. “They say you’ll do anything a man asks. Tell me how it works.”

There it is; the trap closes, and it’s steel teeth as far as the eye can see.

“Command me, mister,” he drawls, stretching his legs as long as they’ll go. It’s enough to pass beneath the bench on the other side, his lordship giving a censorious sniff. “And I must obey. That’s my gift.”

At once, the storm breaks, and with a terrible certainty, his lordship grates out, “No, boy. That’s your curse.”

It’s not that he expected business to be concluded in a rattling carriage-- that’s the sort of thing one of those merchants might do, the ones that want to curry favor with the First Prince by aping one step up on the food chain-- but he’s got to say, he doesn’t see the palace coming. A clandestine location sure, maybe even the guy’s townhouse if he’s got a misplaced sense of confidence, but most blue-bloods seem to know that you don’t flaunt your private problem solve right under the royal’s nose.

Then again, His Highness has been up wooing the North for the past few months. Turns out all those old ladies were right: when the cat’s away the mice will play. These ones just dress nicer and aim a little higher than stealing cheese.

See the full post

33 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

900 Followers & Holiday Gifts!

Way, WAY back in the early months of 2022, I got quite the influx of followers and this happened:

Which means that, as is traditional, I will be posting every Friday in December with fics of my followers’ choosing! And since last year was obiyuki focused, this year will be about non-Obiyuki pairings, including those from other fandoms! Which means I’m going to let you guys tell me what pairings you’d like to see!

From today, 8/21 to Tuesday, 8/23, I will be collecting pairing suggestions via ask! I will pick the pairings I am most interested in writing, and on 8/24 I will put those to a vote!

ASK AWAY!

33 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

6 notes · View notes

zees-bwog · 1 year ago

Text

When I go down to earth, for the first time in millenia, I pick the body of a woman withered with age, thin hands, weak knees and ankles. I wear nothing more than a brown dress, a simple shawl thrown over my shoulder.

The village where She lives is small. It is close to the river. Good in low tide, when the people thrive off the fish that come in from the sea. Bad when it's rainy, when the village floods and the sod walls of the houses dissolve, like salt.

My skirts brush the mud and grime as I walk. Last time I was down here, shoes weren't quite so popular. I don't understand why they are now. I prefer to feel the earth beneath my feet. Maybe it's because I only get to a few times in an eternity.

The house where She lives is small. High, up by the hill. The father works for the landlord. He drives his cart and picks up the farmer's produce every month, takes it down to the dock. Sometimes he boards the ships with them. He says it is to supervise his goods, make sure everything arrives safely, but it's really just to get drunk without supervision, to ignore his little family for a few weeks.

His wife is a washerwoman, working for the landlord. She spends her days bent over a steaming bucket, hands rubbed raw, the freshest baby strapped to her back. She does not like the job, or the pay, but she enjoys the gossip, the company.

I step up onto the small porch of the house, reach to knock on the door. It tears open before I can, and two boys stumble out from it, scrambling beneath my skirts, chasing one another across the way and into the Farmer's field. They pay me no mind, and I open the door wider, taking in the smell of pottage, sour meat.

The mother is in the kitchen. The baby; this one a little girl- plays in her skirts, yelling intermittently for attention. She gives it to her, picking her up and setting her on the dirty counter, or nudging her on the head. Two other girls hang from the roof, holding their giggles in as they shove a worn pair of shoes into the rafters. An older girl yells for them to come down, balancing precariously on a chair as she grabs at her sisters.

None of them turn to notice me. The room is warm in the evening sun. I see the mother glance out the window, watching the path. Her husband was meant to return days ago. Is he dead, or just drunk?

I follow the pang in my heart, leaving the main room and entering the dark little hallway at it's end. The door does not shut behind me properly, its hinges sighing as I force it to. Two more sit on the end of the hallway.

Please, give me a friend. the tiny voice whispers. I pause at the door. Once, when many prayed to me,I could not hear so clearly. The voices were loud, overwhelming, all at once. I could only pick the most exceptional ones. But as the centuries passed my head grew quiet. Prayers died down. Now only she calls to me.

The little girl crouched halfway underneath a bed in the corner of the room is not the woman's daughter. She lost her family in last year's flooding. Her parents drowned, along with her eldest brother. Only she and two of hersiblings survived. A sickly little boy and a new little sister, barely half a year old. The mother had to take them in. She couldn't care for three new heads, not with her own six. The little boy died from fever and her husband drowned the baby in the river.

She raises her head to me, hands still clasped in prayer. "Who are you?" she whimpers. I know that the woman keeps her because is a good worker. She runs errands and works in the Landlord's kitchens and fields. She lies in the bed with the two younger girls at night, who tie her hair up in knots and jostle her, till she falls out and has to sleep on the cold floor. She doesn't eat or talk much, and she doesn't complain, despite the fact that grime and dust line the corner where she sleeps.

"What do you pray for?" I ask her, sweeping nearer and crouching, my old knees creaking. She looks down, hands trembling. "I pray for them to come to life." she does not look back to me, putting a dirty hand to the corner and picking up a dust bunny. "So I will not be so lonely." I crouch lower, and she suddenly turns to me. "I've been praying for a long time."

"I know you have." I tell her in response. Until a few months ago, I was certain I would be allowed to rest soon. After all, who prays for dirt? Who prays for something as silly as this; dust bunnies to multiply, to come to life? People want their houses clean. They do not want them dirty.

I reach past the girl, and I grab a large dust bunny. I cup both hands close around it. I set it down, and the girl stares at it, wide eyed. It blinks back at her, shuffles closer, clings to her sleeve. She holds her breath, reaching to touch it, apprehensive. I watch as she does, as it vanishes in an instant, back to dust.

"Where did it go?" she cries, looking up at me. I shake my head. "It can not stay. It is... unwanted." "I want it." "Many want many things. It is not enough." "You have to give me one that will stay with me. I want it."

I shrug. "I did not destroy it. It fell apart, because it knew it was not wanted, so it left." her eyes fill with tears. She turns, grabs another dust bunny, but they all dissolve in her hands. "Mama said the dust bunnies are our dearest friends," she whispers. I remember her mother. A kind woman. Her house was never clean. My dust and grime truly were dear friends.

"You are not wanted here," I tell the little girl, straightening. I pull my shawl off my head, letting my pale locks tumble free. The girl rises with me. "If you stay here, you too will crumble." She will crumble like so many have in this village, in this kingdom. Worked to the bone, unwanted, unloved. The river will take her one way or another; after unhappy decades of life, or on a late evening when she throws herself in. The woman will call it an accident, a tragedy. Call hr a wonderful little girl.

With that I turn, skirts causing a flurry of dust and dirt in my wake. "Where will I go?" she cries after me. I pause, turn back to her, and watch her trembling figure. She will give me no rest, but it will be no different if I leave her here.

"You will come with me, of course."

A deity has had enough and is ready to die, however one tiny human still calls their name in prayer, forcing this deity to exist. The deity now attempts to help the tiny human in order to finally fade away.

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creelsclocks · 2 years ago

Text

CREEL’S CLOCKS. [#4]

Summary: Eddie and Gareth introduce 001 to music. Warnings: Mentions of child experimentation/abuse. Author’s Note: Sorry this instalment took almost a month, there’s been a lot going on in my family as of late. Also, I don’t subscribe to the Gareth ‘Emerson’ rhetoric–

Gareth lives in a proper house.

001 stands close to Eddie’s side, staring up at the house as if he expects it to sprout a mouth and eat him. Its red bricks and clean windows intimidate the boy more than he cares to admit, it’s normalcy painfully daunting. He’s heard the phrase, ‘Eyes are the windows to the soul’, but he thinks otherwise; a person’s home– being able to peer in through their unsuspecting living room window and see a person in their most vulnerable state– is the truest indication of who they are inside.

Instinctively, he shuffles closer to their ringleader as Gareth enters the house, the clean white door left slightly ajar as he scopes out who’s home. When he returns, beckoning them inside insistently, he knows to make a mad dash for wherever Eddie guides him.

As they pass the kitchen, Gareth’s mother calls out in greeting, though her back remains to them as she prepares food. 001 knows not to join in on the tiny chorus of hey!’’s. This has been his routine for the past three weeks, dodging parents and siblings and grandparents galore. The less people that know about him, the better.

Eyes curiously travel along the walls each time he’s brought into a new house. After spending so long in a place that had a singular defining trait– white– he’s always left slightly stunned by the personality people pour into their decor. Some are mushy and sentimental, while others favour aesthetics, and sometimes he can learn all he needs to about a person based on the art they invite into their personal space. Indeed, a person’s home is the true window to the soul — and Gareth’s soul is decidedly homely. One photograph in particular captures 001’s attention; a family photo that depicts the entire Keefer creed. If his assumptions are correct, Gareth isn’t the only child in this house.

Briefly, he considers what his own family portrait would look like, but he can only envision his siblings from the lab, lined up in a miserable row, all looking similarly despondent. He quickly decides that he’s glad Papa never insisted on photographs being taken.

They make a sharp left and veer down a steep, concrete stairway. He’s only been in a basement– a boiler room, to be more specific– once, and it ended in a punishment so severe that he still remembers the details. The way Papa had scolded him, before carrying him to the testing room like he was handling a newborn; the way he himself had nestled his face into his shoulder and wound his arms around his neck despite knowing he was about to be beaten within an inch of his life. A starved child, hungry only for love, clinging to his benefactor in the blind hope that he’d stop making mistakes that wound him in his bad books.

And all because he’d wanted to see a spider.

001 is tense as they reach the bottom — and then Gareth tugs a cord at the bottom of the stairs, bathing the room in warm orange light.

Immediately, the basement defies his expectations. The hard concrete has been replaced with glossy wooden planks, shoes squeaking slightly when he moves too quickly, and what would have been a garish overhead light has been muted by a large red lampshade. Blue eyes trace the heavily padded couch, pillows and blankets scattered haphazardly across the L-shaped cushions. A table littered with videos and comic books sits in front of it, and it naturally prompts him to look at the cabinet poised directly opposite the sofa. Most of its contents are hidden by closed wooden panels, though a TV sits on top of it, and that’s clearly the centrepiece.

This contrast of wealth and boyish disorder is confusing to say the least. 001 isn’t quite sure what to make of this room — whether he should be nervous to sit down and sully the perfect leather of the couch, or whether he should prop his feet up on the messy table as he reclines on it.

His gaze drifts to a strange object in the corner of the room. He gravitates towards it like a moth to a flame.

“What… is this?”

“This is my drumset.” Gareth pridefully approaches the instrument, giving one of the cymbals a pat in very much the same way that a person might pet their dog. “We make music together. I’m the drummer. I’m pretty good.”

001 reaches out to touch one of the drums, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Don’t touch it,” Gareth barks, scowling. Out of all the boys, he’s the one who’s thawed the least. He doesn’t yet trust the other, and he makes sure to remind him of said fact whenever it’s appropriate.

001 acquiesces without complaint, his hand falling back to his side. He doesn’t really know what it’s like to own something– nevermind something he loves– but he imagines he’d be as protective over it as Gareth is over his drums. He doesn’t hold it against him one bit.

“What does it do?”

Gareth squints. “I already told you. It makes music.”

“Music…?”

“Yeah.” His arms fold over his chest, a scornful eyebrow raise directed at the strange boy. “Are you for real right now?”

“Hey, c’mon man.” Eddie joins their circle, shooting Gareth a disapproving look. Not quite a glare, but not far off. “You gotta have more patience. He doesn’t know.”

Gareth glances away, as if genuinely ashamed. He isn’t a bad person; he doesn’t revel in being mean or unfair, he just has a shorter fuse than most and doesn’t always know how to put his good nature into practice. He looks at 001 before bowing his head in silent acknowledgement.

“Yeah. Each of the drums makes a different sound. You hit them with sticks and they make noise.”

If nothing else, hitting things with sticks sounds like a fun pastime. The more 001 thinks about it, the more he realises that his choice in hobby makes perfect sense — that somebody of Gareth’s temperament would be drawn to something that relieves him of his frustrations. It’s the first time that he’s seen aggression be poured into something other than another person. It earns the boy a strange sort of respect.

“A drum beat is the pulse of any good song,” Eddie proclaims, grinning wide as he slings an arm around Gareth’s shoulders. “Real important. Almost as important as teaching you what good music is.”

001 tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Good music?”

The notion makes little sense to him. He thought that art was subjective, and ultimately meaningless. That’s what Papa always used to say about his drawings.

So what if he said that? You’ve already come to the conclusion that he tells lies. That was probably one of them.

He watches as Eddie bends low, pulling the doors of the cabinet open to reveal rows upon rows of cassette tapes. They sit in snug, uniform lines, their titles displayed proudly on their spines. In the centre of the middle shelf, a stereo stands tall, a slot for tapes visible on the front.

“What do you think, Garebear? The Ramones?”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Black Sabbath?”

The boys spare each other a sideways glance before descending into a fit of snickers. The image of a boy as reserved and quiet as 001 being exposed to the scathing screams of Ozzy Osbourne is its own brand of hilarious. One day, they’ll have to try it, just to see how he reacts, but for now they take mercy on him.

Eventually, they settle on Pink Floyd.

“I’m gonna be honest, I like it harder,” Eddie says as he slots the tape into place, handing his friend the case. His eyes flit delicately along the title, as if trying to decipher another language, while Eddie fiddles with the volume dial on the stereo. As he’s grown older, he’s shifted further and further from classic rock, veering into heavy metal territory, but he doesn’t want to frighten 001. It’s a genre that he should be eased into — especially as somebody who’s never really listened to music before. “But this is okay too.”

001’s head snaps in the stereo’s direction when an unfamiliar voice and a smooth baseline emerge from the speakers. Like a deer in the headlights, he stares at the device as if he’s deathly afraid of it.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, clapping a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to sit with him on the sofa. 001 perches uncomfortably on its edge, as if scared to take up space, soaking in the new sensations like a sponge. “Just relax. That’s what music is. A catharsis.”

Gareth takes a seat on the stool behind his drum kit, head bobbing to the beat.

001 has never had much time to simply exist. Everything he’d done in the lab, he’d done for a greater purpose. Fun was always an afterthought, and it was made abundantly clear by both Papa and the orderlies that oversaw their activities during free time that that was nothing more than necessary play; an olive branch in the form of a choice between a chess board and a spinning top.

Eyes are drawn to the art on the cassette, eyes glazing over as he looks at the rainbow. He hates these damn things. All he can think about is that stupid room, with its stupid rules and its stupid toys. As if a colouring book and a smile could make up for the fact that he’d been forced to fight a sibling that was five years his junior just that afternoon.

001 won’t pretend to be a saint. He was mean to those kids, but he realises now that he behaved that way because Papa encouraged it. Everything was a test, and those who failed, even if their efforts were valiant, received ire. Disappointment so cool that it burned. 001 had done his best to make the scientist proud– had burned himself out several times, spent nights hunched over the toilet bowl in his room’s tiny bathroom nook after pushing himself to his physical limit, all for a modicum of affection. All he’d received was a list of mounting expectations, and an aching need to be loved.

He jumps slightly when Eddie rests a hand on his shoulder again.

“Hey. Be careful with that. You’re gonna break it.”

His gaze flits to the cassette case he’s holding. Its plastic is growing pale in the centre, right where his thumb is digging in. Any more pressure and it threatens to splinter completely.

“Sorry.”

Eddie’s expression is a little more grave than before, eyebrows furrowed.

“Where’d you go?”

001’s mouth twitches with slight confusion. “Nowhere.”

“I mean in your mind,” Eddie presses, the music a low whir in the background. “What were you thinking about?”

001 looks away. “The bad place.”

He detests how the outside world makes him feel. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to break out and find his family near instantly. He was supposed to be back home by now, neatly slotted into the place he belonged and living a normal, safe life. Instead, he spends his days confused and afraid, and feeling very much as if there isn’t room for him. Eddie, Gareth and Jeff all seem to be trying so hard to make space for him in their homes, but he can’t imagine it’s much fun to spend time with somebody who’s so incredibly stunted. Having to explain every little thing must get annoying, to the point where Gareth’s scorn is perhaps the most fair reaction he’s been met with.

I feel like a waste. I just want to be allowed to die.

It isn’t the first time he’s had such a terrible thought. In fact, the grave has occupied his brain ever since Papa introduced him to war. He hopes, for his own terribly selfish sake, that his theory about there being nothing after death is correct. The idea of being forced to endure a whole other lifetime is more torturous than any shock therapy or beating he’s shouldered thus far.

Eddie squeezes his shoulder gently, offering him a warm smile.

“Well, don’t think about that any more. You’re not going back there.”

Before 001 can reply, Gareth hitting his drums in time with the music earns his attention. There’s a broad smile on his face, wooden sticks accentuating the current track’s droning rhythm.

��Oh, big deal!” Eddie teases, picking up one of the comic books on the table and swatting 001’s knee with it. “Tell him he’s lame, One.”

What is ‘lame’?

Before they can linger on it too long, Eddie stands up, bounding over to the stereo and plucking the tape from it.

“Keep up with THIS!”

And just like that, a wailing guitar consumes the basement, volume cranked up LOUD! 001 jumps in his seat, back pressed tight against the couch as the noise smothers him, and immediately Gareth rises to the challenge. What was a simple four-by-four beat becomes quick and well-flourished, the boy smirking wolfishly as he races to keep up with the pounding rhythm.

001 isn’t told what the song is — and while he can’t say that he likes it, the way that it makes him feel is something he’s never experienced before. What Eddie said, about music providing catharsis… he’s feeling it now, coursing through him like a current. He feels very much about the heavy guitar the way that he does about charcoal: it’s comforting to have something that mirrors the mess in his head. Charcoal is bitty and smears oh-so-easily, and his fingers wind up looking like part of the art he’s made. Similarly, the guitar buries its way into his brain and does nothing to untangle his jumbled thoughts. Instead, it ignites them, technicolour electricity pulsing through the noise in a way that makes him feel understood. Represented. Less alone.

Eddie lets out an excited wail, mimicking playing a guitar at a ridiculously high speed, both boys consumed by a deep, frenetic appreciation for the art. 001 stares in wide-eyed wonder. He’s never seen a person succumb to a rhythm before; it’s oddly primal.

“C’mon, One! Join in!”

The boy blinks owlishly, clearly not understanding the assignment. “What… do I do?”

“You just feel it!”

001 attempts to focus through the ruckus, pinpoint how the track makes him feel. If he tries hard, he can sense something. It starts in his feet, manifesting itself in the form of an awkward side-to-side shuffle, and slowly works its way up from there.

“I feel… like moving.”

“Then it’s working!” Eddie’s moves, comparatively, are severely unhinged. His arms are flailing. His tongue is stuck out. His shoulder length hair is flying everywhere. And Gareth is playing with such ferocity that his poofy head of hair is coming out of place.

The singer’s vocals shift from quiet growls to noisy yells, and immediately 001 stops shuffling. After a moment of stunned silence, the boy bursts out laughing. It's an unsure sound– broken up into several pitched syllables, as if he's trying desperately not to let it out– but it's laughter nonetheless, and it's enough to have both boys stop what they're doing. 001 hunches over, hugging his stomach as a tidal wave of mirth washes over him. For just a moment, despite the strain in the action, he comes across as an average boy.

"What gives?" Gareth demands with a grin, breath coming out in shallow pants.

"Why is he doing that?" 001 asks with a breathless smile, little white teeth displayed in a rare moment of unguarded glee.

"He's feeling it!"

"Feeling… the drums?"

"Feeling it all, man." Eddie reaches out to turn the volume down a little. "Never seen screamo make someone laugh before though."

001 can't entirely explain why it had been funny to him. He just knows that the unexpected nature of it had startled, then tickled him. The most he's heard is a quiet piano trill and a measured whine of the violin.

"It surprised me," he admits, his face back to flat. "I didn't expect him to shout."

Papa never liked noise, and he especially didn't like chaos. He was the equivalent of a judge, if the judge in question was allowed to wield his mallet against the people that disrupted the order of the courtroom.

Blue eyes flit back to the stereo, then to Gareth's drum set.

"I like music. I think." He doesn’t understand it yet, but that's neither here nor there. "Can I… hit the drum?"

Eddie and Gareth share a look before Gareth hands over one of his sticks.

"Sure, man. Get it out."

001 doesn't know if he's ever going to 'get it out', but at least he's slowly adjusting. Assimilating. Learning. He strikes one of the drums gently, its weak echo playing on loop in his head.

Gareth smirks. "Harder than that."

001 glances at him, then looks back at the drum he'd chosen, beating it harder this time. The mess inside his head folds outwards, relief nestling into every wounded thought he's ever had. Catharsis.

Maybe hitting things with sticks should be his thing too.

#henry creel #peter ballard #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 001 #stranger things fix it

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uchihabbynic · 2 years ago

Text

The Morning

Characters: Shikamaru Nara x Fem!Reader

Mentions: Ino Yamanaka

a/n: I’ve been stuck with the most insane brainrot for Shikamaru for the past 72 hours - like my insides were gonna explode so this is a total random word vomit. Minimal plot, just vibes & Shikamaru smut 😈✨

Warnings: Smut; Unprotected Sex, Smoking, Brief Drug Use (Marijuana)

Word Count: 2.7k

Mood 🎧: Power of A Woman - Ella Mai

You lay awake in the early hours of the morning peeking through the curtains of his bedroom window, watching as the sun tried to break through the dark, rain filled clouds that had covered the sky since the night before. You were as still as a glass lake on a windless day, careful to not awaken a sleeping Shikamaru as you knew how much he valued his sleep.

You deeply inhaled the intoxicating, musky scent coming from the oversized gray t-shirt that Shika had let you borrow the night before. The wonderfully addicting smell filled your nostrils every time you shifted under the covers, sending icy shivers down your spine. While you and Shikmaru were seemingly content with being nothing more than close friends, recently - you’d noticed a newfound tension between you two.

(Cliché, I know)

The lingering touches, the intense eye contact that neither of you seem to wanna break, the faint blush that crawled across his cheeks - which was a bit uncharacteristic for him. And now - lying half naked next to the boy you’d been friends with since grade school just solidified the idea that you weren’t just imagining all these things.

Suddenly, you felt movement coming from the other side of the bed.

“Mmm.” Shikamaru grumbled as he turned over on his side - most of his face buried deep under the plush comforter. Messy strands of jet black hair laid sprawled across his pillow as he could never keep his ponytail intact while he slept.

“Mornin.” He managed. The deep, raspiness of his sleepy voice made your heart flutter. His almond eyes slowly opened and he peeked over the blanket, meeting your own (E/C) eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” You whispered, turning back on your side, face to face with the Nara.

“Fine. You?” Shikamaru asked followed by an exaggerated yawn before settling back down into the blanket next to you.

A small smile crept across your face. “I slept great. Thanks for helping me last night.”

“No need to thank me.” He mumbled, eyes fluttering - fighting to stay open.

“You were plastered, so there was no way I was letting you go home alone.” Despite the drowsiness that consumed Shikamaru after just having woken up, he managed a tiny smile.

“Shikamaru, the hero.” You let out a soft chuckle as you sat up in bed and carefully peeled the covers back, stepping onto the cold wooden floor beneath you.

“Coffee?” You asked as you shoved your feet into the thigh high socks you had previously thrown off the edge of the bed.

“Hm, that’d be nice.” Shikamaru replied, now propped up in bed on a mound of pillows, eyes gently closed once more - resting peacefully.

As you made your way across the bedroom and into the kitchen, Shikamaru couldn’t help but to force an eye open and peek at you as your hips swayed across the room. He quite loved the view of your perky nipples that protruded through the oversized heather gray tee he’d given you and plushy thighs that rubbed together with every step. This caused Shika to shift, adjusting himself under the blankets, ensuring that his morning wood stayed under control as much as possible.

The aroma of black coffee beans filled the small apartment as you brewed a cup for yourself and Shika, still allowing yourselves time to fully wake up.

Something had been on Shikamaru’s mind since he’d taken you back to his place from the bar that you and your friends had been spending the evening at. He’d overheard a drunken conversation you’d had with Ino and it had been replaying in his head since then. Being the analytical man that he was, Shika spent a good majority of the night playing it cool but trying to interpret every possible scenario of what he heard you say last night.

Did she really mean that? -No, she was just drunk.

Maybe she wasn’t talking about me. I must have heard it wrong.

You handed the piping hot mug to Shikamaru who was in the middle of re-adjusting his sleek, black ponytail. An uneasiness filled the pit of his stomach as he watched you climb back onto the bed, settling next to him. He figured there was no point in driving himself crazy over what he heard - he may as well put it all out there and hope for the best.

“Y/N. Can I ask you something?” Shikamaru’s jaw clenched, bracing himself for your response.

You peered over a Shika who was staring down at his mug, the steam flowing effortlessly out of the hot Cup of Joe he held. At that moment, he was determined to not make any eye contact and that in itself made you nervous.

“S-sure. What’s up?” you asked cautiously, taking a small sip from your own mug. The coffee warmed your belly in the best of ways, like receiving a hug from someone wearing a fuzzy sweater or wrapping yourself in a blanket fresh out the dryer.

Shika scratched the back of his head, more fidgety than normal. You held your breath for what was to come. Nara was always so put together. So sure of himself. Nerves very rarely got the best of him, so to see him in such an unsettled state - you had no idea what could possibly be on his mind.

“Well. I’m going to just come right out and say it.” He paused briefly before taking a deep breath.

“I heard you say something to Ino last night and I just… I know you were drunk but I thought I'd heard you say something about sleeping with me but not wanting to make our friendship weird...” He continued, cursing under his breath, instantly regretting having said anything - fearful that he may have ruined a nice, pure morning with his accusation.

Your heart rate immediately increased, thousands of questions prowled your mind as your eyes blew wide at the shocking realization that Shikamaru had indeed overheard your drunken rant to your best friend Ino about how much you’d fantasized recently about fucking Shikamaru but that you wouldnt dare ruin a perfectly good friendship. You suddenly sat in your own painful vulnerability as your cover was blown. You were exposed and there was no time to backpedal.

Shikamaru sat, now making eye contact with you as he patiently awaited your response but when he didn't immediately receive one, he panicked.

“You know what? Forget I said anything. The coffee’s really good.” he breathed out, awkwardly trying to avoid the subject.

“What? No. I’m sorry, I-” You were swimming in your own head trying to figure out what kind of response to give Shikamaru. He was the most intelligent man you knew, therefore; there was no need to lie as he’d figure you out eventually anyways.

“It’s true. I said that.” You boldly admitted to which Shikamaru’s head snapped up - his gorgeous chocolatey eyes as big as could be before regaining composure, forcing his expression to go back to a blank one.

Shikamaru raised his brow. “Did you now?” he replied coolly yet obviously intrigued.

Shika never wanted to show an ounce of vulnerability so playing it cool was his natural defense mechanism.

“-So what are you gonna do about it?” His eyes now traveling up and down your body, fixated on your shapely figure. It was no surprise that you looked 100x better in any of his clothes than he did.

You leaned forward, mere inches from Nara’s face. “You tell me.” you smirked.

No sooner than you could utter another word, Shikamaru cupped your face forcefully pulling you into him as your lips crashed into one another. You feverishly melted into the spontaneous kiss that Shika had planted on you. Considering he was a regular smoker, his lips were as soft as you’d always imagined them to be. Both of your tongues were fighting for dominance but being a woman who never backed down from a challenge - you didn’t let up even once, being sure to assert yourself.

The room was filled with breathy pants as you pushed Shikamaru back onto the bed - his back flat on the mattress, your lips still sewn to his as if it was all you knew in that moment. You climbed atop Shikamaru, straddling his waist. You immediately felt his thick, hard member brush against your inner thigh which evoked a muffled groan to leave his throat at the foreign contact.

You detached your lips from his just long enough to attach them to his jaw bone - sucking and nipping at all the most sensitive spots. You let out a soft moan as you felt his large hands smack both ass cheeks, gripping onto them forcefully. Shika was quite fond of the color green so it was no surprise that you had “unintentionally” slipped into olive green hipsters to sleep in the night before.

You continued to move down his neck, desperately leaving a trail of purple bruises as you went. The heat between your legs became an overwhelming sensation as you could feel yourself grow wetter by the second. You began skillfully rolling your hips over Shikamaru’s boxer briefs - his large cock curved to one side begging to be freed.

“Shit.” he grumbled lazily as he jerked underneath you at the delicious friction you were rewarding him with. You smiled on his scorching hot skin, proud of the subtle praise Shika was giving you as you greedily continued to plant kisses all across his neck causing him to squirm.

“I want it.” You breathed out, desperate for Shikamaru’s cock to fill every inch of you. Best friend or not, the man was gorgeous and this was one fantasy you weren’t going to let slip away.

“Then take it babygirl, it’s all yours.” he cooed, arms propped up behind his head allowing the perfect view of you as he watched you peel off the T-shirt that was now drenched in your sweat. Your tits fell out with ease evoking his constricted member to jump ever so slightly in the briefs that held it in.

Without hesitation, you hooked your fingers into the hem of his briefs, eagerly pulling them down past his thick, hairy thighs causing his cock to bounce up forcefully slapping his abdomen. You crawled down his body until you were face to face with his oozing, hard member, giving the tip a small kitten lick causing Shikamaru to jerk once more under you.

“Don’t tease me sweetheart.” Shikamaru spat, unable to sit still as the coolness of the AC and the warm heat of your breath lingered over his red, swollen cock.

As you continued your ministrations, wetting the tip - you whimpered back in pleasure hearing the Jonin grunt and mutter curses as he felt your plump lips attach themselves to the upper half of his length. This was a sensation that Shikamaru would never grow tired of.

You finally did as you were told and ceased the excessive teasing and brushed two fingers against Shikamaru’s lower lip, coaxing him to open his mouth allowing him to suck your digits before you inserted them into your needy cunt. As eager as you were, Shikamaru was way bigger than you expected him to be and you wanted to be sure that you could show up and show out, riding his cock with ease.

As you shimmied your panties down your legs, revealing your recently waxed pussy - Shikamaru sharply inhaled as he’d never seen you this way before. You spread your legs wide on either side of his thighs and hovered over the tip of his cock.

Shikamaru immediately gripped onto your hips, his nails digging into your feverish skin, guiding you down- as there was a slight curve to the massive member he carried between his legs.

“Atta girl. Just like that.” Shikamaru groaned as you slowly sank your sopping wet cunt down onto his cock.

Shikamaru’s cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of pink feeling your gummy walls constrict around him the further you sank down. A loud moan tumbled from your lips as the Nara filled you to perfection.

“Fuck, Shika. It’s so big…” you whined, nose scrunched together as you began gyrating your hips in a steady motion riding his dick.

“Goddammit.” Shikamaru panted out, beads of sweat forming near his hairline.

While not usually very vocal in the bedroom, he was quickly unraveling underneath you - feeling your dripping heat strangle his cock. You suddenly increased the pace and began bouncing with much more fervor and intent while Shika had one hand planted on your ass and the other gripping your breast as you rode him into the mattress.

There was something so damn powerful about causing a man who was always so composed to completely lose control. You thrived off of it. Lived for it, even.

Shikamaru began drilling into you, thrusting his hips upwards to meet yours. The sound of skin slapping filled the bedroom - your legs were ready to give out underneath you as a familiar coil hit the pit of your stomach. Your legs began to shake. Your moans and whimpers bounced off the walls as you wholeheartedly lost yourself while Shika’s cock kissed your cervix. Your vision went blurred as you felt your orgasm violently crash over you, still dazed from Shikamaru fucking into you with everything he had.

For someone who was inherently lazy, he fucked like a champ and you were certainly not regretting the decision to give yourself to him. Finally, you tumbled over onto Shika's chest, completely out of breath while his cock still drilled into you as he chased his own high. Mere minutes later, he was shuddering and cursing as he came completely undone, filling you with his thick, hot cum.

As the two of you rode out your highs together, Shika leaned down and kissed the top of your head, lazily drawing circles on the small of your back as you laid, still straddling him.

“Not sure how we got here but… I actually love it.” You chuckled, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Shh. Don’t question it.” Shikamaru muttered, still caressing your lower back.

>>>

It was now mid morning and you and Shikamaru had laid in blissful silence together after the dirty deed you’d done. Neither of you asked any questions or dared to discuss it. You figured there’d be a time and place to unpack whatever the hell just happened between you two, but for now - you were just content with existing in the moment. Suddenly, a fierce growl erupted from your stomach causing the both of you to burst out into laughter.

“What the hell was that?” Shikamaru frowned, joking at the sound that had left your body.

“You fed me everything this morning but actual food, Nara. What do you think?” You smirked. You loved the way you could exchange smart ass remarks with Shikamaru and he’d never get offended because you both just got each other.

“You know I can’t think about food until I smoke first.” he replied, nonchalantly.

You sighed, jumping off the bed grabbing the pre-rolled joint you’d made sure to have ready for the both of you in the morning.

“Fine, let’s smoke. But then, you owe me breakfast.” You demanded as you threw on a fresh tee from Shikamaru’s drawer and a pair of his joggers.

“My cock wasn’t enough, huh?” He joked, slapping your ass as he jumped off the bed behind you, pulling some shorts onto his waist.

“Ha, ha.” You sarcastically replied as you made your way onto the balcony for your morning medicine.

You pulled up a chair next to where Shikamaru always sat for his cigarette breaks. Your lips wrapped around the joint with ease as you cupped your hand, bringing the pink lighter you carried to your mouth lighting the opposite end of the paper before taking a nice long drag.

You blew out, handing the joint to Shikamaru as you soaked up the rays of the mid-morning sun.

“So what do we tell our friends?” you asked, leaning back in the wicker chair.

Shikamaru shrugged, absolutely unbothered. “Nothing. Let’s keep this morning to ourselves. Our little secret.” He said, cracking a smile as he handed the joint back to you after taking a few small hits.

“Deal.”

#shikamaru x reader #shikamaru smut #shikamaru x y/n #naruto smut #brainrot

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annesthaeticc · 2 years ago

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Hold On, We're Going Home | Benedict Cumberbatch x Fem!Reader

| a song fic; Hold On, We're Going Home by Drake and Majid Jordan (listen to the song here)

| RATED 18+. contains fluff, and smut (porn with plot, p in v sex, dirty talking, creampie)

| 4,800 words

| After an exhausting night of attending an awards ceremony, Benedict is nothing but happy to take you home and spend the rest of the night with you and only you.

| NOTE : hey! how're you doing? hope ur having a great day/night! this has to be the longest one shot fic i've written so far, i hope you enjoy the long-ish read! and it has been a while since i wrote a song fic, feels so good to go back to my roots! lemme know ur thoughts about this one! comments, hearts, REBLOGS make my day! <3

The twinkling lights of the city looked so faraway, yet so bright. Everytime he blinked his eyes, it became blurred, like tiny multi-colored bubbles flashing. He tapped his finger absentmindedly against the rim of his whiskey glass, thinking if he should take another sip. His eyes started to focus on his reflection on the glass window, shifting to his dapper vision. He watched himself on the glass, thinking how he looked good. Must be the effect of the alcohol, he thought. He then sipped the last of the contents of his glass, then settled it on the marble countertop nearby.

The pacing started. His leather shoes started to create a path to and fro, back and forth on the carpeted floor. He balled his fist, then opened it, like he was squeezing an imaginary stress ball. His fingers itched to touch his hair, wanting to run his fingers on it nervously. But he figured Don wouldn’t be too pleased if he saw him already disheveled. He knew his stylist put a lot of effort on getting his curls together, and he’d rather not mess it up. He started to take deep breaths in time of his pacing. He prayed the air conditioning was cold enough to dry the sweat that was starting to form on his eyebrow.

Finally, he internally sighed as he heard the door click open. Then you stepped into the room and instantly, his nervousness faded. He was then filled with awe with you.

You looked so beautiful, and he was so damn glad he was marrying you.

You were like a dark sky adorned with shining little stars, you glowed even more when you saw your man looking so dapper and sexy in his white suit. You approached him, tethering in your heels. Hands sought out to touch him and he instantly offered his hands to you, You held on to his arms, then looked up at him.

“Wow,” he said, barely a whisper. His voice might’ve caught in his throat, so he cleared it and smoothed his hands on yours, just to make sure he’s still alive and you were still real.

“What do you think?” you asked before starting to tie his bowtie.

“I think we should stay in tonight.” he said, drawing you closer to him.

“Hmm, tempting. But no can do, mister. Car is already waiting downstairs.”

“I really don’t care if I win it or not, I want to stay here,” he pouted.

“Me too, my love. But sadly, we need to. Plus we can’t disappoint Wanda and Tim now, can’t we?” you heard him sigh. He ducked his head and leant his head on your shoulder. Despite you wearing four inch heels, he still needs to bow down a bit so that your heights could meet.

“What if I don’t win?” he asked, the words trailing down your bare skin.

“It’s okay. It’s all fine. What matters most is that you gave your best and you’re my winner.”

“Would you still marry me even if I don’t take the little guy home?”

“Of course I would. Besides, you’ve got a little guy in me, that’s enough for now, is it?” you smiled and rubbed his back in an effort to comfort him and yourself.

Benedict stood up straighter and beamed at your wording. Just the slightest implication, the littlest whisper of the word that you’re finally expecting makes him smile like a loon. Instinctively, he touched the teeny tiny bump that was starting to rise on your skin, that was temporarily hidden by your black dress.

“My god, I really want to kiss you right now,” he sighed defeatedly, yet he still moved closer to you.

“Nope. Not allowed, it’s matte.” you chuckled.

Instead, he sought out the pulse point on your neck, and there he planted a kiss. Then, he brought up your intertwined hands and kissed the finger where your engagement ring is nestled.

“I love you, win or lose, I’m all for you.” you said in all earnest.

“I love you too.”

“Now let’s get this done so we can go home early.” he smiled then led you out of the hotel suite.

Hand in hand, you walked through the carpeted corridor with his assistant and his stylist in tow. His security called for an elevator and you all followed suit. His assistant, Emily buzzed through the usual red carpet routine and the procedures and program of the awards ceremony. You intently listened while remaining silent, you nodded and hummed when she needed affirmation.

Ben, however, was jittery. His hands moved too much and you could just feel the tension he’s feeling. You rubbed his back affectionately, trying to help him calm down.

“Love, what if you take a drink? Water? Whiskey perhaps?” you suggested.

“I really want some more whiskey right now,” he chuckled and took your hand.

“Okay, we’ll have Dominic get you a flask, does that sound good?”

“Yeah.” he exhaled.

You tapped Dominic and asked him to get your love a flask of whiskey in the hotel bar once the elevator lands on the ground floor. He nodded and he did so once the elevator stopped. As you all waited for Dominic by the lobby, Benedict couldn’t help but feel a little bit calm. You always stood close to him, almost never leaving his space. He figured it might be because his nerves needed calming down, but then he realized, maybe you were nervous too. It’s for him, as much as it is for you.

Benedict was all aware that you aren’t used to this. This isn't your line of work and it's completely normal to be nervous. You were more used to the bright lights of hospital rooms, rather than the bright and flashing lights of media attention. He looked at you, and caught you in a moment of anxiety. He knows you as much as you know him. And right now, you need him as much as he needs you.

"You okay?" he whispered in your ear.

"I am, though I think I need a quick trip to the bathroom before we go," you sighed. Pregnancy was all to blame.

"I'll come with you." he flashed you a smile and excused you two.

"Do you have your lipstick with you?" he asked as you two neared the ladies' room.

"Ben… " you warned him.

"Just asking. Besides, isn't that what your pocket is for?" he chuckled. You playfully swatted his arm then left him for the stalls.

You quickly did your business and left the restroom. You found him leaning against the marble wall, looking so casual. You grabbed your phone from your pocket and snapped a quick picture of him. He was looking away from the camera, and he looked so beautiful.

"You look really handsome here." you gushed as you showed him the picture.

"Damn right I do, I even look handsome while waiting for my pregnant fiance outside the ladies room." he laughed and held your hand.

The two of you quickly made it back to his team and Emily confirmed that it was time to go. Ben helped you drape your shawl on your bare shoulders, making sure you weren't cold. He made you walk in front of him and behind Dominic so that you would be shielded away from grabby fans or paparazzis.

Soon, you were all driving off to the venue. The traffic slowed and became congested, you figured you were already in the parade of cars by the carpet.

The car ride wasn't so quiet. You started to crack a joke to ease off the tension. Benedict fought you for being the funniest. You just had to give it to him. He makes you so damn happy even in the most unusual of events. You had to make sure your mascara was waterproof as he had you in tears, laughing like a little kid at his latest joke.

Emily, Don, and Dominic were also laughing, and by the time the car stopped by the carpet, you were all smiling. Dominic discreetly passed him his flask and he took a quick swig before stepping out of the car.

As he closed the car door behind him, the screams started to get loud and pierce his ears. He made a quick move to open your door and he helped you out of the car. You thanked him and held onto his hand, while your other hand gathered your dress.

Among the loud screaming of his name, was yours. Fans alternatively chanted your names as the two of you smiled and waved. The walk on the carpet was so slow, and Ben was worried you might get distressed or tired, given your condition.

"You alright my love?" he asked you as photographers started to direct your focuses.

"Yeah," you breathed, if a little shaky. He noticed this and excused you and himself from the press to meet with Emily.

"Need to stay hydrated," you chuckled as Em gave you a drink. Ben rubbed your back soothingly and you instantly relaxed.

He guided you back to the carpet and drew you close to his side as you two posed for photos.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" he said under his breath, only you two could hear.

"Not in so many words, if I recall correctly, you only said 'wow'," you joked.

"Shame on me, not properly complimenting my beautiful fiance," he chuckled and you laughed.

"Yeah, shame on you, Mr. C." you giggled as the two of you walked away from the carpet. It was now time for interviews.

He was beckoned over by E!'s host and he stepped on the platform. Briefly answering their questions.

"Now we see you've got a beautiful lady beside you," the host said and you heard it.

"That's my fiance, Y/N." he proudly smiled and gestured at you. You gave the camera a wave and a smile.

"Rumors are going around that you two are expecting, any comments on that?"

"It's against my will to share anything private but I'm really happy and proud to say that yes we are," he laughed. They offered their congratulations to him and to you.

"That must be a dream come true for you!" they said.

"It is, but it is infinitely better with the fact that I'm doing this with her, that I'm with her," he said. You heard him pour his heart out in a public interview. Knowing him, he wouldn't want to give up any private information about you as a couple, as an impending family, but his words made you blossom. Your cheeks burned red as he gave you a quick glance.

"Will wedding bells soon be ringing?"

"Hopefully yes. But I don't know, you guys will just have to find out how soon." he said with a smile. With that, the interview concluded. He marched down and met with you. He planted a kiss on your temple, then linked your hands together.

"I didn't spill too many beans, didn't I?" he asked.

"It was great, Ben. You're allowed to say something about me, or something about us. Just watch it though, or you might share something to them that they're not supposed to know,"

"Like what?" he smirked.

"I don't know, maybe you'll say that I'm actually a great cook that's why you're marrying me,"

"Is that a bad thing?" he chuckled.

"Could be, especially if MasterChef decides to hire me as a judge," you said. A laugh vibrated through him and you couldn't help but join along.

Wanda and Tim came into your view, and you rushed to give them each a hug.

"My darling girl, look at you!" Wanda grinned at you and you blushed.

Benedict moved in to give them a hug and they gave him their warmest congratulations on the awards nomination and the news of pregnancy.

"How far?" Tim asked you.

"Two months."

"Why didn't you call me?" Wanda glared at Ben.

"We just found out the other day mum, I'm sorry,"

"You should be!" she huffed and you stifled a grin.

Emily then turned up from the side and ushered you inside the slowly growing crowded auditorium. Sadly, you had to part with Wanda and Tim as you two were seated upfront. You and Ben promised to catch them at the end of the show.

The auditorium was starting to become full of celebrities, all looking glam and dashing. The man beside you however, was the only one you had eyes for. You mingled with others but the two of you always, always gravitated to each other. A distance would be kept but only for a moment.

Then Keira arrived. She was glowing, her baby bump looking glorious.

"Congratulations!" she gasped.

"Thank you so much. And wow, you look really amazing!" you said. The stream of pleasantries never seems to end with Keira. She's such an amazing friend. Fortunately, you two are seated next to each other.

The ceremony finally started and the pomp and pageantry commenced. You had to take a deep breath in and exhale through your nose just to convince yourself that you could go through 3+ hours of sitting and clapping.

"Can I get you a drink?" your fiance asked you. You laughed with your pursed lips. He looked at you with brows furrowed.

"What's so funny?"

"Don't go around asking people that question, they might think you're a waiter," you pointed at his white suit and black bowtie.

"Shut up you, now come on, iced tea?" he offered. Your laughs didn't stop until he gave you a glass.

"Just wait till we get home, I don't think you'll be making jokes about my suit then,"

"Lucky me, I guess." you winked at him and he kissed your cheeks as the lights dimmed.

Thank god for commercials. Almost every time there's a commercial, you excuse yourself for a trip to the bathroom. Benedict was all too happy to go with you, til you finally figured out why.

"I saw that," you smirked at him as he sneakily put out his half cigarette.

"I know I promised there would be no more—"

"But I know you're nervous and anxious to get home. So it's all fine," you reassured him.

"Now come on, rockstar. You're about to present a category." this time you were the one to give him a kiss.

"Wait, hold on," he slipped his fingers in his breast pocket and retrieved his flask. He took a swift swig then patted it back to his suit pocket.

He helped you to your seat just in time for another category announcement. After that, he left and the next you saw him, he was onstage, presenting an award.

Ben had hidden the nerves well in his smooth velvet voice. His eyes scanned the whole room, but he only found yours. He only had his eyes for you. He winked at you before announcing the winner.

"How'd I do?" he asked as he sat down next to you. You enveloped his hand in yours and beamed at him.

"Amazing."

Few more minutes passed, and the best actor nominations were about to be announced. You could feel him tense up and you felt it too.

"I don't think I can do this," he sighed heavily.

"Yes you can, love. I'm right here." you reassuringly said. His right hand took your left, where your engagement ring shines. You squeezed his hand and smiled.

"I love you. And I'm so proud of you," you said. You watched his eyes become teary and it was enough for you at that moment.

Benedict Cumberbatch. The Imitation Game. The presenter said.

His name spoken so loud, so clear, in such a large place made him shyly smile. And the people were cheering, clapping. But his focus shifted to you; you were clapping and your smile was genuine. He now knows that he is the luckiest man in the world. He felt so big, so elated. Because you, just you, being proud and happy for him and with him at that certain moment, was special enough.

He silently wished he could bottle the moment up. Especially the look on you: eyes wide in pride, smile so warm, and your hand that nestles your promise to him, was applauding him.

You took his hand in anticipation and ran your thumb in circles. The winner was announced and you politely clapped. Though a smile was painted on his pretty face, you could feel his disappointment.

"No matter, you're still my winner. We could have a drink or two or more later, then have drunken sex, how does that sound?" you offered. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and rubbed your back affectionately.

"Darling we can't have drunken sex, you're not allowed to drink,"

"But—"

"Actually I think I need to sober up. We're going to make love all night long and I'm going to put another baby in you, how does that sound?" he whispered in your ear and the fine hairs on your back stood up.

"Win-win situation. I like how you think, Cumberbatch." you said, your voice low.

Soon enough, you found yourselves clapping along the crowd, cheering and congratulating the night’s winners. A new tension has fallen over the two of you, it was like a veil, a bubble that separated you from the rest of the majority. You could feel his hands all over you, ghosting on your skin, and you seem to do the very same. You want him so close to you, with nothing in between and around.

He felt like dancing. He felt his body was alight with new energy. One that doesn’t equate to having an award, or any kind of a bloody award. He was going home with you, and that’s all he could ever want and ever need.

“I know you’re tired but would you like to attend the afterparty?” he asked as you stood amongst the crowd that was heading to Vanity Fair’s afterparty.

“Would love to,” you happily sighed.

“You sure? I know those heels are killing you,”

“Come on Cumberbatch, before I change my mind.” you giggled and led him through the throng of people.

Flashing colored lights welcomed you as you stepped into the room. People were piled by the bar, ordering drinks and chatting. The DJ had cranked up some fine tunes and there were also people on the dancefloor. Not giving a damn if their designer dresses are stepped on.

He did what he had promised to you, avoiding alcohol and only drank water to recover himself from the amount of whiskey he had drunk throughout the ceremony. Hand in hand, he waltzed through the dancefloor, and a giggle escaped your lips when he had dipped you. After a few moves, you sat down and he lifted your heeled feet to his lap, trying to ease the pain.

But then a beat started to thump through the room. A beat you know so well. Quickly, onto your feet, you pulled your bewildered fiance and let him back to the dance floor. You pulled him close and started to lip sync the lyrics. As soon as he recognized the melody, he smiled and held your waist close to him.

“I want your hot loving emotion, endlessly.” you whispered so close to his lips.

“‘Cause you’re a good girl, and you know it.” his voice rumbled and you could feel it. The vibration of the bass, and his dark smooth voice.

Drake has nothing on him. You smirked to yourself.

“Just hold on, we’re going home,” you sang.

“Just hold on, we’re going home.” he sang the last lyric and you finally pulled him down, meeting his lips for a kiss.

“Take me home.” you whispered and held on to him.

Ben watched the building fly past his window. The car was moving at a speed, the driver was all too happy to step on the pedal. Ben leant back on the leather seat and exhaled, he closed his eyes and your perfume filled his nose. You were wearing his suit jacket and nestled into him. You cuddled up to him immediately the second the car door locked shut. The drive would’ve been short if Ben directed the driver to drop you off at the hotel, but no, he chose to head home.

Win or lose, I’m all for you. I’m so proud of you.

Your voice in his head replayed the words over and over. A smile crept on his lips. He really is the luckiest man. He couldn’t imagine himself going through it all with another woman, or worse, alone. He would’ve been a mess. He would’ve gone home drunk, woken up sick of alcohol poisoning and self-pity. But now, he has you, and he’d rather have you forever than anything. You were worth more than any silver or gold, nor any long standing ovation or recognition.

“I love you.” he whispered into your hair, you heard it and snuggled closer to him.

The drive didn’t take much longer. The car soon pulled up in the driveway of his property. He almost carried you into the house, as you leant heavily into him.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he exhaled, then gave into carrying you upstairs. Once he crossed your shared room, he gently laid you down on the bed. He moved down and peeled down the straps of your Blahniks, you hummed in relief and closed your eyes. You felt him leave the bed and move around the room. You blinked them open only to find him on the other side of the room unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” you gasped and sat up.

“Getting ready for bed?”

“What? Didn’t you say we’re going to make love all night?”

“But love, you’re tired,” he sighed and scooted to the edge of the bed, his shirt hanging open.

“I’m not!”

“But you were already asleep, I had to carry you upstairs,”

“I was just faking it, so you would carry me,” you said with a wicked smile on your lips.

“Why you—” you squealed as he pulled you down to the edge of the by your legs. He wrapped your legs around his waist and that made you gasp. You felt him getting hard against the fabric of his trousers. He leaned down and captured your lips into a kiss.

Hands started to roam and touch, igniting sparks of arousal and need. His hands, his skillful touch started its path downwards. He cupped your core through the fabric of your dress, and you hissed in sudden contact.

“As much as I love this dress on you, I want it off of you.” he grumbled. You directed him where the zipper was and his fingers started to fumble.

“What the—” he groaned in frustration. You giggled and he looked at you with danger in his eyes.

“You know what, I’ll just buy you a new one,” he said and you heard the fabric tear open. Your gasp in surprise was soon wiped away by his fierce kiss. You rid yourself of the remaining fabric, then laid back down just wearing your lace thong.

He was starting to remove his suit but you stopped him. “It’s going to stay on,” you said and dipped your hand into his trousers. His pretty lips curved into a beautiful ‘o’ and he leaned back his head slightly.

What a sight to behold.

His lips came down on you again, this time with the intention of tasting your skin. He left wet open kisses all over your neck and your chest, paying special attention to the spot where he felt your racing heartbeat. You moaned and writhed underneath him, your nails lightly scratching his back.

His fingers followed his lips. Your hips bucked as he swiftly pulled down your thong, dipped down his head and gave your core a long lick. Looking into your eyes, he tasted and lavished on the taste of your wetness. He then slipped a finger, then started to massage that spot that made you wild. You tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling him to where you wanted him to be. He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Ben, fuck,” you moaned as he hit that spot over and over.

“Come on baby. I want you to cum on my tongue.”

So close. So deliciously close. One last flick of masterful tongue, he had you coming. A gush of wetness flooded through you, he made you squirt.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled.

He backed away and slipped out his finger in fear of making you oversensitive. When you’ve calmed down a bit, he lightly kissed your wet pussy, and tapped it with his hand. You drew in a sharp breath as you felt your legs shake.

Ben saw this and chuckled darkly, he gathered your legs and ran his hands on your bare, smooth skin. Soothing you, helping you come down. He wrapped your legs around his waist once more, and this time you freed him from the confines of tight trousers. You circled his shaft and he involuntarily bucked into your warm hand.

“I know I promised you that we’d be making love but I want you right now, hard and fast,” he panted against your lips.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

With eyes full of love, he gazed into you as he carefully entered you. You sighed and sought out his arm, holding on tightly. As you began to get used to his size, he started to move in you, deeply. He pulled out, only his head staying in you, then slammed back in, your hips flushed. You screamed in surprise and he had mistaken it for pain.

"You okay?" he asked, his breath shallow.

"Again, please," you pleaded. He smirked and did it again. Once buried deep inside you, he moved his head down to kiss you.

"You're so deep inside me," you sighed into his lips.

"Am I?" while still inside you, he rolled his hips into a circle and you arched your back in pleasure.

"Do you like that, darling? Me buried so deep inside you,"

"Yeah, ah—" you cried out when he did it again.

Ben started to move, he thrusted in and out of you, making sure his cock kisses that spot inside you. He loved to see you writhing and squirming under his pace, eyes rolling back and lips agape in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good." he exhaled as he felt you tighten around him, signalling another orgasm from you.

"Ben, I'm gonna cum," you screamed, digging your nails into his arm.

"That's it baby, let me hear you scream as you cum on my cock," he whispered into your ear, his voice harsh.

A cry broke out from your lungs as the violent waves of pleasure rushed throughout your body. He soon followed, your orgasm causing his orgasm to rip through him. You pulled him down to you, wanting to feel him and his weight above you.

He began to move away but you protested. "Love, I just need to get rid of these clothes." he kissed you.

Ben made quick work of getting rid of his clothes and preparing a wet towel for you. You were on the edge of falling asleep when he joined you in bed. He wiped your skin with the towel, taking extra care on your sensitive spot between your legs.

"I think you made me pregnant again," you hummed.

"I should hope so," he chuckled and settled beside you after turning off the lights.

"Be careful what you wish for. I think we can only handle one right now."

"Thank you," he said after a beat of silence.

"For what?"

"For being here. With me. Beside me."

"It's hard to do these things alone," you quoted the lyric from the song you two were dancing to earlier.

"If it's your duty to love me and protect me, then my duty to you is just the same. I love you and I promise to always be here for you. We'll always go through it together." you said and planted a kiss on his chest, at the very top of his heartbeat.

He leaned down and gave you one last kiss for the night, he whispered "I love you." into your lips before finally letting himself fall into sleep.

Benedict slept easily that night as he was well aware of the fact that he was lucky to find his match (you), and did his greatest achievement (get down on one knee and promise to marry you, and start a family with you). He had all his heart's desires and it couldn't have any more worth than a little golden statue.

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(listen to the song here ↓)

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