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anandabrat · 2 years ago

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it rained when it should have snowed

I had an idea last night that demanded to be written, and posted today, because Yule. So - happy Yuletide all, whatever it brings to you. The gifts you all have given me have changed my life.

The knock on her door, when it comes, is erratic, is almost so faint she mistakes it for the wind.

It’s growing dark by the time she makes it up the footpath to the cottage, and the snow is falling steadily. She deposits the load of firewood just inside the heavy wooden door, then shakes her coat out on the covered porch. Inside, she feels the damp through her socks and sighs - her boots have another hole, certainly won’t make it through the winter without repair. She’ll have to go into town, but that unpleasant thought can wait for now. For now, she’s home, and the fire hasn’t gone out yet, the pot of stew hanging on the hook hasn’t bubbled over yet, and it’s Yule. Her house smells properly of evergreens and herbs, and holly overflows from her mantle.

She sniffs the air - her stew needs something. She reaches up among the bundles hanging upside down from the rafters, pulls down a fading green sprig of thyme, and crosses the floor to chuck in the pot.

One bowl left drying on the kitchen counter. One spoon beside it. The nameless cat who sometimes curls up at Helena’s feet at night catches her own supper outside. She feeds only herself these days, and that’s for the best, really.

She’s not sure why, sometimes, she still bothers with all the trappings of this time of year. If it’s worth the fuss, for only one person. If the off chance that magic is real and moving through the world is enough of a reason to drag half the forest into her house. Likely, the whole thing is merely another whimsical notion of humanity. But she supposes it doesn’t hurt to give the forces outside her door a little respect, just in case.

She eyes the hole in the toe of her boot with distaste, sitting in front of her fire, sipping broth from her bowl, thinking of the journey to town, the long walk and the longer looks that await her at the bottom of the valley. But perhaps it’s been too long, anyway, since she saw another person. Since the beings she spoke to had no fur or feathers. Or perhaps not. Fur and feathers might bite, might claw, might have fleas - but at least they knew when to leave well enough alone.

The knock on her door, when it comes, is erratic, is almost so faint she mistakes it for the wind. But no - there it is again. Three raps, pause, then again. The wind is rarely so tidy.

The last time anyone ventured up to her, the leaves had been golden and just beginning to fall from the trees. The young woman - almost a girl - had been huddled inside herself, in a shawl, though it had been a fine enough day. And she’d whispered, haltingly, that she’d tried everywhere else, and nobody knew how to rid her of her curse… and Helena had stopped her there. Not a curse, she’d snorted, no such thing, come in, foolish child. She’d sent her home a half hour later with several small packets sealed up in waxed fabric, and that girl had never come back, so either Helena’s herbs had worked, or they hadn’t. But that is not Helena’s business. She doesn’t know quite, anymore, what her business is. But it isn’t to ask after folk who don’t care to know anything about her save what gossip filters through town.

That has been the way of it for years now - and Helena likes it that way, she reminds herself - that only the brave or the foolhardy, or occasionally the truly needy, make the long climb to her cottage. They don’t bother her for nonsense like love potions or removing warts. The idiots might not understand who she is, but at least they seem to understand who she is not.

She is not someone to be bothered over trifles.

The knock sounds again and startles Helena out of her thoughts. No trifles, and especially not on a wet, snowy night like this one. Whatever could bring someone out here on Yuletide - they are either very ill, or they mean her ill.

When she opens her door, it’s with her ax in hand.

But it’s the first, not the second. Helena’s heart sinks as she sets her ax down against the wall, so carelessly it nearly clatters to the floor. The wild-eyed woman bracing her hand against the doorframe is pale, visibly shaking, not wearing nearly enough clothing for the cold night, and clutching her belly like -

Oh. Helena’s own belly twists. “What are you doing here?” she snarls, not meaning for the words to come out as harsh as they do, but not caring overmuch either.

The woman looks up again, pale as milk, and her eyes are bright and sharp even through the pain. “They said you could help. They said -” and she slams her eyes shut and grimaces and pants, and Helena automatically counts the beats even as she hates herself for doing it. “They said,” the other woman continues, when she has regained her power of speech, “that you’re the only one who can help.”

Helena regards her, stony-faced. “I haven’t done that in years. Besides,” she says, her tone losing its scant edge of compassion, “didn’t they tell you who I am? That I’m -”

“They did - well, they tried to, but look, I don’t care who you are. The midwife in town, she said - she laughed at me. She asked me where my husband was, and then she sent me away and told me she didn’t care what became of me or my… never mind. It doesn’t matter what she said. The constable, I found him, or he found me really, I wasn’t sure where to go and he told me, he said maybe you could… he gave me directions. He was kind.”

Helena snorts. “Constable Lattimer's alright. The midwife in town, on the other hand… well, she’s also the daughter of the pastor. She sees her help as only for who she deems deserving. But that still doesn’t mean I -” she cuts herself off, seeing the other woman’s face change again, and Helena counts it out again and wishes she could stop herself.

“Please,” the other woman continues, breathless, frightened - terrified. “Please. Something isn’t right. Something is - I’ve been at births before, I’ve helped, I helped my sister and two of my cousins and this isn’t… I thought I could do it myself,” she whispers, and by the way she casts her eyes away Helena can see what this admission costs her to make, to admit this level of desperation, that she would even try to do this alone. “I thought I could… since she said no, since everyone said no, but I can’t. Please. I’ll… as soon as the baby's here. We’ll be gone. I just -”

She’s not wrong. Helena can see instantly that she’s fading, that she truly has no other option than to be here. The scraps of Helena’s humanity pull at her, and she hears her mentor’s voice in her mind reminding her that this knowledge she possesses comes with a duty. Yes, even if few dare to ask her for such gifts anymore. Yes, even if they call her names and mistake her intelligence for arrogance, her skill for hubris. Though this woman has done none of those things.

This woman, whose desperate, beautiful voice is already halfway to breaking Helena’s will, is looking at her with tears in her eyes and exhaustion written all over her face. “Please,” she says, one more time, just that and nothing more.

Helena clutches her own door so hard she can feel the oak digging into her nails, and she says through gritted teeth, “Fine. Alright. Come in,” opening the door the rest of the way, allowing the other woman to pass through her threshold.

Inside, by the fire’s light, she can see that everything this woman is wearing is as wet as if it’s just come from washing, that she’s soaked down to her skin. “What’s your name?” Helena asks her, already turning to the business at hand, divesting the other woman of her sodden coat.

“M-Myka,” she replies, teeth chattering harder now that she’s beginning to warm up. “Th-thank you. I don’t -”

“Thank me later,” Helena says shortly. “I’m Helena. Sit down. We’ve got to get all of this off of you, and I can’t take your socks and shoes off if you’re standing. How long have you been in labor?”

Myka sinks down as carefully as she can on Helena’s willow wood chair, which creaks ominously, but holds. “Since - midnight? Yesterday. I can’t be sure of the exact time.” The last word comes out as a hiss as another contraction hits her and Helena sits back with Myka’s dripping socks in her hands, watching with a keen eye.

“And your waters?” she asks, when Myka’s breathing has slowed again.

“This morning.” Helena winces slightly. Myka sees it. “That’s bad, right? I thought it was probably bad when it happened and then…”

But Helena isn’t listening anymore. “Shh,” she says absently. “Lift up, please, we’ve got to get all of this off of you.” Myka’s eyes widen briefly and Helena chuckles. “This is no moment for modesty,” she chides gently. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You're wet to your skin, you’ll be warmer with it off. And the baby can't come with it on, anyway. Come on, off with it.”

Still Myka hesitates, her eyes searching Helena’s face for something Helena can’t name.

Helena sighs. “You’re safe here. Now that you’re here, and you’re under my care, no harm will befall you as long as I am able to prevent it. This includes protection from the outside of this home. Not that I think anyone from around here would dare try to enter without permission. If you listened to any of the stories people tell about me in town…” Helena trails off, not one to repeat the highly exaggerated tales told by the locals.

Myka smiles briefly. “I did listen. A little. But there’s a witch where I come from too, you know. There’s listening to the town, and then there’s listening to the ones the town leaves out.” She lifts off the chair enough for Helena to pull down her underthings. Goosebumps rise on her naked skin, then gradually begin to subside in the glow of Helena’s hearth.

Helena lifts her hands to Myka’s swollen belly, feeling carefully. She cocks her head and frowns. “What?” Myka’s voice sounds terrified and Helena glances up to a face gone nearly bloodless. “What’s wrong? Is… is the baby…”

“No. Remarkably, the baby seems to be fine,” Helena replies crisply, turning her attention back to feeling the contours and protrusions on the other woman’s belly. She feels Myka sag a little with relief, then suck in a breath as another contraction takes her. Helena waits, leaves her hands where they are, just to confirm, then nods. “Unfortunately for you,” she continues, when Myka has recovered herself, “you’ve got a stargazer on your hands. Or not in your hands, not just yet," she adds, with the smallest of smiles.

“A what?” Myka looks almost sick as she asks.

“The head’s the wrong way up,” Helena explains, standing. “Babies are meant to come out you looking down, then they turn for the shoulders. When they start out facing up - oh listen,” she adds hastily, seeing Myka’s suddenly alarmed expression, “it’s not as bad as all that. It’s not breech, it’s not - there’s far worse ways for a babe to present, believe me. And though that cow in town will get an earful from me next time I make my way down, it’s good, really, you’re not with her. She really has no business calling herself a midwife at all - her training, if you were to call it that, is woefully inadequate for anything but the most ordinary of births.”

“And you - but you said you haven’t -”

“It’s true, I haven’t attended a woman in this way in years, but that doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re exhausted and half-frozen and in no shape at all to push out a baby who doesn’t know up from down. What you need -” and Helena sighs, holds out her hands to Myka, who carefully pulls to standing, overbalances, and stumbles into Helena - “what you need is a rest.”

“A rest?” Myka’s voice sounds incredulous into Helena’s shoulder.

Helena walks backwards carefully, still awkwardly holding Myka up, until she feels the edge of her own bed with her legs. “Yes. Here,” and she turns until Myka’s the one with her back to the only warm, soft surface in Helena’s home. “Sit.”

Myka sits, then she stands again as she looks around and realizes what’s happening. “I can’t… in your bed? But I’ll…” she looks around helplessly.

“You’ll bleed on it? Inevitably. And leave other fluids besides, in all likelihood. There’s nothing for it. There is simply no other place to warm you up and get you fit for what’s to come, and if you ruin all my blankets, well, I’ll send you a bill - or keep your first born,” Helena adds tonelessly. Then she winces inwardly, waiting for the fear surely such a jest will bring. But Myka just snorts once and sits back down, and makes no reply at all. Helena blinks in surprise and something suspiciously bright sparks inside her briefly.

“And how am I supposed to rest, exactly, when every few minutes…” and Myka’s voice trails off again, as if on cue, with a little gasp of pain.

Helena waits until Myka can hear her to make her reply. “Just lie down, and close your eyes. You’ve been at this for a full day and night, you might be surprised by how much sleep you can get in two minute intervals. Besides,” she adds, softening her voice just a touch, “you’ve a ways to go still, and I have some preparations to make. You might as well be comfortable whilst I get ready.”

Myka looks like she’d like to argue, but Helena doesn’t give her the chance. She tucks both of her blankets around Myka, then stokes the fire high. She makes a trip out to the woodpile, then another - she might not have time, later. She takes the kettle away from the fire and washes her hands up to her elbows in water as hot as she can stand.

The tincture she wants is in the very back of the cupboard, the bottle dusty, but it still smells potent, so she gives some to Myka anyway, in a little water. She pauses, watching Myka as she drinks, and when Myka hands her back the cup, neither woman moves away. The color is coming back into Myka’s cheeks, just a bit. Helena takes in how dirty and tangled the other woman’s dark curly hair is, how painfully thin she is besides the obvious swell of her belly.

Then Myka’s face contorts again, and she grunts a little this time, and Helena knows Myka is not ready yet, not for that, so she sets the cup down on the ground and sits down on the edge of the bed next to Myka. “Lie back down,” she instructs, “and close your eyes. You need to rest more before you push.”

“I can’t,” Myka says, and it comes out as a whine. “It…

“It what?” Helena prompts.

“It hurts,” Myka admits, and even knowing this woman for an hour Helena can imagine that admission of weakness isn’t an easy one. “Everything - it hurts so much.”

Helena keeps her voice calm and low and even. “I know it does. Shh. It’s just pain. Shh. Put your head here,” and Helena gently pushes, eases Myka’s head onto her lap. Her fingers begin touching Myka’s hair hesitantly, then gradually gaining confidence, gently running her fingers through Myka’s curls, untangling snarls, rubbing circles on her scalp. “Shh. Don’t think about it, just for now.”

“Don’t… think about it?” But Myka’s eyes are closed already, and she lets out a deeper breath, a sigh than tells Helena she was right, that Myka truly does need some respite.

“Yes. Don’t think. Just let it go. Let it come and go.”

Myka’s starting to drift in and out, and Helena can see her face relaxing, even though she gasps a bit as the next contraction hits her. “Who are you?” Myka mutters, afterwards, as Helena begins to hum to her, softly.

“Shh. Nobody, really. Just a woman with too much knowledge and not enough good sense or fortune to get away with it,” Helena murmurs back.

“Sounds familiar,” Myka replies, sleepy despite herself, and breathes deeply again.

Helena holds Myka in her gentle sway for hours, humming, rocking. The room grows warm, far warmer than Helena ever allows for herself, and Myka sleeps and wakes and sleeps and wakes, and Helena watches her carefully, until the sun begins to come up through the east window, rosy against the new snow, and the birds begin singing for the dawn.

Then Myka’s breathing changes again, and with the next contraction Helena hears a deep, throaty groan rumble out of Myka. Then, then it is time, and Myka sweats and cries and wails and screams, while Helena holds Myka up on her side and one leg up clasped hard in both hands, for Myka to push against with a strength and will that leaves Helena nearly as breathless as Myka. And when Helena shifts position to catch a living human being in her hands, the winter sun is streaming through her one window, as full of sunlight as could possibly be in the dark of winter, and all the birds are calling to each other, harsh and loud and full of song. At last, a crown, shoulder, feet slide out, and a cry rises up - from the new babe in shock, and the mother in triumph.

Helena lifts the new baby up and cradles her for just a heartbeat before she gives Myka her daughter, reverently. Helena tucks her last clean dry blanket around the two of them, and for a brief, shining moment the birds and the light seem to be speaking directly to Helena, as if Yule might be a real, breathing presence in the world and not something to simply mark the passing of the darkest day of the year. As if to smack her across the face with the newness and brightness inherent in the world.

She notices that Myka is crying, and, faintly, that she is as well. She brushes the tears away and turns away from the scene, broken open by raw beauty, feeling at once intimately part of and utterly outside of it. “There. You’ve a fine, healthy baby girl. Congratulations.” She starts to move away - to stoke the fire again, she tells herself - when she feels a hand holding on to her own.

“Sit. Sit with me - us. Please.”

Helena does not turn. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Myka laughs, a loud, riotous sound that reverberates around Helena’s small house like thunder. Helena hasn’t heard such a sound in a long time. “I’m the intruder. Or is she? Both of us. Come look at this miracle. You saved us,” she adds, looking at Helena in wonder as she sinks down next to Myka - how could she not, when the woman can make a sound like that? “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Helena replies, but her tone is gentle. “What are you going to call her?”

“Well, I was thinking of Christina, after my grandmother,” Myka says, “but I’m not sure God is the right one to thank, or my family either, for what’s happened today - or really, for some time now.”

“Mmm. I see your point.”

“What would you call her?”

The question makes Helena stutter to a stop. She stares at Myka, then down at the tiny baby, still wet, her dark hair slicked back against her head, clutching at Helena’s blanket with impossibly small newborn fists. “Why would my opinion matter?” The question is honest, though Helena hears how it sounds and winces slightly.

Myka blinks at her. “If my family and God aren’t to thank for this… for her being here… surely you are.”

Helena opens her mouth to reply to find that she can’t speak at all. She blinks several times. “I would,” she finally manages, “call her Holly. For the hope of the new year, and for the strength she’s already shown in such a short time. But I’m not her mother, and I wouldn’t presume…”

But Myka is nodding. “Much better. Holly,” she croons at the child, and Helena’s heart flips over in her chest painfully, surely for the way she’s always felt in the presence of new life. Surely.

She rises, to get Myka a cup of broth from the pot that’s been bubbling away these long hours. Surely this feeling bubbling inside her own heart can’t be for Myka. For how in the space of just a few hours, her small house feels alive again. Feels full - of sound, of conversation, of the space between her and another - of life. Surely not. That’s absurd, and -

Myka is trying to rise, painfully, and Helena reacts without thought, dropping the cup into the pot and rushing to Myka’s side instantly. “What are you doing?” she scolds, reaching for Myka’s shoulders, then withdrawing. “You can’t just be getting up, so soon, you could hurt yourself, you could bleed inside, you need to -”

Myka shakes her head, sitting on the side of Helena’s bed, Holly - and even thinking the name makes Helena want, irrationally, to hold the child again - Holly in Myka’s arms, already worn out from being in the world for so long. “As soon as she’s out, I said. I won’t trouble you any more. I wish I had more to give you for all your pains. You’ve been so unaccountably kind. I have some money saved up, that I’d planned to give to that other woman.” Myka looks apologetic, and beyond that, bone-tired. And she should, of course she is, but there’s something beyond the intensity of birth there, some other weariness.

Helena has no idea what to say. “Don’t go,” she stammers, without quite thinking, then, realizing she means it, adds, “you can’t. I won’t hear of it. You’re not well enough and besides,” she adds, more softly, “you’re no trouble at all. You or the - Holly.”

Myka snorts. “If we’re no trouble, I tremble to imagine what might be.”

Helena almost lets the jest go by, lets the moment pass. But it’s Yule. There’s a new baby in her house, a miracle, and her mother, who looks to be a bigger miracle still. This is a time of magic in the world, and Helena is no fool, to let it walk back out her door the way that it came.

“You’re here in my bed,” she points out, “with a newborn baby in your arms and not one other person who cares for you by your side. I hardly think I’m the only one who knows trouble when she sees it coming.”

Myka sags into herself, then looks up at Helena with clear eyes. “You’re right,” she replies. “Of course you are. And that trouble… it may follow me. I won’t ask you to take on a perfect stranger’s burden.”

It’s Helena’s turn to laugh, and somewhere she feels that sound twine with Myka’s, impossible as that is. Myka’s eyes widen and then she returns Helena’s broad grin. “You’re hardly a stranger now. And you’ll recall,” Helena says, more seriously now, holding Myka’s gaze, reaching out to place her own hand atop Myka’s, still cradling Holly, “that I promised you no harm would come to you while you were here, if I was able to prevent it. That holds true still, and will until you leave.” Helena takes a breath, and lets it out in a rush. “And you needn’t. Leave. If you… you could stay. If you want.”

Myka cocks her head. But she doesn’t say no. Helena continues, “I mean. It’s the new year. Here you are. It feels… I’m not one for signs, for portents, but - but I hope you’ll pardon the impertinence if I say your being here has already made me feel happier and more alive than I have in a long time.”

Myke reaches out for Helena’s face, a questioning look in her eye. Helena closes her eyes and nearly holds her breath, as Myka carefully cups her cheek.

“Can I say yes for just now? And see how it feels later? I… I’m so tired. And elated. I’m not sure I can trust how good I feel right now. If it’s today or - if it’s real. It feels real,” Myka adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course,” Helena replies promptly. “Get back into bed. That baby needs nursing, and you need something to drink.” She rises again, busies herself with fishing the cup back out of the pot, with washing it clean and refilling it with broth, thinking of how she’ll have to get another one, and another bowl too.

When she turns back around, both Myka and the baby are asleep. Helena carefully tucks them in, the quilt just so, then sets out for clean water from the well, for more wood. The birds call and call out to each other, not for her, or maybe only for her, and that fact that she’ll never know which it is, comforts rather confounds her.

Holly

It rained when it should have snowed.

When we went to gather holly

the ditches were swimming, we were wet

to the knees, our hands were all jags

and water ran up our sleeves.

There should have been berries

but the sprigs we brought into the house

gleamed like smashed bottle-glass.

Now here I am, in a room that is decked

with the red-berried, waxy-leafed stuff,

and I almost forget what it’s like

to be wet to the skin or longing for snow.

I reach for a book like a doubter

and want it to flare round my hand,

a black-letter bush, a glittering shield-wall

cutting as holly and ice.

#bering and wells #myka bering #helena wells #warehouse 13 #vague history au #happy yuletide everyone #my fic #cw birth

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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artificial scarcity || (soft)dark!Jake Jensen x reader

summary: you'll realize how good he can treat you, how badly you need him, one way or another. you just need a little encouragement, that's all.

word count: 4k, somehow...

warnings: smut! (dubcon; she is fully consenting but under dubious circumstances), drugging (technically), kidnapping, imprisonment, starvation, touch-starved reader, bed sharing, grinding/thigh fucking, size kink, spanking, implied stalking/voyeurism, implied noncon (kinda?), jake being possessive and manipulative and creepy

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble which is why the pacing might feel a little rushed in the beginning but I hope you guys don’t mind!

Jake was normally a relatively patient guy, especially with you since he had an obvious soft spot for the newest member of the team. But after months of trying to get your attention, of his abysmal flirting not getting him anywhere, of you becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of him as a friend and nothing else, his patience was running thin.

He was tired of waiting for the perfect opportunity to rescue you and show you that he was the perfect guy for you. He was tired of waiting for you to figure out that he could be everything you needed if you just let him. So, he figured he needed to manufacture a chance to save you; he needed to take away some things just to bring them back, show you what it was like to let him take care of you.

Getting close to you was easy, you were teammates and friends so you trusted him. The tricky thing was he didn't want you to know it was him, so he used your trust to lure you right into his trap.

Movie night tonight? There’s some cheesy slasher playing at the drive in at 1930, he texted you as soon as he could to the showtime to decrease the odds of you having any time to tell anyone about your plans to meet up with him; he’d rather not have the heat of being the last person to see you before your disappearance.

yeah sure! are you driving? you replied almost instantly.

Yep, I’ll pick you up at S Lamar and Hanover in 10, he informed you, knowing it was close to your apartment but far away from any security cameras or likely witnesses.

He parked a block away and walked around the corner to see you standing there under the flickering streetlight looking at your phone. You were waiting for him, and as he hid behind cover to come closer, you were clearly looking around for where he might be. Thankfully, you didn't see him or his tranq gun, and he got your neck on the first shot.

He ran to catch you before you fell, relishing the weight of your body limp and pliant in his arms. Somehow, he resisted the urge to play with you now, knowing it would be worth the wait to let his whole plan come to fruition.

The room he locked you in was dark and damp, barely any light but enough to see the half-full water bottle he left for you; your chain was short but you could reach everything you needed. It broke his heart to hear your cries but he had to ignore them, if he came in now it wouldn't make sense. He needed to be patient.

When the video feed from his camera inside showed that you'd fallen asleep for the night, he snuck in to bring you a new water bottle and a little granola bar since you'd screamed all day about being hungry. You seem surprised when you woke up and saw it, quickly grabbing the bar but taking a long time to examine and smell it first before eating, like you were afraid it was poisoned. But you ate, and drank your water, and waited for rescue.

Day 3 was the hardest to watch. You tugged at your chain so much that he worried you'd hurt yourself. He decided tomorrow was the last day because he couldn't take any more of this.

On the fourth day, he waited until you started to cry yourself to sleep before shutting down his equipment and finally coming to the door; he took a deep breath, preparing himself, before dramatically kicking it down and gasping when he saw you. He called your name into the dark and you barely had the energy to open your eyes, poor thing.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he yelped, dashing over to where you were chained and picking at the lock. "I'm gonna get you out, don't worry, you're safe now."

"Jensen...?" you mumbled sleepily, making him smile and stroke your face a little.

"Yeah, I'm right here."

He carried you to his car and drove you home-- not your old home, your new one which also happened to be his apartment.

"I think it's time to wake up, I'm guessing you wanna take a shower," he cooed at your sleeping form, watching you stir in his arms before finally blinking your eyes open and looking up at him.

"Oh," you whispered. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes," he laughed, "you've been out the whole ride here."

"Oh…” you repeated, “and where are we?"

"My apartment. I didn't want to leave you alone right now."

You nodded, seemingly in agreement. "You can put me down now."

He reluctantly did as you'd asked, watching you carefully put weight back on your legs.

"Woah!" he chuckled when you wobbled a bit, reaching out to catch you, but you recovered.

"Thank you," you whispered, and he smiled at you.

"Just wish I'd found you sooner.”

"Um, you said I can take a shower?"

"Yeah, down that hall, first door on the right. I'll bring you some clothes,” he explained, and you smiled weakly before navigating your way to the bathroom.

You looked so good in his clothes that his heart skipped a beat when he saw you step out into the living room. The t-shirt that was almost too tight on him was baggy on you, reminding him of how delicate you were in so many ways, how much bigger he was than you.

It reminded him that if he really wanted to, he could force himself on you and you'd be helpless to stop him. But that wasn't what he wanted. It was going to be so much better this way.

"Wanna go to bed now? I'll take the couch," he offered.

"N-no," you stammered, and he gave you a quizzical look. "I don't… I don't want you that far away."

"Okay, I could sleep on the floor," he bargained instead, "in my room, with you."

"No," you sighed again, "then I won't be able to see you."

"I'll be right there," he reminded you.

"It's a king, right? You can share with me."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, please, this is the only way I'll be comfortable."

"Okay," he smiled, guiding you to the bedroom. He let you watch him take off his shirt and smirked a little when he saw you ogling.

"I usually just sleep in boxers," he admitted nervously. "I'll put on some pajama pants at least."

"It's fine, really," you smiled. "I don't wanna be any more of a burden than I already am."

"You're not a burden."

"And I'm not gonna wear pants to bed anyways," you shrugged.

"O-oh."

But he hadn't given you a new pair of panties to wear because he didn't have any to give you. Which meant that if you took off the sweats he'd given you, that'd leave you in his shirt and nothing else.

He tried not to let that thought go straight to his cock as he unbuttoned and pushed down his pants, seeing you conflicted on where to look, before getting in bed. You did the same, taking the sweats off once you were under the covers and tossing them out from under the blanket.

"Goodnight," he smiled as he turned off the lamp, hearing you whisper it back before starting to shift around and get comfortable.

He didn't have to wait nearly as long as he had expected to hear you meekly whisper, "Jensen?"

"Yeah, is everything alright?" he asked, voice full of concern.

"I… I don't want to ask you for anything else…" you sighed.

"No, hey, it's okay," he assured, "ask for anything."

"Would you, um, would you hold me?"

He cleared his throat a little. "If you need me to."

"Please, it's the only way I'll be able to sleep."

He sighed a little but relented, coming over to your side of the bed and spooning you, gingerly laying one arm over you and trying to avoid touching you anywhere too personal.

"Thank you," you sighed sleepily.

"Whatever you need,” he assured.

"Jake, why are you doing all this for me?" you asked quietly, turning back a little to look at him.

"You're my teammate, nobody gets left behind,” he explained. “Besides, this is all my fault anyways. You were waiting for me when they got you."

"No, Jake, don't say that. It's not your fault."

"Alright, but it's not yours either. You didn't deserve that."

“You’re right, but I don’t deserve this either,” you mumbled.

“Yes, you do.”

You shifted slightly against him, humming contentedly, and he groaned.

"I think maybe we should stop," he hissed, pulling away— but you stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"No, wait," you whimpered. "Why? What’s wrong?"

"I, uh, I guess I'm just experiencing some of the consequences of laying in bed with a beautiful woman…"

"Huh?"

"The, um, the biological consequences."

"I— oh,” you whispered.

"Yeahhh...” he trailed off awkwardly.

"No, hey, it's okay. I don't mind, I mean, you can't help it,” you shrugged.

"Sorry, I'm not normally this easily amused but it's been a while, so…"

"I understand," you assured, "really, it's okay… just don't go."

He just barely heard your gasp as he pressed himself against you, his shaft cradled perfectly between each soft globe of your ass. "Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

"Y-yeah," you answered, making him suppress a laugh since it was obvious you were noticing his size. He would bet a grand at least that you were getting wet right now, if he had anyone to bet against.

Your back arched a little, pushing your ass into him with more force, and you actually started to rock your hips ever so slightly.

"Stop moving," he hissed through his teeth.

"I'm not…" you denied weakly.

"Yes you are, you're… rubbing yourself on me."

"I'm sorry, it just feels good,” you admitted sleepily, surprising him with your forwardness. “You like it too, right?"

"Yes, but I feel like I'm taking advantage of you,” he admitted worriedly.

"You're not,” you promised, “you did so much for me— you saved me— and I want to help you, too. You said it's been a while since you were with anybody, I could help you out… you know, you could rub up against me until you…"

He groaned a little but leaned in closer until his lips were right against your ear. "Are you sure? Don't do me any favors, you don't owe me anything."

"I want you to," you assured, making him smile and nod a bit, taking a moment to enjoy a deep breath as he prepared himself.

Carefully, he began to rock his hips forward, rubbing his cock on you through his boxers. Even with a layer of cotton in the way he could feel your warmth, he could imagine how smooth your skin was. If you hadn't been able to make out the shape of him before, you certainly could now— the ridge of his head was probably digging into you, and on particularly long thrusts he could feel your ass against his balls (which, inversely, meant you could feel his balls against your ass).

He held your hips as he picked up his pace a bit, grinding into you and breathing heavily in your ear. You gasped and tried to hide a moan by biting your lip but he heard it. It was even more obvious when he whispered your name to you, heavy with desire, and rubbed your spine with his finger. Your back arched even further, inviting him to push harder against you until he felt the slightest wet patch forming on his boxers— not from him, from you. It made his cock throb and his breath catch in his throat.

Overcome with need, he pushed his boxers down quickly before getting back to it, both of you moaning at the feeling of his skin on yours. He was so close to your pussy he could hardly stand it, and he knew you must be dripping right now, desperate to be filled. He could probably slip right in and you wouldn't even stop him, but that wasn't what he needed from you right now. You needed to ask him for it. He knew you wanted it, but he needed you to know you wanted it.

A drop of precum formed at his slit, smearing onto your skin and easing his way further.

"I want you to feel good, too," he whispered. "I don't just want to use you."

He pushed his cock down and slipped it between your thighs instead, sliding right against your wet, silky folds. You whined beautifully as he thrusted forward, your thighs clenching (and therefore gripping him even tighter) when his cock slid right over your clit.

Your wetness was plentiful enough to drench him just from this, so he already knew the answer but he still asked, "does it feel good?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Yes, it's good…"

He knew he could make you come like this, and he knew exactly how to, but that wouldn't get him what he wanted. Instead he only gave you enough to keep you on the edge, moving too slow to really let you finish. You even tried to move faster but his grip on your hips was too tight, keeping you still so he could savor his own pace and keep you desperate.

"Fuck me," you moaned.

"I don't have a condom," he whispered nervously.

"I don't care, just please…"

That was all the encouragement he needed, pulling back enough to guide his head to your entrance before sliding right in. Your wet, hot walls stretched open to accept him, struggling against his girth but eventually giving way.

Your hand shot back to grab onto his thigh, trying to keep him from going too deep, but he had no intentions of holding back now that he was inside you; he delicately grabbed your wrist and guided your hand back to your chest where he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"Baby," he moaned into your ear as his hips met yours. "This is my pussy now."

You gasped and shivered in his arms, eyes falling shut as he pulled back and pushed in again, incredibly slow but as deep as he could push himself.

Your moans were perfect, even better than the ones he'd heard when he hacked into your webcam because it wasn't just your fingers or toy anymore, it was him— exactly what you'd always needed, whether you knew it or not. He'd dreamed of this for so long and now that he had you he couldn't imagine ever letting you go. Every inch of your channel was like heaven, every moan was somehow more beautiful than the last.

"That's it, baby, take all of me," he purred when he pressed deep into your cunt, holding your hips so the tip of his cock hit the deepest parts of you. You made the cutest little choking noise and he kissed your neck while trying his best to make you do it again, moving faster and slapping his hips against yours more firmly.

"Jake," you managed to whimper, and he groaned through his teeth.

"Yeah, I'm right here," he promised. "That's me inside you, sweetheart, that's my cock filling you up."

He leaned back slightly and pulled your ass apart so he could see his cock stretching you out, disappearing into your body. It made his head fall back for a moment before he pulled you close again and started thrusting faster. He reached around and brought two fingers to your clit, rubbing it fiercely as he kept thrusting.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, "Jake, right there… I'm gonna come…"

He laughed a little, kissing your ear as a show of approval. "Baby, you're so sensitive," he praised, giving your clit a little spank. You cried out and shuddered, bouncing yourself back on his cock, meeting his thrusts. Amused by your neediness, he stopped moving and watched you go.

"There you go, sweetheart, fuck yourself with my cock. Make yourself come."

You whined and kept going, your ass slapping against his hips loudly. He kept rubbing your clit as you worked his cock, your walls starting to clench down on him rhythmically and your body beginning to shake.

The absolute second he heard you cry out with pleasure as you reached the peak, he grabbed you and rolled both of you over until you were on your stomach and he was brutally fucking you into the mattress. He could still feel you pulsing around his length, gripping him tight and pulling him deeper.

"That's it, keep fuckin' coming for me," he groaned. "Gimme one more and then I'm gonna fill you up."

"Jake!" you yelped, grabbing onto the pillow and even biting it as he slammed into you.

"You're so good, baby, your pussy feels so good," he growled, pinning you down by your shoulders as he sped up even more. He laughed when he felt your walls weakly fluttering, his balls hitting your swollen clit with each thrust. "Gonna come again already, baby? Just from my cock?"

"Yes," you sobbed hoarsely, "yes, Jake, I'm gonna come again— oh my god, please don't stop…"

"Oh, I won't stop," he assured. "You take it so fuckin' good, sweetheart, like you were made for it. Like you were made for me."

You moaned loudly and he took the opportunity to spank you— not incredibly hard but enough to make you whine a bit… and get even wetter.

"Oh fuck, you like that huh?" he purred with a grin. "You like it rough."

"Yes, fuck, I love it," you agreed with a moan. "I'm— I'm coming, Jake, don't stop."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled, "I can feel it. Feels so good when you come on my cock, baby…"

You went suddenly from arching your back and gripping the pillow to falling limp and relaxing, your body his toy now as he fucked you to the point of overstimulation. Your moans were exhausted and muffled now, your walls clinging to him desperately as he continued stroking every sensitive place he could reach (which was all of them).

He could so easily pull out and paint your back, or jerk himself off over your ass, but if he was going to claim your body then he was going to do it right.

He didn't warn you in advance, just in case you suddenly decided to tell him to pull out, but he did make sure you knew what he was doing. "Fuck, I'm coming!" he moaned as his cock flexed and his seed filled you, still thrusting in time with each pump of his release. It was nearly overwhelming, physically and psychologically. He was finally filling you like he'd fantasized about basically every time he got off since he met you, finally making you his the way you should've been from the beginning.

He sighed and laid down on top of you, smiling as he kissed all over your face, neck, shoulders, and back.

You giggled sleepily, but whined when he tried to pull out, bringing your legs up to hold him inside. "Don't go yet," you pleaded.

"Okay, baby, I'll stay right here until you fall asleep," he promised. "Goodnight, beautiful…"

Not only could he not think of a night he'd slept better in his life, but he was pretty sure this was the best any man had slept in the history of sleep. But even then, he wasn't at all disappointed when you woke him up.

"Good morning," you whispered in his ear with a giggle, making him blink his eyes open and look down at where you were resting your face on his chest.

"Good morning," he returned with a grin, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

"Last night was… pretty amazing," you smiled coyly, and he stroked your cheek as he felt it warm even more.

"Yeah, you have no idea," he chuckled, lifting your head so he could give you a kiss. It was supposed to be quick and wholesome but you deepened it instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Just as you started to climb up to straddle him, he heard your stomach loudly growl and he pulled back to laugh.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it sounds like you've got some other needs to take care of first," he smirked.

"Ugh, you're right," you sighed, "I'm going raid your kitchen."

"No, let me do that, I'll make you something— whatever you want," he offered, starting to sit up, but you pushed him back down.

"Jake, you've done enough for me already. I don't even know what I want, that's why I wanna go look at what you have."

"If you insist," he relented, watching you hop out of bed and playfully smacking your ass when it was within reach. You giggled and scampered away, leaving him to lay back and put his hands up behind his head, taking a deep breath of satisfaction. His plan had not only worked but gone beyond his expectations— clearly you had wanted this, on some level, from the beginning, you were too eager for him to believe otherwise. But that didn't matter now, because you were finally his and it was exactly as he'd dreamed it would feel: right, undeniably and overwhelmingly right.

He decided to take a break from basking in his own glory for a while to get up and find some food for himself as well. After all, he planned on fucking you at least one more time today so he'd need lots of energy to keep him going.

He slipped back on his boxers and walked to the kitchen, finding you there standing oddly still. "What are you doing?" he asked with a bemused scoff.

"Jake…" you mumbled, staring into the cabinet blankly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer but stopping in his tracks when he saw what you were looking at: a six-pack box of granola bars. He sighed a little as he internally chided himself for such a rookie mistake. "Baby, seriously, what's wrong?"

"I… these… this is the same kind they gave me… it was the only thing I ate for almost four days."

"Oh my god," he whispered, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around you to try to soothe you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back any bad memories. You only ate granola bars for four days? Honey, you must be starving, please just let me cook you something—"

"No, not only granola bars: only a granola bar. Just one…"

You reached up to grab the box but he held you tighter, trying to stop you. Instead what happened was you accidentally knocked the box over, exactly five bars sliding out and landing on the floor with a crinkly thud.

You gasped with realization and tried to squirm away but his comforting hug turned into restraint instantly. "Jake, let me go…"

"I'm sorry, baby, but I don't think I can do that."

"Jake, please," you begged with a sob. "Why did you— how could you?"

"I know you had feelings for me, you just needed a little encouragement."

"Feelings for you? I hate you!"

"Huh, that's odd, because I distinctly remember you begging me to fuck you last night,” he taunted. “I remember you coming for me, twice. Is that what you normally do when you hate somebody?"

"You're a monster," you sneered.

"And you're stuck with me, whether you like it or not," he chuckled, spinning you around to bend you over the counter, pressing his hips against yours as you whined and failed to squirm away. "So you might as well let yourself like it."

#dark!jake jensen x reader #jake jensen dark fic #soft!dark jake jensen #jake jensen x reader

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Text

Stare Enough

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 4034

Summary: Bucky's got a new stare. Sam spends all afternoon and most of the evening working up the courage to meet it.

Both Sam and the food are the main attraction at this party and the problem with that situation is that it takes so damn long for one main attraction to get a second to enjoy the other.

He’s grateful—god, is he grateful—for the turnout. Friends, neighbours, the kind of people he and Sarah call family without there being any actual relation by blood, they’ve all shown up. Since the Blip, Sam’s felt like he’s always around, but this feels like a real homecoming. No sadness, nothing bittersweet. It’s a celebration and he’s at the center of it. Him and the food.

At last, Sam’s done the circuit with his plate, spooning creamy salads and grilled vegetables, stacking shellfish pink as a sunrise. There’s a fresh-baked roll perched atop a scoop of sweet potatoes and caramelized onions that smells so fucking warm and mouth-watering he has to resist walking with his nose buried in it. He collects a set of utensils furled in the middle of a paper napkin (courtesy of an efficient assembly line of old ladies, chatting and twisting neat rolls of cutlery), plate bowing into the palm of his other hand, and that’s when his damn phone vibrates in his pocket.

Sam halts and makes a sound of frustration. Nobody’s come to this thing empty-handed, so there are dishes crowding the surface of the tables, no place to set his plate down. His phone vibrates again. A teenager comes up to peruse the spread in front of him and Sam sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.

“Here,” he says heavily, offering up his beautifully arranged and wonderfully fragrant meal. The cob of corn shining with the butter he lovingly smeared over it nearly rolls over the edge. “You’re the luckiest kid in the world.”

Quickly, Sam turns away, sliding out his phone and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t want to witness the boy digging in. His stomach growls as he greets Joaquin Torres.

“Sam,” Torres says. “Uh, I mean, sir. Mr. Captain Am… Captain Wil—”

“Take it easy,” Sam laughs. “You know me, Torres. Don’t get starstruck now.”

“Honestly, I never really got over you being the Falcon. Now that you’re Captain America… Apologies if it takes me a little while to be cool about it.” After a pause—taken while Torres attempts to become cool with Sam being Captain America, Sam assumes—he asks, “You celebrating?”

Not far from where Sam’s standing, there are two little girls singing along to their clapping game. At a table behind them, a trio of elderly gentlemen are arguing over which one of them it was that caught that 50-pound snapper off the dock back in 1978. There’s a sear of meat and fish being rotated onto and off of the grill and, bouncing over everything, music from a speaker someplace.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a broad grin. “Yeah, we are. I’d save you a plate, but I can’t even manage to hang onto my own.”

He doesn’t mention that Torres is responsible for that situation; he’s aware that, besides being a fan, the Lieutenant is a little bit infatuated with him. Sam’s trying to be gentle until the day he can respond to Torres with friendly smack-talk, the way he would Steve or Scott or Bucky. Maybe not exactly like he does with Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Torres cheerfully insists. “I wasn’t calling for that, I just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”

“Alright. Let me just…”

Sam strides away from the heart of the party towards the water, seeking quiet. Kids dart in front of him and that’s nothing unusual, but when he follows them with his gaze, he sees they’re running towards Bucky. Bucky, who has his Vibranium arm extended and two kids dangling off it already, one of whom might be Sam’s nephew. Of course, Mr. Casual, Mr. Smiles, Mr. Social Butterfly, is carrying on a conversation like his arm isn’t being used as a jungle gym. A conversation with Sarah.

For just a moment, Sam stops in his tracks, considering whether he should go over there and break up any potential flirting. But then he watches them. Bucky’s just talking to her, not flicking his gaze up and down while he checks her out. And Sarah, she’s relaxed and smiling, totally at ease, like Bucky’s another member of their community. That makes him a friend. Family.

That’s one thought too far and Sam jerks himself into motion again, walking until he’d be swimming with another step.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to watch as much of the coverage of the fight outside the GRC vote as I can, trying to get a sense of how they’re spinning Walker’s reappearance, the legacy of the Flag-Smashers now that Karli and her inner circle are gone… Anyway, there’s a lot of footage and you’re at the center of most of it.”

“Guess the new suit draws the eye. And the cameras.” It’s no surprise to Sam. Part of the job of being Captain America.

“Yeah, but…”

“What is it, Torres?”

“Bucky’s in the background a lot,” he explains in a voice that tells Sam there’s more Torres isn’t saying.

“Makes sense. He was in the thick of it as much as I was.”

“He’s there at the end too. When you were talking to the Senator about power and the common struggle. Man, that was a great speech. Do you think—”

“Torres. Please. The point.”

“Right, for sure, man. Bucky never takes his eyes off you.”

That flusters Sam for a second. He wasn’t expecting the blunt delivery, especially of those words. He squints down at the water where it’s lapping the side of the dock. He knew Bucky was there; they spoke right after, when Bucky tried to feed him that bullshit (and he knew it was bullshit at the time) about texting and missing the exact speech Torres is apparently still hung up on.

“So Bucky was actually listening to me,” Sam says carefully. “That’s a surprise, but it isn’t really the kind of thing that’s significant enough for you to bother notifying me about, is it?”

“I’d say that depends on what you consider significant.”

“Torres.”

“I know, but he’s not just listening! It’s how he’s looking at you!”

“Like he’s wishing I would wrap it up?” Oh, Sam remembers Bucky’s miracle from their session with Dr. Raynor.

“Like he’s totally into you! Major heart eyes. Sir,” Torres hastily adds.

And Sam should reprimand him for this. Calling with a trivial piece of information when he must know Sam’s already being very selective about which of the hundreds of recent calls (and it’d be more if more people had this number) he chooses to pick up. Calling to speculate on how Bucky was staring at Sam that night in New York.

“I don’t need to tell you this is gonna be one of those investigations we keep between you and me,” Sam states.

“For sure. I just thought maybe you’d wanna know.”

“Uh huh. You get any real news, you pass it along.”

“I will.”

Sam ends the call and turns. He looks to his right: the sparkling river. His left: his people, all the way down to the squirt with the glasses who’s hanging off a metal arm, and the man that arm belongs to.

He’s felt it, the way that Bucky stares. It’s not like it used to be though, when it irked Dr. Raynor at the police station in Baltimore, or confused Walker and Hoskins in the back of that jeep in Germany. This new stare of Bucky’s isn’t one Sam’s ever caught him doing. Bucky hasn’t quite let him. That’s actually how Sam noticed it was happening—Bucky would immediately glance away instead of leaving that dead expression on his face when Sam met his eye. Now that he has proof of it, proof he’s certain Torres would send him footage of in an instant if he asked, he’s scared to look.

Instead, he watches Bucky look at other people. Like Sarah. Like kids from the neighbourhood. His literal hangers-on disperse as Sam observes, scattered after Bucky leans towards them to say something. Sam sees half his smile and even that much has his heart swelling up in his chest. Bucky weaves through the tables and standing groups, the dancers and the kids who’ve broken out a skipping rope. (After eating from that buffet? Kids are crazy. Gonna make themselves sick.)

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam returns to the noise and the smells, trailing Bucky with a stealthy eye on his ass in those jeans. There’s no friction here between him and everybody else Sam cares about, he can see that in every short, friendly exchange someone engages Bucky in as he walks. Things flow as smoothly as the butter oozing off the corn Sam reluctantly gave up. Clearly, they remember Bucky from when he was here helping with the boat. They respect him. They like him. They’ve gotten to that last thing faster than Sam has, which makes Sam feel a little embarrassed as well as a little overwhelmed by how much the two of them have actually been through. He’s seen Bucky as a mindless killer and it almost brings a genuine tear to his eye—here on this glorious day in front of all these folks—to see the dork who rushed out to get his hands on a copy of The Hobbit in 1937 return in his current form as the dork who’ll take a fake punch from AJ and blush over brazen old women telling him how handsome he is.

Bucky stares different? Well. Sam feels different about the staring.

Sam keeps his distance until Bucky reaches the food, then his stomach gurgles a reminder than he hasn’t eaten yet. No ass is nice enough to distract him from his meal. He sidles up beside him and Bucky seems unsurprised, not even glancing over.

“Anything important?” he asks.

“What?”

“Your phone call,” Bucky clarifies, adding a heap of glossy green beans to his plate. Damn, those are some of Sam’s favourite. Bucky better not take all of them. “They need us somewhere?”

“Oh. No.”

Bucky shoots him a suspicious look after this stilted response, but he doesn’t say anything until Sam grabs a plate of his own, hungry eyes roving the feast that’s diminishing now that people have started coming back for second helpings.

“Put that down,” Bucky instructs. He doesn’t wait; he takes the plate out of Sam’s hand and tosses it back towards the pile. Thankfully, the plates are made of paper.

“Buzz off, man,” Sam tells him, reaching for the plate again. “I’m starving.”

“I figured.”

Wait.

“That’s for me?” he guesses, gazing longingly at the plate Bucky’s preparing.

“Yep.”

When Sam doesn’t reply, Bucky pauses with the plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and sighs.

“I didn’t want you to miss the good stuff. This party’s for you.”

“I think it might be for both of us.”

Bucky seems too self-conscious to say anything to that. He goes back to loading up Sam’s plate while Sam quietly feels his throat close up with emotion as he watches. He clears it gruffly.

“I woulda had to eat the cake you brought,” he jokes. “Pretty sure only the really little kids have eaten any. You know, people who don’t know better.”

“I was tryin’ to be a good guest.”

“I can’t believe you brought a store-bought cake,” Sam says, laughing as he grabs a set of cutlery for the second time and continuing to shuffle along next to Bucky.

“Have you ever seen me cook?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Trust me, what I did was kinder.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what, Sam?” Bucky demands challengingly, turning to face him. “I do say so.”

Sam’s eyes go from the plate Bucky’s holding between them up to Bucky’s face. He’s close. And he’s got this look, this dancing look in his eyes that undercuts the shit out of the hard line of his eyebrows. Trying to seem all stern. All Sam can think for several seconds is that, if he just grabbed Bucky by the chain around his neck and hauled him forward, they’d never get the food stains out of their clothes. But their laundry would smell delicious.

He clears his throat.

“Then you better stay for a while.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up and he hands Sam the plate he’s prepared for him.

“I plan to.”

When Sam picks a table to sit at, he makes sure there’s enough room for Bucky too. When Bucky sits next to him, he sits so close that their thighs press together and claims that’s all the space there is. Bucky talks and laughs when other people at the table talk to him. He’s easily drawn into conversation now and Sam feels weirdly proud of having brought this great guy home to meet everybody, even if he’s not here like that. People tells stories about last week and last century interchangeably, one old smartass making Bucky howl with laughter when they toss out a memory of Little Sam Wilson streaking from his house to the river for a naked swim. This is the danger of welcoming Bucky into the community. Sam, suppressing a smile, doesn’t really mind.

Elbows up on the table so he can eat, talk, and gesture emphatically with his fork, Sam feels Bucky’s stare creeping up on him. Slow, like the sun slides across the landscape when the clouds blow past. Bucky didn’t make this food, but Sam can feel his satisfaction as he watches Sam accept what he provided. Feels like there are grasshoppers springing around in his stomach. He still has a roll on his plate, one side soaked in family-secret barbecue sauce, and he tears it in half. While the rest of their table are caught up in some story being boisterously told by overlapping voices, Sam turns to Bucky and wordlessly offers the bread, edges dimpled where he gripped to split it. They watch each other chew and Sam’s closed mouth is smiling.

Inevitably, somebody pulls Sam back into the conversation and he does his best to laugh and heckle, covering the fact that he wasn’t listening, that he dropped the thread. The voices rise and rise and fall like water slopping over the side of a bucket.

In the next quiet moment, Bucky inclines toward him slightly and says, “You wanna talk later?”

And Sam says, “Sure.”

The day feels long, long, long, and Sam’s face gets sore from smiling, tired from talking. He does not confess that to Bucky, who’s almost always at his side. Lights go on overhead and beers come out of coolers, leftover food packed up and redistributed among neighbours, small children with drooping eyelids toted home. At first, Sam thinks Bucky’s leaning into his side because he’s drained from so much socializing too, but when he meets his eye, he just sees an invitation.

“Where are you two goin’?” Sarah asks when they slink past her carrying a too-big Cass in her arms.

“Just walkin’,” Sam tells her.

“Gotta stretch our legs,” Bucky contributes.

She looks from Sam to Bucky and back, smiling knowingly.

“Uh huh,” Sarah says.

Sam grabs Bucky by the shoulder to turn him forcibly away from his sister’s insinuations and just… forgets to let his hand fall as they wander along the water. Bucky’s steps angle towards his until his arm’s bumping Sam’s side, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders. Is this still the body language of a couple buddies on a warm Delacroix night? Is it now, when Sam drops his arm and brushes the back of his hand across Bucky’s?

They leave the party lights on the horizon with the lazily setting sun, scrabbling off the end of the dock and onto the riverbank. Sam reaches up to give Bucky a hand down, so he won’t step in the soft mud and sink to his ankles. Bucky clasps his hand firmly and jumps.

The sound of people drops off down here and the sound of wind in grass, frogs hiding between reeds, rises.

“Are there alligators in here?” Bucky wonders, scanning the river’s edge.

Sam laughs.

“For sure.”

“And you swam here when you were a kid?”

“Even then,” Sam boasts, puffing his chest out, “my courage was legendary.”

“Yeah, and your nudity. Is there anyone within a mile of here who hasn’t seen your bare ass?”

Their eye contact holds. Oh right. Sam breaks away with an awkward, hiccupping laugh, directing his gaze at the dirt.

“The gators haven’t gathered too close to the dock in decades,” he promises Bucky. He stares out at the undisturbed water, enjoying the sun on his face. “Got skittish of the boats. Most of ’em, anyway.”

“Consider me not entirely reassured.”

“You scared of a little Louisiana lizard, man? Didn’t you grow up with Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Nah, that was after my time.”

“Damn, you’re old.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, refusing to look at him.

“You wanna take a dip?” Sam goads.

“No.”

But by the time Sam’s pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky’s peeling off his socks. Sam spares him a smile and keeps going, the ground soft underfoot. It could be like the few times they’ve changed in proximity to one another before, but it’s not. He senses Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Face hot, he takes a quick look in Bucky’s direction as he’s unzipping his jeans. His heart feels like his new suit—wings just waiting to unfurl.

When they’re down to their underwear, they wade in.

God, it feels nice. The water’s cool and the sun’s clinging to the horizon.

“Just don’t get any water in your mouth,” Sam instructs, then dunks his face and comes up squirting water at Bucky from between the gap in his front teeth, a trick he perfected as a kid. “That arm ain’t gonna rust, right?”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns. He points a menacing finger and plunges below the surface.

Sam twists as he treads water, trying to see what’s going on down there, searching for a ripple or bubbles of released air. His legs move in twitchy kicks because that’s where he’s expecting Bucky to grab him. But the idiot is playing some kind of psychological game first, making Sam wait a full minute. Two minutes. Three.

He’s opening his mouth to call out Bucky’s name when he breaks the surface. Sam’s ready to swap the concern he was about to form into words into a taunt instead—did Bucky get down there and decide the scariest thing he could do was let Sam’s imagination take over?—until Bucky shakes his head and slicks his hair back. Then the words get caught in Sam’s throat and he just kinda stares.

“There was a really gross fish down there,” Bucky informs him. “Do you guys have eels there? Mighta been an eel. Maybe we should get out.”

“Alrighty, scaredy-cat, let’s get you to shore.”

Bucky propels himself out in front, arms moving in powerful strokes, and Sam’s hand darts out on instinct, fingers closing around Bucky’s hard calf muscle. Bucky jerks and Sam burst into loud laughter.

“Did you think that was an eel? Did you?”

“You’re lucky I…”

I’m lucky you what? Sam wants to ask when Bucky trails off, but he just swims after him.

During their game/possible eel panic (there’s no way it was an eel), they weren’t always fighting the current, so they’ve drifted downstream some. Bucky takes sloppy, sloshing steps out of the water, underwear that might’ve been light grey now dark and plastered to his ass. Sam feels like he’s choked on river water, though his mouth is dry. He lumbers out too and they begin the march back in the direction of the dock and their clothes. The water tickles as it runs down Sam’s legs; must be bugging Bucky too because he plucks his waistband away from his skin before letting it snap back. Clenching his jaw, Sam stops himself from trying to see too much.

This end of the dock is made of old boards before it transitions to pavement farther down, wood smooth on Sam’s feet when he and Bucky haul themselves up, dropping their collected clothes and shoes into a single pile. No point getting dressed until they’re dry, so they sit on the edge of the dock, feet swinging. Feels good. Feels home. They don’t speak until the sun’s set, the sky orange, then grey, then rich, velvety blue.

“You know, don’t you?” Bucky asks softly.

“Know?”

“Yeah, you know. Whenever you don’t know something, you talk and talk—”

“Sometimes I can work through a problem better if I vocalize,” Sam explains.

“But when you do know,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Sam’s input, “you’re quiet.” He looks at Sam. “You’re quiet.”

What else is Sam? Nervous. His skin’s prickling with it, and because even the warm air feels cold when he’s just climbed out of the river. There’s a wet patch spreading around him that he can barely see with evening rapidly deepening into night. He lifts a hand from the dock and sweeps it up his neck, brushing water droplets away.

Without glancing over, he says, “You’re doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Staring. That new stare you do.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acknowledges. A bird starts calling, the sound drifting in and away like the sway of a hypnotist’s watch and Bucky’s silent until it’s over. “Maybe I’m staring for the same reason you’re quiet.”

Sam waits. Bucky doesn’t add anything, so Sam turns to look at his face, hung with cool shadows.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?”

“I thought you would say it,” Bucky argues defensively.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me like that for a week. You should go first!”

“Please, you don’t even know how I’m staring at you, I only do it when you’re not looking.”

“Do it now then and see what happens,” Sam dares him.

“Fine.”

Just like that, Bucky locks in like Sam’s attention is the only handhold on a sheer cliffside. Vital and stable, a last chance, the one thing around him that wants to help him higher instead of watching him fall. A lot of that’s familiar from his regular hard stare, but then something opens up behind his eyes. Some fragile thing (that might be Bucky’s sense of caution) breaks. Suddenly, Sam’s seeing what Joaquin saw in the news footage and amateur cell phone video. Except he’s seeing it two feet in front of him. It’s intense. It makes the air a little harder to breathe.

Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, then part as he says, “I love—”

Hopefully, he wasn’t going to end that sentence with ‘store-bought cake,’ because Sam can’t really take back his reaction. The finger slipping behind Bucky’s ear as he cradles his face, the mouth sealed to his. Especially that. Thankfully, Bucky kisses him back, just as hard, and then harder.

“Thank god,” Sam pants when they break apart.

“You interrupted me.”

“I got you to stop talking? Guess we’re in my miracle.”

“I’d complain…” Bucky shrugs. “…but your miracle is pretty nice.”

“Not bad, right?”

He sighs and looks out over the water. Bucky pushes up on his fists and sits closer, offering his hand for Sam to interlace their fingers.

“Hey,” Sam prompts when it hits him that it’s super dark outside and they aren’t gonna dry much more like this, “did you book a hotel room again?”

“You kiddin’ me? I spent all my money on that cake.”

Sam laughs.

“Right, well, I guess you need a place to stay tonight then.”

“You know anything nearby?” Bucky asks with a soft smile.

Getting to his feet and bracing to pull Bucky up after him, Sam uses his free hand to motion towards their clothing pile.

“Put your pants on,” he says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE WINTER SOLDIER #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Joaquin Torres #Sarah Wilson #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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karanoid · 4 years ago

Text

LISTEN YOU LOST SOULS!!

I really love joe and nicky but my preference is joe topping, I think it caters more to me from the spooning scene and their personalities but seems like everyone on tumblr doesn’t really like the concept of top!joe and I feel I have no one to talk to. truth to be told these switchers are lovely but these switch and bottom joe talk is not really my cuppa tea... well um... I also feel judged in this fandom... this is really draining, better leave the fandom...

DOES THIS DESCRIBE YOU? JOIN MY TOP!JOE DISCORD AND LET’S FEED EACH OTHER FOOD.

wait there’s a top!Joe discord?

YA! major writers and artists are also there

cool, I WANT IN

—————————

So, this is the official post that this discord is accepting new members. We are prioritizing people with strict preference and switchers with preference of top!joe. We originally wanted to invite 50/50 switchers/people with no preference but we already invited these people and we decided they can only join by referral only.

How to join: message me, you will be vetted first.

F.A.Q UNDER THE CUT:

Sounds great but even though I prefer top!joe, I want to talk about bottom!joe too :(

That’s okay, may I direct you to these discords (they aren’t affiliated with mine) :

- disaster immortals (18+): https://discord.gg/g2RU3h38W7

- all and more (18+): https://discord.gg/MdhHZBY (run by @avengernewsb)

If there is a bottom!joe discord, let me know I will put the invite link here.

top!Joe has a racist root, please be aware that you’re racist.

In my opinion, racism is not inherently tied to dynamics. However I can understand how some top!joe writers putting focus on Nicky can make you uncomfortable by the virtue of the white man getting the attention/focus alone, generally, I do agree that people tend to focus on the bottom and tend to whump him and I can see why people can think they’re racist for doing this because the fact that joe is a man of color only serve to highlight the difference. People tend to prefer the bottom because (i’m not saying everyone does this) they tend to be the vessel for the writer. From this point of view, say if this fandom is 90% top!joe, I can see why it makes people uncomfortable. And I don’t blame people taking precautions because it can get out of hand fast.

The worst thing that could happen is people solely talking about Nicky and completely ignoring Joe. But, the fandom is already pretty even when it comes to top/bottom, and therefore who gets the whump/attention, etc. TONS of people are switchers already and a lot of people prefer bottom!joe. Whump!joe content is not non-existent. Imo, at this point, you are just arguing with top!Joe people for the sake of arguing. Preferring Nicky over Joe (which is the case for some top!joe shippers) might be rooted from racial biases that permeate society AT BEST, we don’t disagree, however saying it’s racist and treating the shippers like they are plague and disgrace to the society is taking it way too far. You might think that preferring Joe to top and Nicky to bottom are also rooted from racial biases, we don’t disagree. However, there’s also another factor that comes into play that’s called (this is just my opinion) heteronormativity which some people might think are equally bad. Just because you don’t like Nicky to exclusively bottom and and cannot see why he should, does not mean you are right in making any assumption about why some people prefer Joe to top and Nicky to bottom. The same way why we think bottom!joe shippers are just being politically correct and/or whump!joe is even more racist but you know that’s not true. I’m sure all of this is just a preference. Please know, yes there are top!joe people who are all about whump!nicky and some of them are very loud in expressing their love to Luca and therefore, Nicky. but not all. A lot of them are just neutral and just prefer Joe to top and Nicky to bottom. However, people preferring Nicky and to whump Nicky are very normal. It’s normal to have a one sided preference in your ship. You’re putting words into their mouth just because you feel uncomfortable with it and you disagree with their interpretation of the characters.

If you are afraid we’re gonna turn the entire AO3 into bottom!nicky fest, calm down, it’s not happening. I just think top!joe shippers deserve a place in this fandom. We are not gonna harass switch and bottom!joe writers. All we ask is to be left alone. I think people minding their own business is the best option this fandom can have.

You see I think it’s pretty weird that you made a discord solely for top!joe?

Not at all! People preferring one dynamics over the other is common. Anyone who’s been in a fandom know top/bottom discourse is a thing. Top!x discords are super common especially when the dynamic is not popular/susceptible to abuse. It’s a way to gather people with likeminded interest. Also this discord is created because fandom toxicity. If people just minded their own business, I wouldn’t have made this discord.

Why not just join the other discords? It’s not like they are not allowing top!joe?

You are right, however talking to switchers are very different from talking to people with same wavelength and probably share one braincell. Some members of this discord are in other discords and they said they prefer my discord... so that’s something.

I think they will switch since they’re 900 years old and it’s just much more realistic!

Oh nobody’s disputing that. We just want to talk about the moments joe tops. Or you know Joe could have tried it and he didn’t like it. Besides realistically, I don’t think they have sex anymore after 900 years old. Nobody understands the mind of 900 yo grandpas. Nobody has lived for 900 years. We all could be wrong for what it’s worth...

Top!joe is still problematic :(

well ok then

#the old guard #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova

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nbrook29 · 4 years ago

Note

23/ 25/ 31/ 69/ 85/114/142 so ... Any combination of any no. Of the above or any One tbh just you're free to do absolutely whatever... even refuse •́ ‿ ,•̀. 🤍

Hi there! I chose:

31. “Kiss me.”

142. Did you really think I’d leave?”

This is basically a part 2 to my hearts beats for you that was also written for a dialogue prompt a few months ago 😇

Warning: very mild sexual content

* * *

Robbe enters Sander’s bedroom quietly, trying not to make a sound and cringing at the squeak the wooden door releases, but one look in the direction of the big bed and he can see Sander already awake, a poorly hidden surprise on his face.

“Got you a bunch of cinnamon rolls and those disgusting mango flavored ice cream you love so much,” Robbe shakes the plastic bag with a grin, dumping it on the nightstand before adding with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I had to fight a Karen for the last box of these so you’re welcome.” He leans in for a quick kiss that lingers for longer than he planned, hand cradling Sander’s warm from sleep cheek.

They’ve always been a touchy-feely couple, but ever since the accident Robbe has become even more clingy, the emotions and fear in him still too raw and fresh, making him crave extra closeness.

Sander leans into the touch, moving his head a little to place a small kiss on Robbe’s palm once they break apart. “You went shopping?”

He nods, thumb sweeping gently the skin under his eye. “Yeah, I thought I’ll surprise you with a snack after you wake up.”

"Oh.”

Sander darts a look at him, surprise still etched into his face and not the kind Robbe was hoping for.

“What, did you think I left or something?” he jokes, but it falls flat when he sees Sander’s guilty face. “Sander...”

“I just, “ Sander takes his hand in his and starts playing with his fingers, eyes full of regret when he returns Robbe’s gaze, “I know I’ve been difficult most of the time these past few days, and today I was a grumpy asshole the whole morning so I thought maybe you finally had enough, not that I could blame you,” he rolls his eyes on himself, scoffing. “Sorry for being a douche,” he adds and pauses, looking torn, but eventually presses a soft kiss on Robbe’s lips in apology. “And thank you for putting up with me.”

Robbe scoots forward at his words, opening his arms and gathering his sheepish boyfriend into them.

“Come here.”

Sander goes willingly, burrowing his face in his favorite spot on Robbe’s neck, his breath tickling his skin, but it’s okay, especially when he feels a featherlight kiss Sander leaves there, like he always does, the temptation too strong to ever resist.

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbles again before relaxing into the embrace with a content sigh.

“Babe, I think you’re being a little too hard on yourself, you really haven’t been as bad as you make it seem. And I don’t exactly expect you to be all smiles with a broken leg and being in pain.”

Sander huffs a quiet laugh, pulling back from Robbe’s neck to look at him properly. “Have I told you you’re an angel yet?”

“Might’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Robbe replies with feigned-smugness. “Now, kiss me and you’re forgiven.”

Sander complies without putting up a fight, raises his head asking silently for Robbe to kiss him instead because he doesn’t want to move too much.

Before they get too into it, Robbe remembers the ice cream that’s probably melting right next to them and he ignores Sander’s displeased whine at the abrupt cut to their makeout session to get up and bring him a spoon. As soon as he’s back and picks up the bag again, Sander’s forgotten all about the kiss and is now making grabby hands at the freezing container.

“Gimme.”

Robbe grins cheekily, holding the box out of Sander’s reach. “Say please.”

“Robbe, love of my life, the meaning to my days, please give me the fucking ice cream.”

“So rude,” Robbe tsks, shaking his head with disapproval, but hands him the gift, chuckling at Sander’s quiet “Yesss!” as he grabs the box with a childlike enthusiasm.

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

Robbe drops back on the bed, lips twitching when he immediately finds himself with arms full of his boyfriend again, who’s wiggling his butt to make himself more comfortable as he takes the first huge bite.

The exaggerated moan he lets out sounds so indecent Robbe widens his eyes, shooting a worrying glance at the door not knowing whether Sander’s mom is home. He swats at his arm when he sees his gleeful expression, realizing Sander did that on purpose.

“What?” he asks innocently, sucking on his spoon.

“Do it again and I’ll take it away,” Robbe threatens, Sander’s brows creasing as he hugs the box to his chest with a pout.

“Calm down, nobody’s home except for us.”

“Want some?” he asks a moment later, offering a full spoon of yellow gooiness to Robbe who scrunches up his face. He has a sweet tooth though so he decides to give the flavor one more chance and immediately regrets it as soon Sander feeds him the ice cream, giggling at his retching sounds.

“Oh my god this is so gross, how the fuck can you eat that, yuck.” He keeps wincing in disgust as Sander devours spoon after spoon, enjoying every second. Soon, he empties out the box, scrubbing at the bottom to make sure he ate every last drop before dropping back on his pillow with a satisfied smile.

Robbe tries to suppress his laughter, but it slips out anyway. At Sander’s questioning gaze, he explains, “I think I’m getting jealous of that ice cream cause you have the same look on your face right now that you get after I make you come.”

Sander shrugs, unabashed. “It’s a close second.”

“Me or ice cream?!”

“Ice cream, duuuh. We both know you don’t have competition in making me satisfied,” he bites on his thumb teasingly, and that particular move never fails to remind Robbe of their lockdown activities.

Fuck, he feels so pent up, repressing any urges for the past week when Sander’s level of pain was too high to even think about sex.

Needless to say, he takes the bait easily.

“Oh really?”

He suppresses the chuckle at the way Sander’s eyes light up when he sees the opportunity right in front of him.

“Oh yeah, you’re like, the best,” he keeps buttering him up, voice full of hope, as if Robbe needed any special encouragement to make a move.

He pulls away from him and throws his leg over his hips in a swift move, hovering over him, delighting in the way Sander’s breath hitches.

“Do you think you’re up for it though?” Robbe breaks his teasing for a second, shooting a worrying glance at Sander’s covered in cast leg.

“Ohmygodyes, I’m so up for it you have no idea,” Sander breathes into his mouth, looping his arms around his neck and effectively trapping him in case Robbe wanted to slink away, and it looks like Robbe has not been the only one sexually frustrated around here. “I’ve been celibate for a week, Robin, I’m dying here.”

The loud whine he lets out and a full body shudder that goes through him when Robbe slowly rolls his hips against his is a proof of his words.

“Any special requests?” He runs the tip of his nose along Sander’s, cleft finger traveling down Sander’s chest to graze his nipples, smiling when Sander’s breathing gets heavier with his ministrations.

“I was thinking,” he purrs, sticking his tongue to lick teasingly along Robbe’s pliant lips, “since I’m injured,” another pause to give him a short open-mouthed kiss, “and can’t really move much,” hands moving up Robbe’s thighs, stopping on his hips and squeezing, “you could ride me,” only to pull him down harder and make his eyelids flutter at the sudden pressure.

And, well, Robbe is eager to please so he leans down, mouth grazing the shell of Sander’s ear, whispering, “You got it.”

***

Robbe takes another bite and munches happily on his cinnamon roll as he cuddles more into Sander’s chest, feeling his fingers stroking up and down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake on his cooling skin. He tears a big chunk off and offers it to Sander, hand reaching blindly up in search of his mouth and missing, the boy snorting when he feels the sticky sugar on his cheek.

“Wow, I think I fucked you stupid,” Sander’s cheeky remark is met with a poke in his ribs making him let out a choked sound before he grabs Robbe’s hand and steers it in the right direction. He takes the offered food but not without biting at Robbe’s fingers in the process just to be a little shit. It earns him a squeak and another poke, and then another, this time a harder one because Robbe is a menace if he puts his mind to it. Sander manages to poke him back a few times, aiming for tickling spots and a few seconds later his bedroom is filled with his favorite sound in the world, aka Robbe’s giggling.

Once they settle down, Robbe’s face red with laughter, he combs his fingers through the bleached strands, eyes going soft as they stop at the still healing cut on Sander’s brow, thumb brushing gently under it.

“Shower?”

“Noooo, I’m comfy now, don’t wanna move.”

“But we’re gross and sticky,” Robbe tries to reason with him, but he already knows he’s going to give in and stay in bed for the time being, Sander’s killer puppy eyes melting any resolve he has.

“‘S okay, I don’t mind being gross and sticky with you, come here.” Robbe lies back on Sander’s chest without putting up a fight, not really ready to leave their safe cocoon either. “Don’t worry, I’ll still let you play nurse IJzermans later today,” Sander pats him consolingly on the back, chest vibrating with laughter at Robbe’s scoff and blushing cheeks.

#wtfock #my fics

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years ago

Text

unless you take your army back ch. 2

First chapter - Read on AO3!

This chapter is a lot longer than I thought it was that’s my bad

cw: blood, intense depictions of injuries, food, flashbacks

When Crutchie woke, it was with a heaviness in the pit of his stomach. He knew that while he was not waking up from a nightmare, he would be waking into one. Another day either working hard for nothing or locked in a tiny closet, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Something was different, though. For one thing, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. He was on something soft, which couldn’t count as any surface in the Refuge. Not only that, but he didn’t feel squished or anything. There wasn’t anyone else near him, which crossed off the idea that he’d been dragged back to the room full of boys, but there was plenty of room to stretch out, so definitely not in a closet.

Maybe he had died.

As he became more aware of his body, though, he still felt pained--so probably not dead. He used to visit a church when he’d been on the streets by himself, less for concern of his mortal soul and more for the communion wafers and occasional Sunday afternoon luncheons, but he’d listened to what had been taught there. Apparently, if he died and went to Heaven he’d be healed. He had to be going to Heaven, right? He’d been baptized as a baby, after all. He didn’t really believe in it these days, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.

He would’ve continued wondering about the fate of his soul had he not tried to flex his fingers and found both hands immobile--not because of the pain in them, but because his fingers were all wrapped up. So was his left arm, actually, which was distantly throbbing.

Reluctantly, Crutchie forced his eyes to open, grimacing at how crusty they felt. Light flooded his vision and he closed them almost immediately, then opened them a pinch.

He had no clue where he was. All he could see was a wooden ceiling. How was that supposed to help him?

It smelled sort of familiar, but it was also silent, aside from a bird chirping outside the window--which was right beside him. Actually, as he took a bigger breath (not too big, his chest was all tight and achy), he recognized something small--and then so many things, all in the scent of the air.

This was the lodging house, and with it, the smell of the soap they all used, Race’s cigar, newspapers, coffee, sweat, and that weird cologne that Jack and Romeo sometimes spent a few pennies on. He was home.

Crutchie let out a sigh. He was exhausted. Maybe he could just go back to sleep.

“Crutchie?”

So much for that idea. Crutchie shifted his vision a little, wincing as his neck cramped. Jack was sat there beside him, charcoal pencil frozen where it was poised on a paper. He looked okay, aside from a black eye. He also looked scared, for some reason, almost guilty. What had happened? Why was Crutchie at the lodging house? Why did Jack look like he was hiding something?

Crutchie decided to not bring it up at the moment, but couldn’t stop wondering. He didn’t remember all of what had happened since he’d been awoken the other morning by the Refuge kids with a cup of water, but he had vague recollections of beatings and closets and being trapped under the floor. He could also remember seeing Katherine, but that part might have been a hallucination. More importantly, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here and what had made Snyder let him go. If Jack had traded someone--

“How’re ya feeling?” Jack asked, and Crutchie could hear his words dripping with fatigue. He wondered how long he’d been out, that Jack had been sitting at his side for.

Crutchie opened his mouth, lips cracking, and paused at the pain that came when he tried to make his voice work. Something was up--Synder, chokin’ you, his brain reminded him. Also no water, dummy. They does that to a voice.

As if Jack knew what he was thinking, he shot up, the paper falling and pencil rolling away. “Gotcha some water waitin’,” he said, taking a few steps out of Crutchie’s line of sight and returning with a tin cup and a bowl. “Also had one o’ the fellas grab some soup from the sistas, so you can has somethin’ ta eat.” He frowned down at the bowl. “It ain’t too warm now, but it should still taste all right.”

Crutchie had the feeling that he ought to smile in thanks, but just couldn’t. He couldn’t even fathom lifting his cheeks that much--they felt oddly large and heavy. His head was pretty cloudy, anyway. It probably wouldn’t even be able to send the instructions to his mouth. Jack held the cup to his lips and he drank--the water was a bit warm, but far better than nothing--begrudgingly, wishing he could hold it himself.

As soon as all the water was gone, Jack was digging a spoon out of his pocket, preparing to feed him. If he had the energy, Crutchie would’ve sputtered in indignation. He could feed himself, thank you very much! He hadn’t let no one feed him except his mother, and that was too long ago for him to remember (he casually shoved down the image of Harley feeding him bites of sandwich, back at the Refuge).

“I can feeds myself,” he croaked out, feeling just that small movement of his mouth stretch his cheeks farther than normal. They must’ve been pretty swollen. Some of the anxious creases around Jack's eyes smoothed out.

“I know ya can,” Jack said, relief evident in his voice. “Lemme help ya sit up, then.”

Crutchie wanted to sit up himself, but he conceded this to Jack. He had to pick his battles, especially when he was so tired.

He gasped when Jack buried his arm under his back, the lashes and memories of them barraging him with agony. Jack pulled away as if he was the one who had been whipped, watching him warily. Crutchie scrunched his eyes closed, trying to stop a tear that was threatening to slip out. He wasn’t weak. He had to show Jack that he could do this.

“Want--want me to, uh, pull ya up by the arm?” Jack offered, and Crutchie nodded jerkily. That sounded bearable; his right arm wasn’t hurt all that bad.

As soon as Jack touched him, though, fear stole Crutchie’s breath. Images of thugs gripping his wrist and dragging him along on dirty floors filled his mind, and he cowered, pulling his body as close together as he could.

Someone was speaking, and Crutchie was about to ignore it until he realized the price he might pay for not following orders. His eyes shot open, his heart racing with a frenzy that seemed to pound on his broken ribs.

“--okay? Kath said your ribs got beat pretty bad, an’ it might be hard for you ta sit up. You good, Crutch?”

That was Jack. That was Jack speaking, and he wasn’t in the Refuge, he was at the lodging house. He just sat up to eat some soup. He was safe.

No matter how many times Crutchie repeated those words to himself, he couldn’t let go of the dark halls of the Refuge, the stink of the guards’ cigars, the pain that was coming at any moment.

“I’s fine,” he gritted out, forcing himself to meet Jack’s eyes. “Jus’, yeah, little bit o’ pain.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so just let it hang in the air between them.

Eventually, Jack helped him form his right hand around the bowl as steady as possible, then stabilized it as he brought it to his lips and drank. It bumped against his cheeks uncomfortably. It was little more than broth, and lukewarm, but Crutchie was grateful for it all the same. The taste of it alone nearly made him sob--the flavor was just so much--but he held it in.

Jack made him drink over half of the bowl before letting him lay back down, which was a much quicker operation than sitting up had been. When he was settled back in the bed, full to bursting and a little more clear on what was happening, he finally asked one of the questions that had been on his mind since he woke.

“Jack? What happened?”

Jack shifted from foot to foot. “With what?”

Crutchie sighed, pulling down his shirt a little to see what was under it. A lot of bandages and some bruises was the answer. “The strike, I s’pose.”

“Right, the strike.” Jack sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Uh, well, we won.”

Crutchie’s heart leaped. They won? Against Pulitzer, and Wiesel, and the Delanceys, and Snyder, and all the police officers? Once again, he felt that he should smile, but just couldn’t find the energy. “Wow,” he said instead, swallowing around the pain in his throat. They had won. “How’d you get me out?”

There wasn’t an answer from Jack for a long time, and after a moment Crutchie looked over at him. He was looking down, cap in his hands, twisting it around anxiously.

“Governor Roosevelt,” he said, not looking up. His voice was unreadable. “Kath got him ta shut down the Refuge, for good. Ain’t nobody goin’ back there.”

Wow. They really won. How had that even happened? Crutchie couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that there would be no more Snyder chasing kids on the street. There had to be someone, right? Someone else who wanted to hurt kids for the fun of it?

“Y-you awake, buddy?”

Crutchie blinked, realizing his eyes had closed. “Yeah,” he whispered. Jack was watching him again, his eyes red. “Jus’ . . . jus’ tired.” And he was. He felt like if he didn’t sleep soon, he might just fade away. Even now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a week straight. He was so tired.

“Sleep, nitwit. Ya gots the time.”

Crutchie gladly accepted the invitation.

“Shh! Ya don’t want ‘im wakin’ up, do ya?”

“A little bit, yeah!”

“We wants to see ‘im!”

Crutchie groaned. The voices quieted down for a second with a few hushed gasps and shushes, then started up again when he made no effort to move. This bed was almost unbearably comfortable.

“C’mon, Jack! He’s practic’ly a’ready awake.”

“Yeah, but he ain’t. He’s restin’, he don’t need you lot tirin’ him out.”

“It’s our room too.”

“Yeah! You has to let us in, who put you in charge?”

“. . . You’s all did, Romeo.”

Crutchie snorted through his nose, then opened his eyes. He still felt bone tired, but a little like he could function. He turned his head, slowly this time, to see Jack a few feet away, holding back a good dozen newsies. Once they saw him moving, their faces lit up excitedly. Elmer pointed, hopping a little bit, and Jack looked over his shoulder to meet Crutchie’s eyes.

Immediately, he dropped his defenses and rushed to Crutchie’s side. He produced a tin cup from nowhere--and a different one from earlier?--and pushed it to his lips. “Hey, Crutch. How ya feelin’?”

Crutchie sipped and rolled his eyes, coughing a little when that sent a headache pounding. “Bit better,” he managed through his swollen jaw, pulling away from the drink. “Why’s my arm not workin’?”

Jack’s face flashed guiltily. “‘S broken,” he said, brushing hair out of Crutchie’s face. “Katherine said you’ll be wrapped up in it about three weeks, maybe more.”

Crutchie frowned. How was he supposed to sell? His right arm needed to hold his crutch, so what was supposed to be waving around the papers? His thoughts were interrupted by Jack making him drink some more water.

“I gots more food here, for ya,” Jack began. “Don’t want ya goin’ hungry. And then--”

“Jack?”

Jack went silent instantly, looking so intensely at Crutchie that he started to wonder if Jack thought he was dying. Maybe he was dying. He certainly felt like it. He shook himself. “Can I see the fellas?”

Jack turned around. The newsies, still standing in the middle of the room, waved.

“Yeah, why not,” he said, pulling his hat off and running a hand through his hair. “One at a time, though,” he added when they all began to rush forward. “You’s gonna give him a heart attack, all o’ you’s at once.”, during which Crutchie propped himself up into almost a sitting position. His bad leg was almost completely deadweight, and it hurt like he’d stuck it in a bonfire. Still, he dragged it up a little bit, trying to make room for another boy to sit on the bed. Breathing sitting up made his chest burn and back smart, but he could deal with it for right now. He just wanted to see his friends.

Specs sat down first, smiling in that gentle way of his. “Hey, Crutch,” he said. “Lookin’ a bit worse than last time I seen ya, huh? Feelin’ any better?”

“Jus’ a bit, and okay, I guess,” Crutchie admitted, once again finding smiling to be too much effort. “Jack says we won, I think. How’s it feel?”

Specs sighed happily. “Feels free. Can’t wait to get ya outta bed and into the streets, see how ‘cited the boys are ‘bout sellin’.”

“Me neither,” Crutchie said. Specs nodded, then patted him awkwardly on the knee before standing up. He was almost immediately replaced by Race and Albert, Race falling onto the bed with flourish, Albert standing beside it with his thumbs in his suspenders.

“Feelin’ any better, Crutchie?” Albert asked. Crutchie waved his arm.

“Loads,” he said, trying to not make any sounds as Race jostled him. “Bet I’ll be up sellin’ papes with you’s in no time.”

Albert guffawed; Race smiled a little piteously. “Glad to see that Crutchie spirit,” Race said, poking him in the side. Crutchie couldn’t help a gasp, bit his tongue too late to hide it. The smile completely dropped from both of their faces.

“Hey, uh,” Albert said, quieter than usual, “Race an’ I--we’s been there. Well, not there ‘xactly, but . . . that place. So we knows it’s hard to get better, an’ it takes time.”

They really didn’t know, Crutchie thought to himself as they stepped away. They didn’t have a public connection to Jack Kelly when they were in there, nor did they have a crippled leg. He was sure it was rough for them, but their experiences were not the same, and he didn’t much appreciate them comparing the two.

“Hey Crutchie! Feelin’ any better?” Elmer.

“I’d feel better if people would stop askin’ me that,” Crutchie grumbled. Elmer laughed, his eyes lighting up.

“Les an’ Davey an’ me made you this,” he said, holding something out. He dropped it in Crutchie’s lap, who stiffly picked it up with bandaged fingers and examined it closely. It was a loop of yarns, braided together in blue, green, and brown to make a bracelet.

“You don’t gotta put it on your wrist now,” Elmer said, obviously proud. “But we all made it! You can sees where I started braidin’ after Les, ‘cuz it gets better there.”

Crutchie felt tears pricking at his eyes as he looked, and yep--there was a section where it went from messy to a little less so. “Thanks, Elmer. I’m . . . I’m touched.” he glanced up into his face, seeing it split into a huge smile. “You wanna put it on my wrist? My fingers ain’t workin’ so well.”

Elmer did so with care, not even hopping back when Crutchie flinched at the touch. Then he gave a little bow and a wave, and darted off.

Next up were Romeo and Henry, who awkwardly told him about their day and asked about his. Seeing as how Crutchie had been unconscious for the majority of the day, there wasn’t much conversation to be made on his end. It was nice to hear about what they’d been doing, though. Crutchie could usually see Romeo from his selling spot, and they sometimes sold together.

“Some o’ the regulars is askin’ after you,” Romeo told him with a pat on the shoulder. Crutchie didn’t have the energy to hide his wince. “Told ‘em they oughtta be proud o’ you, you took on the Delanceys and won!”

Crutchie choked. “I ain’t done anything of the sort!” he sputtered. Romeo chuckled.

“I’m a newsie, what can I say?” he shrugged and patted his shoulder again, then wandered off with a bit of a dazed look on his face. Henry gave him a quick goodbye and followed.

Tommy Boy was just saying hello when Jack began to usher them out, saying something about how they needed to go run off their energy somewhere not here. For once, Crutchie was grateful for Jack’s motherhenning. He felt like he was going to shake right out of his body. The newsies were a tactile bunch, and normally Crutchie had no problem with that, but today it made his skin crawl and his brain go bleary. He’d also never been troubled by crowds of any size, but the room was beginning to feel unbearably full and loud.

When he looked up again, everyone but Jack was gone--and Katherine? When had she come in?

Not another person, Crutchie thought, then immediately felt bad. Jack had mentioned her a few times, and he inferred that she was sort of the person who got him out. He could have the civility to talk to her.

“Crutchie, how are you feeling?” Katherine asked, hurrying over. Crutchie bit his tongue to keep from responding rudely.

Katherine looked him over, the smile in her words slowly fading as she took him in. Finally, she met his eyes, and nodded. “Jack was right, you’re looking a lot better than yesterday.”

“Thanks, I think?” Crutchie said, something catching in his sore throat and causing him to cough violently. His chest seized up, his body wracked with agony at the pain that came from the shuddering coughs. When he recovered enough to open his eyes, Jack was holding the cup of water right under his nose.

“Don’ be gettin’ sick on me, Crutchie,” Jack said, sounding more worried than teasing. Crutchie swallowed down the last of the water and coughed one more time.

“I’s gettin’ sick just ta spite you, now,” Crutchie said weakly. Katherine and Jack both laughed, a little wildly, a little wrong. That bothered him, in ways that he couldn’t quite put together. Why didn’t they sound normal?

Something in the smell of the room was starting to make him feel sick. Had he eaten anything since the scraps that one morning? He had, hadn’t he? Jack had given him something earlier. Well, at least he knew there was something in his stomach to be tossed up if it came to that. That had to be easier on his throat than dry heaves.

“Crutchie, you heard that the Refuge has been shut down for good, haven’t you?” asked Katherine, trying to find somewhere to pat him kindly. She settled on the edge of the mattress.

Wait, what?

The Refuge? Shut down--for good? That wasn’t possible, was it? Snyder had a perfect reputation with the city. They’d never shut down a place that worked so well because a few teenage boys told them to.

“It what?” he said out loud, looking between Jack and Katherine, hoping to see some sign of humor. They had to be pulling his leg. Katherine only nodded, though, and Jack gave him a concerned glance.

“I told ya that already,” Jack said. “Remember? This mornin’?”

Crutchie thought back. Maybe? He remembered pieces of their conversation, but it was pretty blurry. He also remembered seeing a lizard crawl up the windowpane. He’d assumed it was a dream, but maybe it had actually happened. That was pretty cool.

“Anyway, I showed Governor Roosevelt some of Jack’s drawings,” Katherine pushed on. “He investigated it immediately, and went personally to shut it down and arrest that awful man!”

“The governor,” Crutchie repeated, dumbfounded. Jack had ridden in the back of his carriage once. Had he met the governor and not even been conscious?

Now that he thought about it, though, he had vague flashes . . . a man with a mustache saying something to someone out of sight . . . the same man holding water for him to drink . . . had he met the governor and let the man baby him?

“The doctor said he doesn’t know what your recovery will look like, but he thinks you’ll make a full one if nothing gets infected,” Katherine told him, and Crutchie was torn from his mortification to incredulation.

“A doctor?” He couldn’t afford a doctor! He didn’t even have enough money saved to miss more than a few days of work, how would he--

“Don’t worry,” Katherine said, waving him off with a little laugh, “Governor Roosevelt handled the cost. You were concerned about it when it happened, too.”

Crutchie made himself relax a little bit. He couldn’t turn down a free handout in his condition, especially not from the governor. The governor.

“And, speaking of. . . .” Katherine trailed off, looking uncomfortable. Jack took her hand and gave her a strained smile. Crutchie looked at the two of them. Were they together?! Why had no one told him?

“I sort of need to change your bandages,” Katherine said apologetically. Crutchie blanched, and she hurried to add, “It’ll be quick! Just clean wrappings--” she waved a bag-- “and some soap and water, then you can rest.”

Yeah, sure, but there was a huge problem. Katherine was a girl. It wasn’t that she was weak for being a girl or anything, but Crutchie really didn’t want to subject a lady to the mess that was his body right now. Or anyone, for that matter. In fact, if they could both just leave the room and give him the bandages and stinging stuff, he’d get it done himself.

When he tried to tell Katherine just that, she snorted. “Crutchie, no offense, but I don’t think you could beat a toddler with pneumonia in a fight right now. There’s no way you could do this yourself, or any way you could stop me or one of the others doing it for you.”

Crutchie’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t stop them. She was right. They could do anything they wanted to him, and he was powerless to do anything. They wouldn’t even need to hold him down.

Crutchie only nodded when she asked him if she could change his bandages, his throat completely dry. Jack watched him for a moment, and Crutchie tried to not look back. He didn’t want Jack to see how petrified he was. After a moment, Jack made up some nonsense excuse about checking on the other boys and left.

Left to get them, probably. Or maybe something to hit him with. Or both. After all, he was a pretty easy target right about now, who wouldn’t want a go? He could barely move, let alone fight back. Crutchie’s stomach turned as an image of Race taking bets on how long he’d be conscious forced itself into his head.

“Can you sit up all the way, Crutchie?” Katherine asked, and he cringed. They were going to make him sit up? Were they going to make him move from this bed, too? It was Jack’s, he’d realized earlier. Jack probably wanted it back.

He pushed himself up, slowly, agonizingly. His head pounded and his back throbbed and his stomach wouldn’t stop sloshing around the water in it, but he sat up anyway, slowly adjusting so that his legs hung off the bed. By the time he was fully sitting up (hunching over like he wanted to made it harder to breathe) Crutchie had broken a light sweat, his hair sticking a little to the back of his neck. Katherine wouldn’t hurt him, right? She was a girl, and she was upper-class. They made other people do that for them.

“I’m going to start with this cut on your cheek, okay? It looks like it’s fine, I just want to make sure it’s clean.”

Crutchie braced himself, closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep for a little bit longer. Couldn’t it go back to Jack softly giving him water and drawing while he dozed? That was nice. That was safe. Couldn’t they do that for just a little bit longer before they got to all the bad stuff?

Katherine’s touch on his face made him flinch back, but that was all it was. A touch. A piece of wet cloth, rubbed on his cheek. It wasn’t too bad, so far. It was almost a little nice.

“Your forehead’s pretty warm,” he heard her say, distantly. He didn’t respond. It was taking all his effort to stay still and upright.

Crutchie tried to retreat to the back of his mind as he felt Katherine undoing the buttons on his shirt, but he couldn’t get out of here. He was straining his ears to hear something, anything--the boys bounding upstairs, or cheering, or something like that that would give him time to prepare for what was to come.

He was broken out of it, though, when his already aching chest burst into flames. He cried out, opened his eyes--Katherine was holding a red-stained cloth, looking apologetic.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, “but one of your cuts is infected. It’s going to hurt a bit. Do you think you can focus on me?”

Crutchie would’ve laughed if he wasn’t busy taking as shallow breaths as possible. He could barely focus on anything. He looked down to see the patchwork of bruises and scrapes that was his chest, and saw that yes, the largest one looked irritated and weepy. That one had been giving him trouble from the first day.

Something touched his hand and he started, then stared down at it. Katherine was holding his hand. Why?

“We can wait until you’re ready,” she said, and Crutchie wasn’t sure that he would ever be ready, but nodded as a go-ahead.

He watched now as Katherine gently and carefully cleaned each wound, calming more with each reassuring squeeze of her hand when the liquid stung. Something about her hand in his was comforting, almost grounding. It was as if his perception had been blurred with panic, and her hand cleared the mist enough that he could ground himself against the contact and the quiet openness of the room. He was alive.

Instead of making him move, Katherine climbed over the bed in a very unladylike manner and dressed the marks on his back. This was worse. With no one to hold onto and no way to see what was happening, Crutchie dug the sore fingers of his right hand into his left upper arm. It gave him a sensation to focus on that wasn’t the painful touches on his back, something that he could control. That helped, a little bit. What didn’t help was the fact that Crutchie couldn’t stop staring at the door, waiting for it to burst open at any minute.

Katherine wrapped his torso and helped him get his shirt back on before moving down to his legs, which made Crutchie even more uncomfortable. He tried to shift away, even told her he could do this part, despite knowing full well that he was about two minutes from passing out. She was a lady, it was improper.

Katherine was sympathetic. “I can go get Jack,” she offered. “Or one of the other boys, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

No. No no no no no no no. Couldn’t they do this for a little while longer first? Just Katherine holding his hand and cleaning his chest. She seemed to see his panic, because she immediately softened.

“How about this,” she said. “I’ll only do from the knees down, and then I’ll turn around while you clean the rest, okay?” Crutchie nodded. That sounded okay. Embarrassing, of course, but so much better than the alternative.

Katherine pulled one of the blankets from where it was tucked in and draped it over his legs. With her steadying him, Crutchie managed to get his pants down to his ankles, then let her take over, his face burning. She was a girl, after all. It felt so wrong, to let her clean his legs.

She made quick work of it though, and handed Crutchie the brown bottle of what seemed to be soapy water and the cloth before turning around. He watched her for a moment, making sure she wasn’t going to peek, then quickly yet haltingly rubbed the cloth along his thighs. There luckily was nothing more than bruises and a single cut there, and he was done in a few minutes. By that point, he could barely hold his head up. Instead of pulling his pants back on, he just fell back against the bed, groaning.

Katherine tucked him back in, resting a hand on his forehead again. “Do you think you have a fever?”

That would make a bit of sense, wouldn’t it? It was the middle of summer, it had to be sweltering out, and here he was under three blankets with the window closed. He was sure he had other symptoms too, but he didn’t really remember, so he just shrugged and closed his eyes.

Katherine sighed, rubbing his fingers. “Crutchie, I need you to stay awake for a few minutes. Jack’s bringing you something to eat.”

Crutchie forced his eyes back open. He didn’t want to be awake. He’d been tired this whole time and now his body felt like it was going to fall apart. As if summoned, though, the door at the other end of the room creaked open, and in came Jack, holding a bowl in one hand and some bread in the other.

“I sent Sniper down ta Jacobi’s,” he said by way of introduction. Crutchie tried to move his arms, but they felt weighed down. He didn’t really want to eat, he wanted to sleep. He really wanted to sleep, actually, so badly that he felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. Why weren’t they letting him sleep?

There was bread in front of him and Crutchie stared at it uncomprehendingly. What was he supposed to do with that? He couldn’t take it, his arms weren’t moving.

He blinked and it had been replaced by a bowl of something, which gradually came closer as he watched. Someone wormed a hand underneath his neck to prop his head up, making him shiver and twitch. He didn’t like that at all, but there was nothing he could do. Maybe now they were going to beat him. At least he’d probably be too out of it to notice.

The bowl pressed against his lips and Crutchie opened his mouth, choking as some of its liquid slipped down his throat. That was far more warm than he’d been expecting, not quite searing his tongue, but coming close to it. It drew back again, then more spilled into his mouth. This time, Crutchie drank, paying no mind to the flavor or temperature. He just hoped they would let him sleep after this.

Sure enough, with a few last drops of broth, the bowl was empty and the hand under his neck pulled away, leaving Crutchie to fall back against the pillow. Before his eyes were even closed, he was pulled into darkness.

15 notes · View notes

emmy-writes-sometimes · 5 years ago

Text

FaceTime

For the anon who requested where Chris introduces the new baby over video chat. I have never even met a baby, so I have no idea about… anything, so this is all guess work! I went ahead and just made up a name as well. Hope you enjoy!

“Are you absolutely sure you can handle her?” You asked Chris, eyebrows raised, as he tried to take the sleeping baby out of the carrier.

“Abso-” The baby stirred when Chris picked her up, but silenced again. Both of you braced yourselves for crying, but it didn’t happen. “Absolutely. See? She’s fine.”

“Then I’m going to take a long, very hot shower. If that’s okay?” You looked around the house for a minute, missing the small Dodger nipping at your heels. Chris dropped him off with Carly for a week while you took the baby home, just to get settled before introducing one child to the other.

“Fine by me. I’ll get dinner started in a few minutes,” Chris said. He took the carrier in one hand and sat it down on the coffee table, sitting down on the couch with the baby in his other arm.

“Are you just going to stare at her?” You wonder out loud, smiling a little bit. You knew Chris would be a fantastic father, but he had barely even stopped looking at either of you since you went to the hospital. She looked exactly like Chris’s sisters did as babies, except for your eyes, and maybe your cheekbones. You weren’t surprised, because the Evans family had strong genes. As soon as he saw her, there was no doubt in his mind that he was more in love with her than anything (sorry, babe, she’s gorgeous, Chris had said). He had barely stopped holding her, unless of course you wanted to – she had maybe been down for ten or fifteen minutes total besides when you were in the car. Chris insisted he had it, and you believed him.

“Yeah, why?” He was too busy looking down at the baby to pay attention. You just grinned.

“No reason.” You walked up the stairs, grateful for the pain medication, because otherwise there was no way you could handle the old house’s steep stairs. You glanced into the baby’s room, between your bedroom and Chris’s office, where the baby’s gender-neutral things were all laid out. Chris’s doing – the both of you wanted to keep the gender a secret, but it was Chris the entire time insisting that it was definitely a girl, but even so he painted the room a light blue. Honestly, you were thinking that the baby wasn’t even going to spend much time in there. If Chris didn’t let her go sometime, there was a chance she’d never even make it into the crib. You had already fixed a room in Boston, too, but this house was bigger and allowed for a larger nursery.

You probably spent a full hour in the shower. Maybe more, maybe less, because it was starting to get dark outside by the time you pulled on one of Chris’s oversized shirts and a pair of shorts that wouldn’t irritate you too much. And then you walked down the stairs to the smell of Chris making your favorite. Mac and Cheese. Chris was still holding her in one arm, fully supported, and while he was stirring with his free hand, he was on the iPad with Scott.

“How was she?” You ask as you cross the living room into the kitchen. Chris swirled around, reluctantly handing you to her as you opened your arms. She was so small it would take some getting used to.

“Asleep,” Chris answered honestly. “Gotta go, man!” He called to his brother.

“Tell her she’s pretty!” Scott called in response.

“Which one?”

“Both of them!” With that, the video camera turned off and left them alone.

“Has she been asleep this whole time?” You asked. She started stirring as soon as you took her from Chris, but stopped when Chris laid his hand on her to make sure the blanket around her wasn’t too tight.

“Pretty much, yeah. Mom asked if we can call her and introduce her around soon.” You felt a little bad, but it wasn’t like you had planned to have the baby two weeks early and in Los Angeles. You had planned to start driving back the next morning so you could be back in Boston by the time the due date came. But that had gone out the window, because she wanted to come then and there and Chris was just thankful the house was close enough to a hospital to where you could make it. He was also grateful for the excuse not to have to go to a meeting that day.

“After we eat. If she’s even awake.” Chris smirked.

“Maybe the nurse is right. Maybe she’ll be easy.”

“Babies are not easy,” you replied. “This is probably just the calm before the storm. Did you feed her?”

“Fed and changed.” You sighed.

“I love you.” You walked over to the couch, propping your feet up, and held the baby in your lap.

“I love you too.” Chris finished making the food, your first real food in a few days, and brought over the pot instead of distributing it into bowls. It made for less cleanup later, and besides – you always shared a pot of mac and cheese. It was an unwritten rule in the house.

You somehow ate without her even waking up, but the clinking of the spoon against the empty bowl caused you to clap your hands over your ears, hoping not to have to endure a symphony of crying. You loved babies. Just not when they cried because it made it hard to think about how to make them stop crying.

“I’ll clean up,” you volunteered, “if you want her.” Chris grinned, eagerly but carefully taking the baby back. She woke up and, if anything, curled deeper into Chris’s arm where he held her.

“She is such a Daddy’s girl,” Chris said. “Thank God, I was afraid she would like you better.”

“There’s always the next one,” you laughed as you carried the pot into the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher.

“We can have more?” Chris asked happily. “Really?”

“I assumed you wanted five. Isn’t that what you said two years ago?”

“We can have five?”

“If they all behave like this one, we can have as many as you want.” You grabbed the propped-up tablet from the kitchen counter and brought it over, taking your place before. Chris had one of his hands on her feet, where they must have seemed a little cold. “Who are we calling first?”

“Mom and Dad?” Chris offered. You shrugged, not really having a preference, and tapped Chris’s mom’s name on the iPad. They answered on the first ring, and the first thing you heard was Chris’s mom calling his father over.

“Hey Ma!” Chris said, his Boston accent kicking right in.

“Who is this?” She asked, clearly looking down at the baby in Chris’s arms. Chris put his other arm around you as you got in the frame. “You weren’t telling us any names earlier.”

“This is Olivia,” Chris replied sweetly. “Olivia Grace.”

“Oh, I knew you were naming her Olivia. Your father owes me ten dollars.” Chris chuckled. “She looks exactly like Carly when she was born.” Chris nodded.

“Oh, my, is that a beautiful baby!” Chris’s dad exclaimed as he sat down next to Chris’s mother. “She does look like Carly. But I can see a little of Y/n in there. Y/n, sweetie, how are you?”

“I had so much medicine,” you replied, “I honestly don’t remember most of it.”

“You will later. It took me awhile to remember with Chris,” Chris’s mom thought out loud. “She is beautiful.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely going to be prettier than me,” you said with a laugh.

“Oh, nobody is prettier than you, babe,” Chris said off-hand. “Except maybe our daughters.” You rolled your eyes. “We’re going to call the girls, too, Scott already met her.”

“Of course. Let us know if you need anything!” Chris’s mom said. “We’ll see you as soon as you can get home.”

“Love you, Ma,” Chris said with a smile. “Love you, Dad.”

“Bye!” Both of Chris’s parents waved before ending the call. Chris immediately scrolled down until he found Shanna, the first person he called that morning, and pressed her name. She answered immediately, sitting on Carly’s couch with Dodger sitting in her lap. A wine glass was in her hand, and next to her was a book she’d probably read to one of the kids.

“Oh, my gosh!” She exclaimed excitedly when she saw the baby. “Aww!”

“Get the family!” Chris insisted. She immediately followed what Chris was saying and called out names until their husbands and the kids were gathered around the couch.

“So this is Olivia,” you said quietly, noticing that the baby was starting to stir a little bit. “She’s been asleep, but I think she’s waking up now.”

“Aww, she’s so beautiful!” Carly said, putting a hand over her heart. “I knew you’d name her Olivia!”

“Why is everybody saying that?” Chris chuckled. “How’s my other baby doing? Dodger?” The dog perked his ears up at the sound of his father’s voice.

“He’s been with the kids most of the day,” Carly answered. “He’s been a good boy.”

“That’s my boy,” Chris responded with a smile.

“How was it?” Shanna asked you.

“Honestly, I didn’t feel much. But Chris was not helping.”

“Yeah, men never do.”

“Hey!” Chris defended. “I got her ice chips and everything.” You sat up a little to kiss his cheek.

“You were doing your best and I appreciate it,” you said to Chris. He rolled his eyes. “No, he was good. I think it was probably the longest twelve hours of my life.”

“Oh, it always is. You look good, honey.”

“Thank you,” you responded with a little smile. Chris’s family was always so warm and welcoming, even though they were a big family. You weren’t very close with your family, especially after moving around so much with Chris, but at least they’d checked in a few times.

Olivia started fussing and pushing at the blanket around her, so much that you elbowed Chris. He looked down and winced a little, causing you to decide to take her. Chris deserved a little time with his family, especially now, and you decided to pick her up. Chris handed her to you willingly, but not until he gave her feet a quick squeeze.

“I got her,” you insisted, quickly taking her up the stairs. She needed to be changed. You could feel that, and smell it, right away. This was the part you knew would be gross, but it had to be done, so you took her into the nursery and started. You could faintly hear Chris laughing along with the family, praising you for doing so well, and that made your heart absolutely melt. You looked down at the baby and sighed.

“You have the best Daddy,” you said softly as you started to change her. “He’s an idiot, but he loves you. And his family loves you…” You looked down into the baby’s eyes, not even noticing that Chris was standing in the doorway until he coughed a little.

“She okay?” He asked, walking into the room. He watched you change her like you had practiced with so many times, and when you were done you picked her back up. She had only cried a little bit, thankfully.

“She’s good,” you responded. “Telling her all about your family.”

“Did you tell her her uncle’s an idiot?” You laughed.

“No. I’ll let her figure that out.” Chris came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Did you tell her she’s got the best mama, too?” Your heart skipped a beat, smoothing over when Chris kissed the back of your head.

“She’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, she will. Right now I’m just wondering how I can cash in on the bets. I had a bet with Mackie that it would be a girl, ‘cause you know, the ultrasound lady kinda messed up and almost said she. But she didn’t. And then I have a bet with Downey that she would look like you, so I need Mackie to pay up first…”

“You told me you didn’t know!” You exclaimed, hoping not to wake the baby. “Please tell me you don’t owe Downey too much money.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he shrugged. “So, uh, when did the doctor say we’re allowed to make another one? Or maybe two? ‘Cause, you know, twins run in your family.”

“After six weeks. But hopefully not before this one can pee on her own, because I can not be taking care of more than one baby at once.”

“More than one?”

“Did you forget about yourself?

“At least I can control my bladder.”

#chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader

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cuddlepilefics · 4 years ago

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8. The Grinch

Fandom: Stray Kids

Littles: Minho (4), Hyunjin (5), Felix (3)

Caregiver: Jeongin (M.), Seungmin (H.), Chan & Changbin (F.)

Chan’s POV.:

Having a week off to relax after the stress of producing our Christmas album, the three littles in our group decided to have a few days of little time. They tried to play by themselves as much as possible, not wanting to burden their caregivers as they were just as run down as the littles themselves. But as a caregiver myself, I didn‘t mind caring for them even though I was tired. Changbin and I have been Felix main caregivers ever since he came out as a little a few months ago. Although Jeongin was Minho‘s main caregiver and Seungmin took care of a regressed Hyunjin, we‘d all take care of the other littles as well, should they need us to.

The littles had regressed yesterday, immediately distancing themselves from us no matter how much we assured them that they weren‘t being a burden to us and that we‘d love to spend time with them. At the moment, the three had locked themselves in Minho‘s and Hyunjin‘s room and I could hear them talk in slightly higher voices than usual, muffled by the door. I sighed walking back to the living room where I found Changbin on the couch sipping his coffee. “Lixxie still doesn‘t want to see us?“, he guessed as he saw me returning alone. I gave him a sad smile while shaking my head and sat down next to him, running a hand through my hair. “Guys, has anyone seen Minho? We were cuddling last night but now he‘s gone as well as his teddy, that means he‘s little but I can‘t find him. What if he got lost or os in trouble?“, a clearly stressed Jeongin skidded into the living room, almost knocking over Seungmin who just wanted to grab himself some coffee. “Relax, Innie. All three are in Minho‘s and Hyunjin‘s room. Nobody got lost but I can‘t tell you whether they are in trouble or not because they won‘t open the door“, Changbin explained irritably, before getting up to dispose of his empty cup. He might not look like it on first sight but Changbin is a very caring and protective friend with a huge heart and he is especially soft for Felix. Not being able to be with our little was putting him on edge. “Yeah, I couldn‘t get back in when I returned from my shower earlier“, Seungmin stated taking a sip of his coffee, flinching as he burned his tongue. “Why don‘t they want to see us though?“, he frowned as he sat down next to me. “The way Lixxie put it, they feel like being egoistic for regressing. Saying it‘s our time off as well and we shouldn‘t have to spend it by taking care of them“, I rolled my eyes. “But that‘s stupid. There is no other way I‘d prefer to spend my time than by playing and cuddling my Minmin“, the maknae pouted biting into an apple afterwards.

“Good morning lovely family, did y’all miss me?“, Jisung yelled with a huge smile before plopping down at the table and shoving a heating spoonful of cereal into his mouth, making him look even more like a squirrel while he was chewing. “Not really, it was quiet for once“, Seungmin sassed earning a glare. “Chan-hyung, I‘m being bullied“, he whined with his mouth still full. “Sorry, I didn‘t understand a word like that, mind repeating after you swallowed?“, I teased before grabbing myself something to eat as well. I was worried our littles were missing their meal if they wouldn‘t come out of their room so I grabbed three strawberry yoghurts as well as three spoons and prepared a plate with apple slices which I all carried to their door placing it on the ground before knocking. “Lixxie, I brought the three of you some breakfast. It‘s right at the door so please eat something if you don‘t want to eat with the rest of us. There was no answer and I sighed, turning around to leave. When I was halfway down the hallway I could hear a quiet clicking noise. At least they had taken the food and were hopefully eating now. I wasn‘t as obvious as Changbin but being away from Felix, especially when he was little, stressed me out too.

When I returned to the living room I found the rest of my members in a dull mood, Jisung‘s smile having disappeared too, as the caregivers had told him what was going on right now. Jisung wasn‘t a caregiver to any of the littles but he was a very caring older brother who constantly showered them with love, watching them from time to time when one of us caregivers where busy. He didn‘t like them holing up and avoiding us so he immediately started brainstorming how we could lure them out of their room. The option to wait for them to become hungry was gone now that I had supplied them with food so we had to search for a new approach. “Hm, what do littles like…?“, he hummed more to himself than to us. “Oh, oh, I know, pillow forts and movies and cocoa and cookies and plushies“, he listed, getting more and more excited. Jeongin‘s face lit up immediately as he ran off to gather all the pillows and blankets from his and Jisung‘s shared room. I smirked at Changbin as we went to collect our pillows and blankets as well as a few plushies and coloring books Feilx had forgotten when dragging his little stuff to the other room. For the lack of access to his own room, Seungmin went to the kitchen to heat up a pot of milk, stirring in some chocolate and a dash of cinnamon.

Jisung had already started to turn the couch into a pillow fort, snatching the blankets from us right as we walked into the living room. If there was something Jisung was exceptionally good at besides rapping and singing, it was setting up pillow forts. It was a skill all the littles loved him for dearly. I went back to the locked door, knocking gently and listening to the hushed voices inside, debating whether they should answer me or not. “Cuties, I know that you heard me. Just wanted to tell you we‘re all hanging out in one of Jisung‘s pillow forts to watch a Christmas movie. We also have hot cocoa and cookies, so if you wanna join us you‘re very welcome. You know, a movie is always better with cuddles but I guess we could somehow survive without“, I informed them, making sure to sound as sad as I possibly could towards the end. I got no reaction so I went back to the living room, where Seungmin placed a few plates with different cookies onto the coffee table in the center of the pillow fort. The others looked at me expectantly as I returned alone and I smirked at them: “Just wait. They won’t be able to resist for too long.“

True to my words, we soon heard shuffling steps in the hall way but decided to pretend we didn‘t till I felt a shy tap on my shoulder. “Well hello there baby“, I whispered, gently pulling Felix into my lap. He giggled quietly, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. “Aww, I missed my sunshine sooo much“, Changbin smiled, wrapping his arms around Felix and me. When I looked up, I watched Hyunjin dig his toes into the carpet, facing the ground with a guilty expression. “Sorry, daddy for locking you out“, the oldest little mumbled, not daring to meet his caregiver‘s and roommate‘s eyes. Seungmin sighed tucking the messy strands of Hyunjin‘s long hair behind his ears. “I‘m not mad, sweetie. I was just sad and lonely because I missed you and you didn‘t want me there“ – “I-I want you. Was lonely too but daddy should have fun too. Don‘t want daddy be stuck with me“, the sensitive Hyunjin teared up a bit. “Shh, it‘s ok. We‘re both not lonely anymore now, are we? You know I always have fun when I‘m with you so I‘d be the luckiest person if you‘d stick by my side, princess“, he assured the little. Minho was shy about approaching his caregiver too but one look at the maknae‘s wide smile told him that he didn‘t have to be.

Finally being reunited, we got settled in the pillow fort. Jisung went to the kitchen to fill the littles‘ sippycups with hot cocoa before setting up his laptop to turn on Netflix. Changbin grabbed a cookie holding it next to Felix head and finally getting the youngest little to look up from my neck. Blushing a little, he took a bite of the cookie and giggled to himself before eating the rest. Hyunjin was munching on the treats as well while Minho lay with his head in Jeongin‘s lap, letting the maknae hold the sippy to his lips. I took a small plastic bowl, adding a few of each cookies so we wouldn‘t have to get up from our seated position. Felix was quick to take one of the cookies, choosing my favorite kind and holding it up to my mouth while giving me huge puppy-eyes. I thanked him smiling before opening my mouth so he could feed me. Changbin next to me cooed at the adorable action and the little craned his neck to find the source of the sound, giggling happily as he also picked up a cookie for the older rapper. I heard the quiet clicking of a camera and glared at Jisung who just replied: “We need some Christmas-pictures for the family foto-collection.“

The littles were all still in their pajamas but for a lazy-day like today that was a perfectly suitable outfit. After scrolling through Netflix, we settled for watching The Grinch (2000). Felix had moved from my lap to Changbin‘s stretching his legs over mine while happily sucking on the sippy, Changbin held out for him. The first few minutes of the movie were absolute bliss, till the grinch appeared for the first part, causing Felix to squeal and hide his face in Changbin‘s chest. I rubbed his leg comfortingly and looked over at the other littles‘ reactions. Minho was pressed against Jeongin, covering his eyes and Hyunjin was clutching Seungmin‘s arm tightly while pretending not to be scared. We offered to turn off the movie and try to find something else to watch multiple times but the littles were insistent that they are big boys and want to finish the movie, though we could all tell they were scared.

After having lunch, we continued the rest of the day in a similar fashion, afraid the littles would hide away again if we didn‘t. The three of them got tired pretty early in the evening, probably because the fought so hard to finish the movie, clinging as tightly to their caregivers as physically possible. We all said good night as we went to tuck our babies in. When I carried Felix to our room, Changbin had already pushed our beds together so Felix could lay between us. We often did this when Felix regressed. He was an adorable cuddlebug when he was big and even more so when he was little. Not wanting to miss out on cuddles, we too decided to call it a night early and just go to bed at Felix‘ bedtime. The three of us huddled together in bed seemed like utter bliss and despite not being tired, the warmth lulled me to sleep quickly.

The peace wasn’t to last for long though and I startled awake at the sounds of my baby‘s cries. Changbin as awake already, rocking the little in his arms and mouthing nightmare when our eyes met. I ran my hand over Felix‘ back, shushing him: “What‘s wrong, sweetie?“ – “B-bad dweam. L-Lixxie scawed“, he choked, clinging to Changbin‘s shirt. I sighed, knowing it was a bad idea to let them finish The Grinch. “It‘s ok, bub. You‘re save, we‘ll protect you“, I cooed. “Lixxie, sit with Dada for a while, ok? Binnie will make you some warm milk with honey to calm down“, the rapper promised, shifting the little into my arms and getting up after kissing his forehead. While Changbin went to the kitchen to fill Felix‘ bottle, I gently talked him down, making my Australian accent more prominent. When he had calmed down a bit, I picked him up and followed Changbin to the kitchen. There we found Seungmin, fixing Hyunjin a sippycup of vanilla milk while the little sat on the counter watching him. Hyunjin felt to big to use a bottle but wanted the comfort of warm milk so that‘s why they settled for a sippycup. I lifted Felix onto the counter next to him and the dancer quickly wrapped his arm around the younger. “Let me guess, nightmare?“, I asked. Seungmin nodded rubbing his face tiredly. “Don‘t be scared, Lixxie. Nothing can happen when we all stay together“, the dancer assured putting on his brave face in front of the younger. “Thanks Jinnie“, the freckled boy yawned.

When both drinks for the littles were heated up, Changbin carried Felix to the living room while Hyunjin being the big boy he is, walked himself, holding Seungmin‘s hand. Upon entering the living room, our eyes fell onto the couple laying in the pillow fort. Minho was curled up in Jeongin‘s arms, drinking from the bottle the maknae held to his lips, keeping his eyes closed. Jisung was the first to notice us, while he strung up fairylights all across the living room. “Seems like we‘re having a sleepover“, he laughed, plucking in the last fairylight, filling the room with dim, warm light as we all settled back into the pillow fort where we had already spent all day. While we fed the exhausted littles their bottles, stroking their backs soothingly, Jisung quietly hummed his version of Me after you. The first little to nod off was Minho, after mumbling a quiet “I love you, Innie“ into the maknae‘s shirt. Felix followed suit, having finished about two thirds of his bottle. Hyunjing was the last to go to sleep, placing his sippy down, he curled into Seungmin, telling his daddy he loved him and receiving kiss on the cheek in return. We caregivers wished each other and Jisung good night before we closed our eyes as well.

#fanfic #comfort #angst #christmas #little #little space #headspace #agere #skz #stray kids #cute

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chaos-monkeyy · 4 years ago

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Not sure I’m going to get any writing done for Day 6, BUT - An excerpt from what I’ve already written, in celebration of passing 10K total yesterday 🥳 (I was gonna keep it all a secret but meh 😆)

Would love to know what you all think 👀 Keeping in mind this is a not-cleaned-up first draft only 🙈

“I think there’s been a mistake.”

Eli jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back a step, gently but firmly. The owner of the voice, and the hand, was a man who was now standing between Eli and the guy at the wall. Eli couldn’t see his face, but he seemed human from the back; broad-shouldered, taller than Eli, with slightly wild-looking brown hair.

“How’s that?” the creep sneered, but he didn’t move.

“The new kid got the room wrong. He wasn’t assigned here. Come on,” the second man added gruffly, to Eli this time. He turned away from the guy at the doorway and gave Eli a little push to get him moving back across the room— but he never quite turned his back on the big man until they were halfway across the room.

It was emptier than it had been when Eli had arrived, and he looked up to see people milling out through the a large, irregular archway across from where he’d come in.

“I’m Nevil,” the guy with him said quietly. “You look exhausted. Did they feed you at all on the transport?”

Eli looked at him blankly, then shook his head wordlessly as the question slowly filtered into his sluggish brain.

The man— Nevil— scoffed, his expression hardening. “Of course they didn’t. Fortunately for you, you got here just in time for supper. Come on,” he said again, nudging Eli in the direction of the doorway. They were almost alone, now. “You’ll feel better for eating.”

Eli let himself be ushered through the doorway and into what looked so much like the cafeteria back at Myomar Academy it set him to blinking back tears again as Nevil led him to the front. Unlike the Academy, he didn’t know anyone here. The few friends he had there were probably wondering what had happened to him…

Or maybe they knew. Maybe he’d been set as an example, everyone he’d ever known interrogated on suspicion of being in league with traitors to the Empire.

Nevil led him up to the front to join the line-up, staying close with a hand almost always resting on Eli’s shoulder. Nobody paid them much attention; at least not that Eli noticed. He still felt foggy and dazed, moving automatically, directed by the warm pressure of Nevil’s hand. When they got to a series of dispensers in the wall, he copied Nevil and pressed a thumb to the each control pad in turn as they moved along. The first dispenser spat out a thin flimsi-plast tray; the second, a sealed pouch of water; and the third, the food itself. If any of it could really even be called food. Eli stuck his tray into the dispenser when it was his turn and then watched with a distant curiosity stared dumbly at the selection buttons until Nevil reached over and hit a few for him.

Despite the unappetizing look of it all, Eli’s stomach rumbled loudly in reminder of just how hungry he really was. It didn’t really look like food, just different coloured pastes— but it smelled like food, at least. He followed Nevil to an empty end of one table and sat, fumbling open the water pouch and thirstily gulping most of it down most of his water in one go before looking around in confusion for utensils.

“Here,” Nevil said, reaching under the edge of his own tray. With a muted crack, a bit of flimsi-plast vaguely in the shape of a flattened spoon snapped off into his hand. Eli felt under the edges of his tray, fingers encountering the smoothed edge of his own… utensil.

“That’s… it?” he asked, frowning down at the spoon-like object.

Nevil snorted, already eating. “Yup. Nothing that could be used as a weapon, right? These aren’t strong or sharp enough to be much use for anything at all, really. But make sure you dump it in the recyler along with the tray before you go. You’ll still be in for it if they find you with any of these outside the mess hall.”

Eli stared at his flimsy little spoon for a moment. The idea of getting in trouble for keeping this… He had a lot to get used to here.

His stomach grumbled again, loud and insistent, and he felt his face warm at the the little smile that tugged at Nevil’s lips. The older man didn’t say anything though, his eyes casually travelling around the room while he ate without looking at his food. Eli dug in to his own meal, hesitantly at first; then more eagerly. It didn’t taste awful, the flavour and texture no worse than what he’d gotten used to on runs with his family’s shipping company before enrolling at the Academy.

The memories flooded in without warning, making Eli’s stomach clench and his throat close up. He gripped his little spoon hard enough that the handle made that soft crackling sound of stressed plastic, and Nevil glanced over at him.

“Just breathe. Don’t think about it,” Nevil said. “If you don’t eat now you’ll go hungry till morning.”

Gritting his teeth, Eli nodded. Forcing the memories and thoughts of his family, his old life, out of his mind, he started eating again, a little slower this time so he wouldn’t hurt his stomach. He was already starting to feel a little more alert, between the water and the food. Nevil had gone back to looking around the room— watching for threats, Eli thought— and wasn’t trying to make conversation. Eli found himself relaxing slightly, quiet gratitude welling up almost painfully in his chest for this stranger who had stepped in to help him for no reason.

At least, for no reason that Eli had thought of until now.

Chewing more slowly— not that the food actually needed chewing, but old habits died hard— Eli surreptitiously studied the man across the table from him, wondering if maybe all this apparent kindness was just a front. Maybe this Nevil was just more subtle than the guy outside bunkroom… MK.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nevil commented, without actually looking at him. Eli almost dropped his spoon, lowering his gaze to his tray and fidgeting nervously. “I’m not one of them. I don’t expect any kind of payback or debt, especially not like that. But it’s good to have friends in here if you can. Especially for someone like you.”

Eli glanced up to find Nevil watching him. “What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” he asked slowly.

Nevil snorted, but a sad smile touched his lips. “Come on, kid. You look as though you might faint if anyone so much as looks at you sideways. And you’re not exactly as… worn-looking as the rest of us.” Eli flushed, and Nevil’s voice dropped. “I don’t know what the Imps think you did, but it’s obvious you don’t belong here.”

“I’m not a kid,” Eli mumbled, ignoring the rest. He didn’t even know why he was arguing. He knew what Nevil was getting at, and he knew Nevil was right. He just… didn’t want him to be.

Nevil just shrugged, holding his hands up in a gesture of acceptance. “Alright. But I gotta call you something, don’t I?”

“Why do you even care?” Eli snapped. He felt tears pricking at his eyes again and angrily blinked them away. “Why are you helping me if you don’t get anything out of it?”

Nevil sighed, glancing around again before meeting Eli’s eyes. “On your own, you’ll get eaten alive in this shithole before your first week is out. Call me a sucker for lost causes if you want, I just… I don’t like seeing bad things happen to people if I can do something about it. That’s all. You tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, I will.”

He looked earnest. He sounded earnest, too. Not that Eli would have been able to tell if he was lying, of course.

Eli suddenly felt very, very tired, and very small and alone and helpless. And Nevil was the only person who’d been even remotely kind to him, since…

Since the life he knew had ended in a hail of blasterfire the day after his twentieth birthday.

“Eli,” Eli said softly, pushing the last of his food aimlessly around the tray with his little spoon. “My name is Eli.”

(20k teaser)

#eli vanto #nevil cygni #nightswan #star wars #Thrawn AU #chaosfic #nanowrimo #chaos does nano #10K teaser

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s0lavellan · 3 years ago

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Domestic ship meme for Dramione or Warnette

who reaches out to new neighbors ↠ Juliette I could see being the social butterfly between her and Warner. Warner isn’t exactly good at making friends, or giving off good first impressions when it comes to meeting anyone new. Usually quips here and there, adding in his two cents when nobody asked for it. You know, the typical ‘Warner’ thing that Warner knows best 😆

who remembers to buy healthy food ↠ Definitely Warner. We all know he’s very particular about his appearance and physique.

who remembers to buy junk food ↠ Juliette, when she thinks Warner doesn’t notice.

who fixes the oven when it breaks ↠ Hmm…Neither. Call that service man!! Especially since they paid an arm and a leg for that protection plan.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s) ↠ Warner waters the plants since Juliette can’t keep them alive to save her life. I can see them being cat people since they’re very independent animals. Warner just reminds me of a crazy cat guy 🤣

who wakes up earlier ↠ Warner, who proceeds to arouse Juliette in the way he knows best. 😌

who makes the bed ↠ Warner. The man is a perfectionist and needs those corners tucked just right.

who makes the coffee ↠ Warner

who burns breakfast ↠ Juliette. Bless her heart, that French toast didn’t stand a chance.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house ↠ a lingering kiss with a promise of sexy times when they’re both home

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home ↠ they make good on that earlier promise 🔥

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often ↠ Warner, he loves showering Juliette with gifts

who picks the movie for movie night ↠ Juliette

their favorite kind of movie to watch ↠ Chick flicks and/or action dramas. Warner says he doesn’t cry during the sad scenes but Juliette knows better

who first suggests a pillow fort ↠ Juliette

who builds the pillow fort ↠ Both. I’m sure that pillow fort doesn’t last though as Warner makes better use of those pillows with Juliette (this guy is horny af who am I kidding??)

who tries to distract the other during the move ↠ Both are guilty

who falls asleep first ↠ Warner, content because Juliette is at his side

who is big spoon/little spoon ↠ Juliette is big spoon and Warner little spoon change my mind 🖤

Thanks so much for asking @bookish-isha I miss these two!!

send me a ship

#ask

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seasami · 4 years ago

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Larry Fic Rec -- June/July

hii!! so I’ve got some fics that I read in June and July (until now). If you see a ✰ next to a title it means I really liked it and it’s one of my favs from the ones I listed. If there’s a 🔒 next to title it means you have to be logged in to read.

[Click on the title for link]

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Latitude by nikogda (44k)

Summary: Harry’s a hybrid on a boat about to be hit by a storm and Louis is the human who comes to his rescue. That storm is all the time they have to fall in love before going their separate ways. That is, until almost a year later…

Ever Since I Tried Your Way by Anonymous ✰ (25k)

Summary: Harry had been kissed before, but never like this.He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt.

In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

No Candle No Light (No Friendzone To My Love) by Anonymous (11k)

Summary: Louis glanced at his friend, glaring daggers and Niall chuckled. He looked like his idea could end world hunger and Louis was horrified. [...]“Come on, Niall! Tell me!” Harry insisted, excited.“You can threaten him other than with violence. You said you want a little revenge, right? What if an ex-boyfriend came to reconquer you? You know, the jealous and aggressive kind.”Harry sighed loudly, closing his eyes. Louis frowned, just like Liam and Zayn. What was he talking about? And why was he still looking at Louis that way?“Niall, this could’ve been a nice idea if I had an ex-boyfriend, but-”“Let me explain!” Niall barged in. “ You don’t have an ex-boyfriend but you can pretend you have one! I’m sure Louis would love to help you with that.”Liam almost choked on his wine and Zayn bit so hard on his lip to contain his laughter that it might have bled. Niall looked satisfied as hell, of course he was the little shit, and Louis just had time to flip him the finger before Harry turned to him. He was fucking delighted.

Or the one where helping Harry getting rid of his boyfriend may be the only way to his heart

Sugar by lettersfromvenus (15k) ✰

Summary:

“I hope our paths will ‘croissant’ again.”

There’s a little smiley face drawn next to the words, and it’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can’t help the swell of butterflies that he feels as he reads over the words once more. An odd fellow indeed, he thinks.A moment later he shakes his head and collects himself, because he really does need to get home; he’s sure that Harry is probably watching him from behind the counter, all sweet, smug smiles and pink cheeks. And if he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he won’t toss his groceries into the trash and walk straight back into the bakery if he doesn’t leave now, so… he really does need to get going.

Before he goes on his way, though, he plucks the note from the top of the container and carefully tucks it inside of his wallet to protect it from the rain.

That’s how it begins.

Only Been Here One Time by alienharry (10k)

Summary:

“Good morning, Liam. Harry.” Louis nods at them both and then cocks his head. “Are you aware you have four nipples, Harry?”

Harry looks down at his chest, suddenly worried. He doesn’t know how many nipples humans have, but four must not be a usual amount. “Should I have six?”

“Not unless you’ve a litter of kittens to feed.”

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante (112k) ✰

I KNOW ITS ICONIC BUT I READ IT A MONTH AGO SO I THOUGHT I’D INCLUDE IT HERE.

Summary: American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

It’s All Brand New by midnightwhistleberries (10k)

Summary: “Harry,” Louis intones emphatically, “literally everyone in the U.K. has known that I’m openly bisexual since 2011.”

“’Cept you, I guess,” supplies Niall.

In which Harry studies engineering, loves Madonna, and can't tell if Louis likes him or just keeps coming back to the record store because he's some sort of musical hoarder. Louis is famous, Harry has no idea, communication issues are rampant and fluffy pining ensues.

Fool For You by flowercrownfemme, lesbianferrissbueller (46k) ✰

Summary: “It’s not a game.” Harry scoffed, trying to push past him once more but Louis held his ground. “And I’ve never once told you a lie.” “All you do is lie," Harry argued. "Jests and tricks and made up stories, that’s your trade. I’d never trust a word from your mouth.” “I tell stories,” Louis conceded, “but a good one must be based on truth. And my stories tend to get a bit more truthful when I’m around you, Princess.”

In which Harry is a brooding prince who's scarcely smiled since the death of his mother and Louis is the dashing jester hired to change that.

streetwise hercules by bottomlinsons (7k) 🔒

Summary: I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”Right. This is Harry’s part.

(Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.)

Close Enough To Touch by stinky28 (7k)

Summary: “You are killing it!” The stranger shouts in his ear, to which Louis raises a brow, setting up the next transition and song, bobbing a bit in place before glancing over to the stranger and Oh. Red.

He’s staring right at a very large, oddly tied red bow tie. It takes up the whole stranger’s chest and..it’s bloody brilliant. He fucking loves it. He feels himself break into a giant grin, looking up at Mr. Red Bowtie’s face and Oh. Fuck.

OR an au where louis is the dj for the met gala after party and harry can’t leave his side.

Hate Me To The Moon by harrystylesandstuff (83k)

Summary: The last thing Harry wanted was to spend his entire summer stuck with his dad's new fiancée and her kids. He wants no more when he learns she's a very religious dictator, raising a sixteen year old nun and a clean cut potential priest ass kisser.

Everything takes a slightly different turn, however, when Harry finds out his future step-brother is actually the rude stranger he caught sucking off a guy in a pub, far from the reserved Christian his mom thinks he is...

AU where Harry is a sexy nerd, Louis is a great actor, and they both pretend to hate each other's guts to convince themselves they're not feeling things future step-brothers shouldn't feel...

hush. by Wankerville (41k)

Summary: “I don't like you like that, Harry.”

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

The Unsuccessful Promise by trysomecats (11k)

Summary: At the end of the previous school year, Louis swore to everyone that he would return in the fall as an alpha. He made this promise especially to his arch-nemesis Harry Styles, who has already presented as an alpha himself. Unfortunately over summer break, the worst thing possible happens: Louis presents as an omega. Now school is back in session and he has to return and face the consequences of pre-determining his status.

Featuring Liam and Zayn as Louis' doting and exasperated parents.

Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor (20k)

Summary: A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

OKAY! That’s it for now cause I don’t want this post to be too long (oof i’ve read a lot actually). I have Fic Rec June/July Part Two in drafts and im also gonna collect fics that I’ve read on my kindle (its usually above 50k and make a fic rec with them). Stay tuned and follow my blog so you don’t miss it idk <33.

PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK ON THIS: I can make: Iconic Fics, My Fav Fics or try and do some themed fic rec. LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D WANT THAT!

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moonlightlover21 · 4 years ago

Text

Ethan x gn Reader Fluff

Reader p.o.v.

Since the murder happened the atmosphere in the manor has been pretty unpleasant. Vlad forbade us to leave the house, especially Ethan and Beliath have been obnoxious. I, on the other hand, suffer from their constant bickering. It seems like everywhere I go, at least one of them waits for me to come by so they can continue their shenanigans. Today has been one of the worst so far. Ethan is pointing out every little flaw he finds about me as soon as he gets the chance to.

Lost in my thoughts I nearly miss the last step just barely avoiding to fall down the stairs. I could hear a faint snickering probably from one of the boys. I just roll my eyes and continue my way to the kitchen. Soon after I start preparing the first meal I had in a while a certain white-haired shithead stands in the door. “Why hello there, it looks like you’re hungry, what a coincidence! I am too.” With a smirk he creeps his way over to me. My back is turned to him but because of my new skills as a chalice I can still feel him moving towards me. I do not move as he shifts my hair to the side, exposing my neck. His hot breath caresses my skin, his mouth moving towards my neck but before he can bite me, I hit him with the wooden spoon in my hand. He yelps and takes two steps back cursing in a language I don’t understand. I refuse to acknowledge him and calmly continue to cook. “Is there another, more important reason you came here for Ethan? If not, please remove yourself from my presence.” I turn my head to glance at him, his shocked expression makes me laugh out loud. At the sound of my laugh his face changes from surprise to anger in just a few seconds.

“You little bitch! Who do you think you are?” He raises his hand to hit me but out of nowhere Aaron catches his fist.

“I told you to come to the meeting 10 minutes ago, had I known that you would go and abuse your chalice, I would have forced you to come immediately.” A dark undertone in his voice makes me shiver and involuntary I take a step back. His unusual eyes glance at me as he lets Ethan go, who disappears, still cursing, in the parlour. “Are you alright?” Aaron asks, turning to me. I briefly nod in agreement. “Come the others are waiting, I don’t think they will listen to you but you can join us anyways.”

I roll my eyes again. Of course. I can come but nobody will listen to me. After all I am just a chalice, only here to feed Ethan.

Annoyed I follow Aaron to the main living room where everyone is already waiting. Ethan scoffs as he sees me. “And what do you think you’re doing here,” he laughs “not like anything you say would matter.”

“Well then we can both leave, don’t you think so?” Ethan looks confused at me until Beliath erupts into a fit of laughter. “I love this little mouse,” he says in between laughing “you can keep them.”

“Are you done yet? There are more important things to discuss.” Vladimir interrupts him. Beliath crosses his arms and sneers. “Of course, father, please continue to enlighten us with your brilliancy.”

Vlad’s eyebrow twitches, not a good sign.

They start discussing about the recent murders of those poor young women. When Ethan begins to describe how badly their bodies were disfigured, I have to force down a gag. Sadly, he noticed it and of course he just couldn’t let that go.

“What’s the matter little lamb, you got a weak stomach?” Ethan grins mockingly at me.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Not as weak as your ability to supress a tantrum. Next time you behave like a whining toddler, we should put you in timeout.” Ethan gapes at me like a fish, while Beliath snickers in the background.

“Would you please stop bickering like children.” Aaron interferes. “If you can’t be serious in such a situation, you can always leave. Both of you!”

I lean back in my seat, puffing my cheeks. “Aww, is the little human mad?” I look Ethan dead in the eye, jump over the table, grab his shirt and slam him face down on the table.

“God damn it you two!!” Vlad screams. Someone snatches me up by the back of my collar and pulls me of Ethan. “Let me fucking go, you fucking asshole!!! He deserved that!!” I scream and lash out at whoever is holding me.

Meanwhile Ethan has gotten of the table and angrily glares at me. I see his body tense before he suddenly launches himself in my direction. But Aarons hand grabs him again. He holds Ethan at the scruff of his neck in one hand and me in the other hand without any effort.

“For the last goddamn time, stop behaving like toddlers! Since the both of you couldn’t contribute anything to this discussion, it will be the best for all of us if you leave,” his eyes spark a dangerous shade of yellow.

All the pent-up rage and frustration of the last weeks suddenly bursts out of me. I ram my elbow back, just beneath Aarons ribs. He lets go of me with a painful grunt, as soon as my feet hit the floor I march to the exit, giving Ethan a final hateful look, I slam the door shut behind me.

I need a breather, maybe going outside will help me cool down. As soon as I step out the door, the cold night air hits my face. As I make my way through the garden, I look up to the sky, the moonlight nearly blinding me and I sigh. Wandering around the house, I notice a worn-down shack not to far from Vlad’s flower field. Weird, I’ve already been here for a few weeks but I’ve never seen that before. The sudden noise of the front door slamming shut, catches me off guard. Wanting some time for myself I look for a quiet place to think. As I walk towards the shack, I hear footsteps approaching, the only possible way to escape a confrontation is over the roof. I climb up the ladder that leans on the side of the shack and try my best to be as silent as possible.

Ethan p.o.v.

After nearly throwing hands with Aaron, Vlad finally loses his temper and uses his walking stick to shove me out of the parlour. I decide to go to the Moondance, knowing that Beliath will certainly join me later. I let the door fall shut behind me and breath in the cold, fresh air. Making my way to the edge of the forest, I see something in the corner of my eye. At closer inspection I notice the blood bag climbing up the latter onto the roof. What the actual fuck is that stupid thing doing?! Are they gonna jump down?

As fast as I physically can I make my way over to the old shack, following their every step. Just as I reach the top, I can see their small figure crouching on the edge. “Now what the hell are you doing?” They flinch, suddenly losing grip and tumbling dangerously close to the abyss. Without a second thought I reach out grabbing them by their waist and pulling them towards me. I can hear their little heart beating fast as they desperately cling to me. After a short moment I push them away shaking them by their shoulders. “Are you really so brainless that you try to kill yourself? Even I didn’t expect you to be this stupid!”

They scream back at me: “You realise me nearly falling to my death is your fucking fault! If you didn’t creep up on me like that, I wouldn’t have slipped. Dickhead!!”

I narrow my eyes a mischievous thought crossing my mind. All of a sudden, I let go of their waist, they lose their balance and just as they are about to fall, I catch their hand. Confidently I lock eyes with them, but instead of anger I see fear. Tears start running down their face, all the cockiness leaves me at once. I pull them closer so they are able to stand on their own. They start sobbing into their hands, I awkwardly pet their head. Like what the fuck am I supposed to do now, I didn’t think it was that bad. “H-Hey now I didn’t mean to scare you I just wanted to have some fun,” I tried to lighten the mood, but nothing seemed to help. Embarrassed I hug them, without noticing I start swaying, humming an old melody I knew since my days as a sergeant. The crying dies down and they wrap their arms around me as well. “Y-you’re.. a fucking asshole,” they say into my chest, their voice muffled therefore. I just chuckle to myself: “I know, I’m sorry.”

#ml ethan #moonlightlovers #vampires #fanfiction #x reader #moonlightloversethan #beemoov

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