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onceupon · 3 years ago

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London Boy - Part 4: Just friends

summary: You wake up to find Rafe Cameron in your bed. Even though nothing happened, you’re still left trying to make sense of it all.

pairing: Rafe x reader (slowburn)

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 5k

a/n: thank you so much to all of you who have been reading along <333 sorry in advance if you want this to progress faster haha, it simply must be this slow, sorry I don't make the rules (even tho I do lol). Not canon Rafe!!

masterlist

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the early morning rays wake you up. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. As you slowly gain consciousness you’re startled by the weight of Rafe’s arm draped across your body. What the hell? When did that happen? He spent the night in your bed?

Your mind races at a million miles an hour as you slowly slip out from under his hold. You were careful not to wake him up, not wanting to face any awkwardness. You throw on fresh clothes and grab your backpack, desperate to make your escape. You had wanted to get to school early today to work on some homework anyways, never before so eager to trade in the comfort of your bed for the library.

After a quick pit stop to pick up a coffee and a croissant, you swing the heavy wooden doors open. You liked campus at this hour, the morning light still soft, the air crisp, and the atmosphere silent. As you scan your eyes for a spot to sit, you notice the unmistakable sight of fluffy brown hair hunched over a table.

“Liam?” your whisper. “What the hell are doing here?”

That classic cheeky grin spreads across his face as he looks up to find you standing in front of him. “I go here, Y/n. Forget already?”

You roll your eyes, “I just didn’t know you were the studious type.”

“Not gonna lie to you babe, I’m not. But Rogers is already all the way up my ass over this class, and I’m not letting that prick hold me back a year.”

You pull out the chair across from him and go to sit down, spreading your books out on the table.

“Who said you could sit with?” he asks, and you shoot him a look. You’re not in the mood. “Geez alright, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed… you good Y/n?” he slows, taking in your disheveled appearance. You hadn’t so much as brushed your hair.

“Can you promise not to tell anyone,” you stare dead into his eyes.

“On my life,” he extends his pinky, and you accept.

“Rafe… slept over last night…”

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, and your eyes widen at his echoing voice.

“Not like that,” you hiss, not wanting to draw anymore attention to the two of you. “Nothing happened… like he just came over to watch a show and then we talked for a while and just accidentally… fell asleep. I panicked when I woke up and realized he was still in my bed so I ran out of there as fast as I could and now…. well now I’m here.” You nervously chug your coffee, heart racing.

“So he hung out with you all night and didn’t make a move?”

You nod, nervously awaiting his analysis as you take a bite of your croissant.

“Damn, boy must really like you,” he muses.

“What? Definitely not,” you scoff.

“Y/n, let me tell you a little something about guys. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what. The fact that he’s coming over your room to watch a show and hanging out with you until he physically can’t stay awake - I mean I can’t make it any more obvious to you.”

“I don’t know I just don’t think so… You don’t know Rafe like that, he’s a total player back home. He can pull any girl he wants, so if he liked me like that he would’ve done something by now. This is probably how he is with all his friends and I’m just reading too much into it. I’m sure Lily Colts will be in his bed soon enough,” you mumble. That last part stings in particular, you had already thought it, but saying it out loud made you feel… icky.

“I may not know Rafe like that, but I know guys like him. I am guys like him. He likes you Y/n. So what if he pulls a lot of chicks, he doesn’t actually care about them. But he cares about you, probably can’t even understand why, and now it’s like bam Uno reverse. He can’t pull the cards he normally does, and now you’ve got him confused and he doesn’t know what to do. Man’s down bad. Give him time though, he’ll come around,” he explains to you calmly, stealing your coffee cup from you and taking a sip.

“Honestly can I just start paying you to figure my life out for me. You make everything seem so simple.”

“Because it is simple. You insist on complicating it. But I know how you could pay me,” he adds with a wink and you shoot him a glare. You know he’s just joking (partially), he loves pushing your buttons.

“Well whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you resign on the Rafe matter. You wanted to believe what Liam was saying but it didn’t quite make sense to you. You were only going to drive yourself crazy trying to read between lines that you weren’t sure existed. Rafe was just used to situations like this with girls. To him last night was probably no big deal. It was to you though. You would never let ‘just a friend’ stay over like that, with his arm around you no less. But Rafe didn’t need to know that, you decide.

—-

You manage to avoid Rafe all day, not having any classes with him on Friday’s. As soon as your last class is over, you sprint home, relieved when you’re the first back at the flat and can quickly slip into your room undetected. You set down your bag and sit on the edge of your bed. Your hand slowly runs over your comforter, still ruffled from where Rafe had been laying the night before. The indent of his head is still on your pillow; you can almost smell the scent of him lingering in your room and hear the sound of his soft whispers. You wonder what his first thoughts were when he woke up in your bed alone - was he confused? Embarrassed? He probably thought nothing of it at all. You can just picture him casually getting up with a stretch, like it’s the start of any typical day.

You slip into the shower and let the water wash over your body. It’s warm and soothing, and it’s reminding you of Rafe laying next to you, of his arm wrapped around you. God if there was only a way to shut your brain off once in a while. As much as you tried to suppress it, there had been a tiny part of you that was happy to have woken up in his embrace, giddy like a school girl with a crush. You’d always wondered how a moment like that would feel, or how a moment like that with him would feel. You had conveniently failed to mention the “arm” detail to Liam, maybe because in the back of your mind you knew it would only help prove his theory right.

When you make your way back to your room, your phone buzzes and the Royal Fam 🇬🇧🇺🇸 group chat appears.

Olivia: who wants to go out tonight 😈

Topper: me and Rafe have to be up early tmrw for soccer - rain check on this one ladies

Olivia: :(

Olivia: girls night out??

Millie: you know I’m there!

You’re a little bummed that Rafe won’t be there tonight. But a girls night sounds like just what you need to get him off your mind.

Y/n: I’m in :)

Not even a few minutes later Olivia and Millie are barging into your room, causing you to let out a startled yelp.

“My god, heard of knocking,” you exhale with your hand coming to your chest. Your statement falls on death ears.

“Which jeans with this top,” Olivia asks, holding the clothing items against her body.

“Should I curl or straighten my hair with this,” Millie follows, holding her outfit up.

“Uhh,” your mind scrambles, “those jeans Liv. And straight, Mills,” you reply, shocked by your own decidedness. “But now you guys have to help me, I have no clue what to wear.”

“Say less,” Olivia flashes a smile.

Within minutes they tear through your closet, picking out your outfit. Things were always much more clear with a fresh set of eyes. The three of you discuss the night’s logistics before making your way to the kitchen - couldn’t go drinking on an empty stomach. Rafe and Topper are already there, and you try your best to act natural even though your stomach ties itself in a knot the moment you catch a glimpse of his face. You haven’t seen him since you ran out this morning.

“Uh hey I’m gonna run to Sainsbury’s real quick, I wanna get a chaser, anyone need anything,” you ask, avoiding eye contact with Rafe. Your nerves get the best of you and in terms of fight or flight, you were ready to flee.

“Hey wait I’ll come with you. Gotta pick something up for dinner,” Rafe stands grabbing his jacket, and before you can interject, he’s leading the way down the hall and out your shared flat.

“So what are you chasing tonight?”

“What?” you ask startled, his question pulling you back to reality. Your mind had been running in a loop, trying to read him and the thoughts in his head. You wished now more than ever that you knew what Rafe was like behind closed doors back home, so you could somehow make sense of it all.

He chuckles at you, lost in your own world. “You said you needed a chaser?” Those intimidating blue eyes have found their way to yours again and you hastily look away, focusing in front of you instead.

“Oh yeah- uh just for the vodka,” you laugh nervously.

“Basic,” he mocks. You scoff in surprise and lightly hit him on the chest as the laughter leaves your lips. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin, having successfully egged you on.

“You’re funny if you think I’m gonna do shots of whiskey before going to a club.”

“Well you do owe me one…” he says.

“Oh so he remembers?” you reply, amused.

“Of course,” he states so calm and so sure. Your head swirls at that, his cool confidence making you melt. The automatic doors slide open in front of you, fluorescent lights stealing your attention from the boy you were finding dangerously more attractive by the second.

“I thought we’re supposed to take it together? But someone’s being lame and not coming out tonight,” you say sarcastically, playing it as cool as you can manage. Rafe’s confidence seemed to come naturally, but you were more of a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of gal.

“Hey you know I have soccer,” he defends. The Kook Prince was not one to turn down a party without cause.

“Excuses excuses,” you shake your head.

“Actually, speaking of soccer, you uh- you and the girls should come tomorrow. If you’re not doing anything. Or not too hungover I should say. Game’s at 12.”

“Can’t make any promises Cameron, but we’ll see,” you smile, earning a satisfied smile from him in return.

You make your way to the frozen food aisle, Rafe explaining to you how they call a soccer field a football pitch here, as you laugh at him grabbing 5 frozen pizzas (dinner solved for the next week, of course). You ask him which chaser you should pick. He points out a cola, so naturally you decide to get blackberry seltzer water, Rafe twisting his face in disgust (who would voluntarily drink that tv static). You always felt so nervous at first, to be in Rafe’s presence, but all it ever took was a few minutes for you to completely relax around him. He was intimidating, yet inviting. Mysterious, yet open. He was somehow the cause of your anxious nerves and yet the source of your comfort. The fear of facing Rafe after running out this morning had paralyzed your thoughts all day, and now you could hardly remember why. He hadn’t mentioned it at all, as if nothing happened. His normalcy confirmed for you that him sleeping over was in fact no big deal, and you almost want to laugh at yourself for how much you had worked it up in your head. You two were just friends, and perhaps Rafe was used to being… a friendlier friend than what you were used to. But that was okay, you could learn to be friendlier too.

—-

Rafe and Topper had decided to accompany you guys in the kitchen as you pregamed. They slowly sipped beers as you, Millie, and Olivia pounded back shots, laughing at the way you guys got progressively drunker and progressively louder before finally heading out. And much to your surprise, the boys were still seated in the same spot hours later, when the three of you stumble back into the flat, McDonalds in hand.

“Oh look who’s still up,” Olivia slurs, taking a bite of her cheeseburger.

“We can’t go out, we have soccer,” Millie mocks, almost falling to the floor as she trips over her heel, Topper and Rafe not making any effort to hide their clear amusement.

“Fun night huh?” Topper quirks his brow.

“The funnest,” Millie holds her head high, sinking down against the wall until she’s sat on the floor. You had made a beeline for the dining room table, silently admiring your chicken nuggets. In that moment, they were the best thing you had ever tasted.

“I want Jake,” Olivia pouts, and before anyone can say a word she’s turned on her heel, burger in hand, off to crawl into her boyfriend’s bed.

“Alright you drunk, let’s get you to bed,” Topper laughs, scooping an incoherent Millie up to her feet by her elbows.

“M’not drunk,” Millie protests, even though she’s leaning her full body weight against Topper who sarcastically nods at her, escorting her down the hallway. Rafe sits on the couch, silently playing with the cards in his hand again, not the least bit uncomfortable with sharing your company in silence.

“I’m mad at you,” you say matter of factly, taking a bite of a french fry. At this point, the alcohol is doing the talking.

“Mad at me?” Rafe stops shuffling the cards and raises his head to look at you, intrigued.

“Yeah because you didn’t come to the club,” you furrow your brows, chucking a fry at him. He catches it instantly, laughing to himself with a shake of his head.

“Don’t worry I saw all your guys’ snaps, I feel like I was practically there.”

“That’s not the same,” you frown, throwing another fry which he catches yet again.

“I’ll try to be there next time,” he laughs.

“That’s better I guess,” you grumble, eating another chicken nugget. The room grows quiet, Rafe training his attention back to the cards.

“When are we watching the next episode Cameron,” you break the silence, chucking another fry. He barely has to look up to catch your latest throw, shaking his head with a chuckle. He puts the cards down and makes his way over to the dining table, standing right above you now.

“Come on, time for you to go to bed,” he beckons you toward him with his arm, to which you only furrow your brows in indignation.

“I’m not done with my food,” you protest.

“Now you are,” he says, grabbing your last fry and finishing it with one bite. “Now c’mon.” You reluctantly grab onto his extended arm to help you get up. You walk down the hall together and he opens your door for you, letting you in as he leans against the frame. You immediately fall back and collapse on to your bed with a gasp, you didn’t remember it feeling so soft when you were sober.

“Goodnight L/n,” Rafe laughs, staring down at you.

“Goodnight Rafe,” you mumble, seconds away from passing out. He smiles to himself at the sight of you still in the outfit and shoes you had been out in, bent in surely the most uncomfortable position possible, legs half way off the bed, yet somehow already asleep. He’s about to head back to his room, but he hesitates, turning back to you with a sigh. As slowly and quietly as he can, he pulls your shoes off for you, lifts your legs onto the bed, and covers you in your blanket. And just as quick, he slips out of your room and back into his.

—-

You wake up the next morning, letting out a groan when you realize you’re still in the outfit you had worn clubbing. Your head dully aches and your throat is desert dry so you force yourself up and to the kitchen. When you see the aftermath of McDonald’s containers on the table, vague memories start flooding your brain in horror. You couldn’t have… could you? Did you actually throw french fries at him? You close your eyes and slowly run your hand over your face in realization. Great, you think to yourself, Rafe probably thinks you’re an annoying idiot. Good grief.

You hear the door of the flat opening and Olivia appears in the kitchen, holding a plate of breakfast sandwiches, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Thank the lovely lads in apartment 4E,” she laughs, placing them on the table. “Oh god, we went hard last night didn’t we,” she says, taking in the sight of the flat.

“A little too hard…” you remark.

“No such thing, darling! Now eat up and get dressed, we’ve got a match to catch,” she declares before disappearing down the hall where you can hear muffled groans of Millie being reluctantly dragged out of her bed. You sigh and sink down into a chair, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. Heaven. You make a mental note to thank Jake for his chef skills. You had completely forgotten that you and the girls were supposed to go watch Rafe and Topper’s match today. Your worries about having to face Rafe yesterday had been quick to melt away, but today they were back with a new vengeance.

—-

“Okay no one wander off when we get there. Y/n, fair warning, these games get… rowdy,” Millie says, as the three of you walk toward the field, arms linked.

“Things get pretty crazy at Kildare too,” you laugh, “so yeah, don’t fucking let me out of your sight.”

The three of you shake off your fits of laughter as you stumble toward the stands, finding a spot amongst the already packed crowd. You’re finally able to take in your surroundings, glancing at the field ahead. The opposing team is warming up on the pitch, clad in red. Westheath’s team is off to the side, the boys stretching and getting ready in their white uniforms. The dirty blonde immediately catches your eye. He’s jumping and jogging in place, headphones in as though he’s tuning out the physical noise around him, and probably the mental noise too. You wonder if he’s listening to one of the songs he showed you the other night.

He pauses his jogging to stretch out his arms, his eyes glazing over the stands, when suddenly they lock with yours. Your cheeks flush pink, embarrassed at having been caught staring, but his face just pulls into a wide grin and he gives you a wave. You wave back, and he does a quick hand motion that everyone does at Kildare games back home. You laugh and do the responding gesture, as he smiles cheekily at you before a teammate comes up to him, pulling his focus away. The exchange was brief, but oddly intimate. There was a whole field and a couple dozen people between you, and yet you two were the only witnesses to the interaction. You smile to yourself, relief in the fact that maybe getting a french fry chucked at him wasn’t enough to make him hate you after all. You wonder briefly if Rafe spends half as much time overanalyzing things the way you do. Liam was right, you do insist on overcomplicating things.

“Hey, earth to Y/n!” Olivia laughs, waving her hand in front of your face. “The game is starting!”

—

The final score flashes on the screen: 4-2, a win for Westheath. The students are going nuts, rushing the field. Olivia and Millie lead the way, pushing through the crowd until you guys reach Rafe and Topper.

“Let’s go boys!!” Olivia yells, jumping up and down with the sea of bodies and beer around you. Rafe and Topper react with equal enthusiasm, pulling each of you in for a hug. You and Rafe are the last to hug, him pulling you in brief but close against his large sweaty body, arms wrapped around you. You don’t even mind the stickiness of the hug, feeling deja vu at the warm feeling of being in his embrace again; a feeling that is foreign yet familiar, one you hadn’t felt before.

“Did you guys see Rafe’s goal in the second half!?” Topper asks, clapping his friend on the back.

“Of course we did, super star!” Millie cheers, giving Rafe a high five as he humbly shakes his head and laughs at his friends. The mental image of his goal was burned in your head, one that your mind would certainly play for you involuntarily over the next coming days.

“Alright we gotta go do some stuff with the team, but everyone’s going to Central Bar later. See you guys there?” Rafe asks.

“You got it,” Olivia replies, and they jog off with quick waves, you meeting those blue eyes in silent acknowledgement once again. It was that gaze that always made the rest of the world seem to disappear while his eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Just a tall, attractive, soccer-playing friend…

—

“Y/n! Liv! We’re doing a round!” Jake calls you and Olivia over to where him and Liam are already at the bar, four shot glasses ordered and lined up.

“On three! One, two-“ Liam chants, as the four of you down the alcohol. Central Bar had been buzzing with what felt like half of Westheath’s student body all day. After the game, you and the girls had gone back to your flat to nap and eat, before meeting up with Jake, Liam, and the rest of their boys to head to the bar. Rafe and Topper were already pretty buzzed when you guys got there, playing a round of table tennis with you before the rest of the soccer team and their other friends pulled their attention away. You couldn’t help the way your whole body tensed when Rafe greeted Lily with a tight hug, humbling you with the confirmation that Rafe’s actions toward you weren’t anything special. You resolved yourself to a night of drinking and dancing your worries away with Liv and Liam instead.

“Alright, round of table tennis? You two against me and Y/n?” Liam challenges.

“Please, I saw Y/n playing before, you guys have nothing on us,” Olivia flashes an evil smile, her competitive side coming out.

“Oh it’s on Liv,” you laugh, as your foursome stakes your claim at the pong table. While Olivia and Jake gather the balls and paddles, you notice Liam grimacing off into the distance. You follow his line of sight, landing on Topper and Millie drunkenly dancing together across the bar, a bit too close for comfort.

“What is she doing with that geezer,” he mumbles.

“Liam! Jealousy is unbecoming of you,” you gasp in mock disbelief.

“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, and you quickly realize that he actually is, even though you had just been joking. Your jaw falls slack as you put two and two together. Liam and Millie were always by each other’s side, at school, at the pub, when you were all watching a movie at his apartment a few nights ago. He would tease her relentlessly and his own words rang in your ears If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what.

“Shut up! Shut up!,” you whisper yell, hand coming to your mouth. “I should have realized this whole time… of course you like Millie! Everything you’ve been telling me you think exists between me and Rafe has actually been about her! She’s your Uno reverse card!” You’re shocking even yourself at these revelations.

“No no no, you can’t use my own words of wisdom against me, that’s not how this works Y/n. So what, maybe I slightly give a shit about Millie? Who cares. Her and I both know that’s never gonna happen. I still stand by everything I said about you and Rafe so don’t think your getting off so easy on that.”

“Then tell me why you’re staring at Millie while Rafe hasn’t so much as glanced my way since the minute Lily Colts got here, hmm?”

“Oh Y/n, Y/n Y/n Y/n,” Liam tuts, shaking his head laughing as he turns to the game your group of four is about to begin. You don’t have the energy to argue with Liam over the matter right now, oblivious to the fact that Rafe had indeed been glancing your way, several times. In fact, he was glancing at you right now, as Liam reached his arm over yours to help you actually hold the paddle the right way. You just hadn’t been glancing back to notice, scared of what you may or may not see between him and Lily if you did.

—

The night dies down and it’s time for the pilgrimage back to your building. You’re walking with Millie when Liam quickly falls in step with you two. You give him a knowing smirk, to which he responds with a glare behind Millie’s back, but you let the two banter as you fall behind, now walking alone. You stare ahead, eyes mindlessly settling on Lily walking in between Callum and Henry at the front of the pack. You don’t notice the pair of legs that begin moving in pace next to your own.

“Tonight, by the way,” Rafe’s voice startles you as you jump next to him. He chuckles at the confusion written all over your face. “You asked last night when we’re watching the next episode. And my answer is tonight, L/n,” he states.

“Haven’t you been up since like the crack of dawn? Aren’t you tired?” you ask incredulously.

“Too tired for Game of Thrones? Never,” he scoffs, Liam’s words ringing in your ear. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what.

“Well then tonight it is,” you smile. “Sorry about the french fries last night by the way,” you say meekly, looking down at the sidewalk in front of you, cheeks burning.

“Seriously L/n, talk about a horrible throw. Room for improvement,” he jokes with a comforting smile, saving you from yourself.

“Good game by the way,” you add, grateful for the way he was letting you off.

“Thanks,” he looks at you, shoving his hands in his pocket. You turn to look at him too, and after a few moments laughter is taking you both apart. Nothing funny was said. Neither of you knew why you were laughing. And yet it felt natural, not an ounce of awkwardness in the air.

As your whole group walks into the building, people begin to peel off, splitting towards staircases and off elevator stops.

“I’m fucking beat,” yawns Topper, as you and all your flatmates file into your hall.

“I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight,” Millie yawns in agreement. One by one everyone files off into their rooms. You open your door, backing into yours, Rafe across the hall from you backing into his. Laughter tugs at both your faces once again, as you let your doors close. You manage to change into your sweats and brush your teeth before you hear the light rap on your door. Rafe enters, in a t-shirt and gray sweatpants, your weakness. But you feel comfortable being alone with him now. The Rafe jitters had finally began to subside.

“Alright L/n, episode 4, you ready for this?” he asks, plopping down in his spot next to you.

“Oh I’m very ready,” you reply, sitting up to reach for your laptop which was resting by your feet. As you lean back, you find yourself in Rafe’s arm. He had extended it out before you sat back, effortlessly catching you against him. His hand rests casually on your arm, and you gulp, pressing play. You pray he can’t feel the way your heartbeat quickens and your body flushes. So much for those jitters being gone.

The episode plays, you and Rafe making comments here and there before your chatter eventually dies down, leaving just the sound of the show to fill the room. You can feel Rafe’s body lean further and further down, becoming heavier and breathing slower. You very slowly turn to check, and sure enough he’s fast asleep. You sigh, and shut your laptop, careful not to stir him. You could easily shake him awake, tell him to go to his bed, but for some reason you don’t. You don’t mind him here. In fact, you almost prefer it, his body heat keeping you warm. He had already slept over once before and it clearly hadn’t been a big deal, so what was the harm in letting it happen again? You’re just friends after all, you remind yourself, not sure who you’re trying to convince. And so, the two friends fall asleep in the same bed again.

---

��: @hopebaker @pogueslandia @mardema

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine

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solarwonux · 4 years ago

Text

6. “Feel free to admire me.”

19. “Give me a kiss please.”

non!idol taehyung x f!reader

warnings: angst if you squint, slight mentions of going crazy, a teeny tiny bit suggestive, minimal editing,

note: helloooo, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy this one, and if it’s bad I apologize from the bottom of my heart, it’s my first time writing anything but academic papers in like 3 months. And it’s my first time writing for bts, so i’m dusting off the cobwebs. Either way thank you for reading it means the world to me.xx

masterlist || drabble game

You were acting strange

Taehyung noted as he watched you scramble around the apartment, running a frustrated hand through your hair, mumbling underneath your breath as you tore the apartment apart looking for your glasses.

You had been doing that a lot. Living up in the clouds, distracted. Your mind racing to the point you would forget what you were saying mid-sentence or misplacing things you had just been using in obvious places. He knew something was bothering you, keeping you from grounding yourself back down to Earth, and he so badly wanted to know. But after almost being together for almost a decade he knew that asking you what was happening would only frustrate you and keep you from coming back down to Earth. To him.

So he sat back, a small smiling forming against his face. He cradled his almost empty wine glass between his index and middle fingers, the setting sun reflecting off your glasses on the coffee table. The same place you had left them earlier before walking to the bathroom to wash your face. He could tell you, to stop your endless pacing and ease your mind a little. But he was oddly amused as you made your way around the living room, retracing your steps, endlessly.

The movie the two of you had been watching, paused. The wine bottle you had refused to share with him was reaching its wilts end as he kept refilling it every time you sat down next to him silently looking around for a few minutes and then getting up again to make your way around the living for the umpteenth time.

“I’m going crazy Tae.” You blew out a raspberry, blowing away the few strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. “How can my glasses just disappear, I was literally just wearing them.” You threw your hands up in the air as you made your way into the kitchen. Lifting up the stacks of manila folders you had brought home from work to peacefully look over throughout the long weekend.

“Have you checked the bathroom?” He said, hiding his smirk behind his glass of wine taking the last sip. You scoffed, throwing your arms up in the air before walking down the hallway to the bathroom.

Taehyung shook his head reaching for the wine bottle on the coffee table. “Your eyesight isn’t even that bad, you don’t need your glasses to watch the movie.” He said emptying the rest of the wine into his glass and sat back on the couch, tilting his head to the side as you stomped your way back into the living room.

You gave him a pointed look before rounding the corner of the couch and sitting down next to him again. “Babe, I’m sorry.” You exclaimed dramatically, hiding your face into the side of his body, making him laugh softly. “I’m going insane and now you’re stuck with me till death do us apart.” You whined, huffing out a loud sigh. His soft boyish laugh ringing in your ears. The slight irritation you had gained during your impossible quest, bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Sounds like a dream.” The sarcasm burning brightly in his vocal chord and you could almost feel him rolling his eyes. “Now, give me a kiss please.” He placed his fingers underneath your chin lifting your face up gently as he puckered his lips drastically.

Annoyed you pushed his face away, crossing your arms in front of you and pouting your lips. Mock hurt evident in his features. “You don’t deserve one all you did was watch me as I slowly lost my mind.”

“I can’t admire my beautiful wife now?”

“I mean...feel free to admire me, but not when I’m one step away from being admitted into a psych ward.” You leaned over, taking his wine glass out of his hand, bringing it up to your lips. A drink is what you needed. A small sip to calm down your racing thoughts, before you got up to look for your glasses again.

You threw your head back, waiting for the red liquid to reach your lips, savoring the taste before it even reached your mouth or your taste. And when it did, when it coated your lips enough for a drop to enter your mouth, your eyes grew wide in panic, remembering why you had been refused to drink with Taehyung tonight and why you had been so up in your head lately.

Taehyung watched as the scene unfolds in front of him. Instantly he had felt your rush of panic and his worries got the best of him. Acting on his fight or flight instincts he immediately took the glass from your hand, setting it down on the coffee table next to your forgotten glasses. “What’s wrong? I didn’t want to ask, but now you’re worrying me.” He placed his hands on your shoulders shaking you slightly, bringing you back to him.

Your eyes were glossy and distant as you breathed out a sigh looking into his eyes for a slight second before planting your gaze on the beige throw pillow you had been hugging earlier. It had helped ease your nerves before and now with Taeyhyungs piercing stare, burning holes into the top of your head. It was failing to do what you had wanted it to do. Comfort you.“I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you.” You whispered, playing with the little tassel on one of the four ends. “I mean I want to tell you, but I don’t know why I am so scared.”

“Is it something bad?” He said carefully. He could feel the air getting caught in the back of his throat as he tried to keep himself from thinking of every possible scenario, good or bad, to have you acting the way you were.

You lifted your head, chewing on your bottom lip. “It depends.” You shrugged slightly avoiding his eyes and settling upon the tv screen. The paused movie nowhere to be seen as it was now asking you if you wanted to keep watching.

“Depends on what? You’re scaring me.” The softens of his voice faltering as his grip on your arms got tighter, trying to keep himself from breaking down.

“On your reaction. I thought I would have more time to come to terms with it but I don’t think I can hold it in any longer,” you said in a haste. Your words combining with one another as Taehyung tried to keep up with your fever.

“Just say it...please. I can feel my heart trying to leave my body.”

“Taehyung,” you took a deep breath, digging your nails into the pillow, and turned to face the only man you had ever loved. “I’m pregnant.” You whispered with wide eyes. Maybe you weren’t going crazy but after finding out three weeks ago that you were with child, the thought of telling your husband the news was driving you to the point of no return.

It wasn’t like you and Taehyung didn’t want kids, the two of you had been trying for more than a year with little to no success. But the second you saw the little positive symbol on the pink and white stick, you couldn’t believe it. So you took another and another and another until you had about ten positive pregnancy tests staring back at you, mocking you. All you could do was cry.

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with tears as he threw the pillow you were holding to the side and hugged you tightly. He buried his face into the crock of your neck leaving behind a trail of loving kissing trying to comfort your shaking form.

His biggest wish had finally come true.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier you big idiot?” He raised his head. His hands trailed up your spine until they reached your head. His thumbs swiping underneath your eyes taking your falling tears with him. “Why were you scared?”

“I just...it finally happened and I couldn’t believe it. I thought that if I said it outloud I would wake up from a dream or something.” You hiccuped.

Taehyung shook his head in disbelief a slight chuckle falling out of his lips as he leaned over and kissed your cheek. “That head of yours is your biggest enemy. No wonder you were in such a dreamlike daze the last two weeks.”

“Are you happy?” You pouted slightly, holding his arms gently, scared he would let you go.

“I’m more than happy, I’m so excited. I could literally run down the street naked, waking up the whole neighborhood, risking a public offense violation, just to let the whole world know that I am finally going to be a dad”

You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. “I’m starting to regret ever saying anything, I should’ve just kept it a secret for the next eight months.”

“Hmm, and here I was thinking that I should probably tell you where you left your glasses. Now I think I’m going to keep it a secret for the next eight months.” Teahyung stuck out his tongue at you before settling into the couch and bringing you along with him, making you whine in annoyance.

“I knew you knew where they were.” You grumbled crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I’ll let you decide on the first letter of your childs name if you tell me.” You sang, poking his side gently, making him yelp out in pain.

He turned to you, pouting, rubbing his side in pain, “first letter and their first outfit when we leave the hospital.” He challenged, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

“Kim Taehyung, it looks like you got yourself a solid deal.” You said, encasing your hand in his, giving it a firm shake before pulling you into his side. His arm entrapping you to keep you from moving and placed a loving kiss against your forehead.

“You left them on the coffee table.” He pulled away, presenting your clear framed glasses to you. You let out a sigh of relief, quickly grabbing them, slippin them on and cuddling into his side.

“You could’ve told me earlier, I really thought I was losing my mind for a second back there.”

“If I didn’t would I have found out about our lovely baby bean?” He grabbed the remote, pressing the ‘continue watching’ button on the t.v. and unpaused the movie.

“I see your point.” You settled further into the side, finally letting yourself enjoy the movie. Earlier you had been ansty, pushing his hands away as they kept traveling to your lower belly. Though, his intentions were far naughtier then what was playing in your mind. But you were afraid he would finally figure it out.

Five minutes

Five minutes was all it took before Tayhung paused the movie again and sat up in panic. “Oh my god,” He mumbled before turning to face you, eyes wide in horror and shook. “Babe I’m going to be a dad.”

You laughed, squishing his cheeks in between the palm of your hands. “Yeah I know, I thought I made that pretty clear a few minutes ago.” You teased as his eyes raced from your face and down to your midsection.

“I know but I was thinking about how we had sex last night and now I’m scared. Like what if we hurt the baby, what if I hurt the baby.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. You’re fine Tae, just play the movie.” You patted his cheeks lightly before getting up and walking into the kitchen, “do you want popcorn?”

He stood up and quickly made his way to the kitchen, leaning his forearms against the counter, watching as you placed the bag of popcorn into the microwave. “How can you be so calm about this, how do we know the babies okay? We need to call the doctor now and book an appointment.”

“Stop worrying, I’m sure baby is fine, but you can ask the doctor in a week during my first ultrasound.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, now do you want popcorn or not?”

“That’s a stupid question, I always want popcorn.”

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

Text

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | four

A/N: This one is an emotional one. Please be prepared. Content warnings are below.

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); parent death; swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

* * * * *

Brock was wiping Grace’s tears as he stood in between her legs as she sat on the counter. She had come over to his house crying after an appointment at the hospital with her dad’s neurologist. There was no good update. There was no bad update. There was just an update. “Things are progressing at the rate they’ve always been progressing,” the doctor had told her. “We’ll see how long the pureed foods last. He’s been doing well with that, but as you know it will have to switch as some point to tube feedings.”

“I just want so much more time with him,” Grace cried into Brock’s shoulder, clinging to his body with every limb she had. Brock pulled her away slightly so he could look her in the eye and wipe the tears that were streaming down her face himself. “There was still so much he wanted to do. So much I wanted to do with him. He—he’s accepted his fate, but it also breaks his heart.”

Brock’s heart was heavy. He wrapped his arms around her again and held her close against his body, placing small reassuring kisses on her neck and whispering to her over and over again that everything would be okay. In reality, the both of them knew it wouldn’t be. Hamish was dying. He was dying a slow death. But both of them also knew it was exactly what Grace needed right now – to be held, to have her tears wiped away, to be told everything was going to be alright. It was one of the things she loved most about Brock, that he always knew what to do and what to say to her.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear tenderly.

“I love you too, Brock,” Grace whispered back. “I love you so much.”

As Brock stood in the kitchen with Grace’s limbs wrapped around him, he thought about his dad. He thought about Duke holding his hand as they watched football together. He thought about Duke sipping on water from a straw, angry that he couldn’t have a beer like his buddies around him (his buddies would eventually stop drinking beer in front of him). He thought about helping his dad get dressed, making his bed, helping him in and out of chairs or sofas. He thought about his dad with Coolie and Milo and how much he loved them.

Brock started crying too.

***

“You alright dad?” Grace asked as she gripped her father’s hand, watching him as he sat down on his bed in his brand new pajamas she bought him. He nodded his head before sitting. “Okay, let me help you with your legs.”

She bent down in front of him, seeing that he had already lifted them off the ground before she grabbed them gently and brought them on top of the bed. He shifted his own body further into the mattress, and she made sure to fluff up his pillows before he really set his head on them. “There you go,” she said, grabbing at the blanket bunched up at his feet. She brought it up and draped it over his body, making sure he was snug in his bed. She looked down at him once more. “Sleep tight, dad.”

He said nothing. Instead, he grabbed her hand. Grace looked down at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Why’re you so scared, sweetheart?”

Grace almost burst into tears right then and there. But she knew she had to stay strong for her dad, because he hated seeing her cry. He probably wouldn’t sleep for the night if she did. “I’m just scared for the day I’m going to wake up and you won’t be here anymore,” Grace admitted to him. Even though the doctor’s appointment didn’t necessarily bring her any good or bad news, these thoughts had been rampant in her mind ever since. She only ever expressed them to Brock. Sometimes to Svea. “I know the day has been coming since I was fourteen and I’m still not prepared for it.”

“You’re…a smart girl, Gracie,” he said. “Even with me gone…you will…still be able to do��everything that you want to. Dance. Have a family. Be a mom.”

Grace nodded her head. “I know I will. I just don’t know if it will be as special if you’re not here to see me do all that. Especially become a mom. Because you know how much I want to be a mom but it’s—you’d be the best grandpa.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll be watching.”

That’s what got her. Right then and there, Grace let out a sob, heavy and desperate and loud, like a hurricane had just swept through her body and had taken everything with it. She tried to stop but it was no use. And while she sat there on the edge of his bed sobbing, he pulled her down so her head was to his chest. “You need to…stop worrying, Gracie,” Hamish said. She could feel and hear his heart beating. “I’m still here…and still breathing. Don’t you worry.”

***

“D’you miss your parents?” Grace asked Svea one night when they were hanging out together at Elias’s apartment. They were alone in the den while Brock and Elias played video games, and Grace was looking at all the photos Svea had of her with her older sister and parents. There were a few of her and Elias too – that was a given – in Vancouver or when they were awkward looking teenagers. She got a kick out of those.

“Of course. Every day,” Svea nodded her head. “Do you miss your parents being together?”

Grace shrugged her shoulders. “They separated when I was so young – I barely remember them together. I remember the fighting more.”

Svea hated to hear that sort of thing. She knew Grace’s story, and Grace had talked to her about it before, but every time they did speak about it, Grace revealed just a little bit more about it. “That must have been hard for you – to see your parents fighting.”

“Not just see – I was involved in it half the time,” Grace revealed. “They would use me to get back at the other. They were young and stupid and had too much money, and it made things unnecessarily complicated. I think that’s why I want to become a mom so bad, you know? Because even though I know my parents loved me, I just want to give them a better childhood experience than what I had between my parents.”

“You want them to know mom and dad love each other,” Svea nodded.

“Exactly,” Grace stressed. “And I want, like, a big family. I want my kids to be able to have each other, you know? That whole time I was so alone. I had my friends at school but I never had a sibling. Nobody really understood.”

Svea could only imagine. It was at that moment she realized how lucky she was that she knew her parents loved each other. Love was complicated, yes, but they loved each other. Her mother moved from Vancouver to a tiny town in Sweden to be with her father – that was love. “I think you’ve found what you need in Brock, you know,” Svea said matter-of-factly.

“I know I have,” Grace nodded her head, smiling slightly. “I’m a very lucky girl.”

“He’s a very lucky guy,” Svea quipped.

Grace couldn’t help but giggle. “So is Elias,” she retorted, causing Svea to blush. “When the hell are you going to marry him, Svea? That boy is head over heels in love with you.”

Svea shook her head. “He’s my best friend, Grace.”

***

“I love you so much,” Grace whispered as Brock bent down to kiss her, his travel-day suit already on, and a beanie on his head covering the hair Grace loved so much. She loved running her fingers through it, especially while in bed, and the best part was that Brock loved her doing it too, so she did it all the time.

“I love you too,” Brock replied after the kiss. “What are you gonna get up to for these two weeks I’m not here?”

“A lot of masturbating while I think about you.”

Brock groaned, burying his head into the crook of her neck as she giggled. He bit down at the skin of her neck and she yelped. “You better fucking call me when you do,” he growled in her ear.

“I will.”

Brock gave her one last kiss before standing up straight again. “Say hello to your dad,” he said, even though he just saw him yesterday for their weekly Sunday Night Football watching. “Tell him I’m sorry about Sunday, but I’ll make it up to him when I win our Superbowl bet.”

Grace smiled. “He’ll be crushed if he loses that bet.”

“He better start preparing.”

***

“When are you gonna just kiss her?!” Brock was exasperated.

“Shut up,” Elias mumbled, still concentrating on his phone as he typed a message to Svea.

“Petey, no other girls exist in, like, your world besides Svea. Can you just get it fucking done already?”

“Brock, shut up.”

“Uuuuuuuuaaaaarrrrggghhhhh!” Brock groaned loudly as he and Elias walked through the front doors of their hotel. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Go right ahead.”

Brock rolled his eyes. Before he could say anything else, his phone began ringing from his pocket. It was after the game, and judging by their routine now, he knew it was Grace. He actually wondered if she was with Svea watching. “There you are. I was wondering when I’d get a call from you,” he said cheerily, not bothering with formalities.

He was met with silence on the other end. Then, a sniffle. She didn’t respond. He could hear her breathing and sniffling on the other end, but she wasn’t saying anything. “Grace?”

“Brock…he’s gone.”

Brock’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He stopped walking and stood in the middle of the foyer, the world standing still around him. He barely registered Elias stopping when he realized Brock wasn’t walking beside him anymore, and barely registered Elias looking over his shoulder with furrowed brows. “Grace—”

“We were at the hospital. He—he caught pneumonia somehow and it just—it just—”

“I’m on my way home right now,” Brock said quickly.

“Brock—”

“I’m gonna get on the first flight out to Vancouver, I promise you. I’m just at the hotel and I’m gonna pack and leave,” he explained.

“Please hurry,” her voice was desperate, full of sadness and grief.

“I’m on my way. I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Brock. Please hurry.”

When Brock hung up the phone, he finally noticed Elias staring at him. There were so, so many thoughts running through Brock’s mind – how he was going to tell Travis he wasn’t going to take the team charter flight home, how he was going to get to the airport, how he was going to get to Grace’s dad’s house or the hospital or wherever she was – but he was only able to verbalize one. “I need you to call Svea and tell her to get in touch with Grace.”

“What happened?” Elias asked.

“Her dad just died.”

Elias’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. But he immediately brought his phone up and swiped until he got Svea’s number. “Go,” he urged, bringing his phone up to his ear. “I’ll pack your things. I’ll bring your bag. Just grab your passport and go.”

***

Hamish’s viewing was busy. He was a well-known figure in Vancouver, and so Grace had to host two days’ worth of viewings, with timeslots in the afternoon and evening. Grace stood first, her two uncles (Hamish’s brothers and partners in the investment firm) Robbie and Owen Gillespie and their families after her. Eliza, James, Jasper, and Theo sat alone in the third row – obviously not part of the “line”, but there to support Grace. Hamish was Eliza’s ex-husband, after all, regardless of how nasty and bitter it got. And he was her daughter’s father. Brock sat alone in the second row, directly behind Grace. Elias and Svea, when they were there – which was most of the time – were beside him, attending to Grace’s every need.

The people wouldn’t stop coming. There was constantly a line to pay respects and then greet Grace, Robbie, and Owen. Brock could tell it was making Grace tired, greeting people she barely knew and shaking their hand and thanking them for their condolences. It didn’t help that it was in the newspaper and on the night-time news, too – however brief the mention of it was, it still made more people aware, and Brock was sure they showed up even though they probably hadn’t seen Grace or Hamish in years.

The funeral was even worse. Grace couldn’t stop crying. She said her eulogy, and it was beautiful, and Owen said one too, but after that it was just constant tears. After the church service, she clung to Brock, pulling him into the procession. At the entombment, her cries were loud and continual. Elias and Svea were crying at the final prayer before his casket was sealed.

Brock tried to be strong – for Grace, of course – but he cried, too.

***

It was a few days – almost a week, really – until Brock saw Grace again. There had to be meetings with lawyers and her uncles that Brock had no reason attending. The money was already hers – everything was basically just a formality, as he understood it, like an official transfer over – but Brock knew she didn’t care about the money. Grace wanted her dad.

Brock had barely sat down on the couch before she climbed onto his lap. Her lips immediately found his and her tongue immediately slipped into his throat. It was urgent. It was hasty. It was visceral, at least for Grace.

It was also wrong.

“Grace…” Brock mumbled, pulling away.

“Brock, c’mon,” she urged, continuing to kiss his strong jawline even though he turned away. “I need you. Touch me.”

“Grace—”

“Touch me,” she begged, grabbing his hands and leading them up her shirt.

“Grace, no,” he said sternly, pulling his hands away now too.

She furrowed her brows at him, an obvious look of anger on her face at his denial. Despite him knowing it was the right thing to do, Grace didn’t think so. “You don’t want me?” she asked in a harsh tone.

“You know I want you. I want you all the God damn time. But I’m not gonna do it when you’re…emotionally compromised,” he tried to reason with her, even though he knew it would be a futile attempt. “You don’t want this.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t. You just want to feel something right now.”

She looked at him indignantly. “Fuck you, Brock Boeser,” she growled as she lifted herself off of his lap, grabbing her purse and slamming his front door without saying another word.

***

There was a light knock at his door. Brock knew it could only be one person.

When he opened it, he knew Grace would be standing on the other side. What he wasn’t expecting was how she looked. Hair that looked that it hadn’t been washed since the last time she was over. Wearing clothes she’d obviously been wearing for days. Dark circles under her eyes, which were puffy and red like they hadn’t stopped crying. She looked defeat, frail, and crushed into a million different pieces Brock just wanted to pick up and piece together again.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of her mouth – practically squeaked out. He wondered if she had a voice left. Within seconds, he could see tears well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks like a flood. “I just…I miss his more than my heart knows how to handle.”

Brock engulfed her in a hug, and she cried and cried and cried.

***

“I was in the hospital with him…and he was weak, but he could still speak a bit, and move too. And I was holding his hand the entire time. And I just wanted to be in bed with him like when I was a kid and had a nightmare. And when I got in, I—well, when I was a kid, he’d hold me against his chest and I always remember how I could feel his heart beating, so I did that. And he held my hand and before he fell asleep, he said ‘I love you Gracie. I’ll be there. I’ll be watching.’ And then that was it.”

Brock felt a tear escape his eye. He let it fall as he began to shift his and Grace’s body’s so that he was lying on top of him, her head on his chest. He felt her hand clutch at his bare skin briefly, and a wetness on his chest he knew were tears. “Can you feel it?” he asked, referring to his heartbeat.

Grace nodded her head. “Stay like this, please.”

Brock didn’t move an inch the entire night.

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broadwayandnetflix · 4 years ago

Text

Slow Down - Bill Hader x Reader

Warnings: Language

Theme: Fluff + 1/4 of Angst

Summary: Hi I’ve literally been binging all of your fics and I didn’t know if you were still taking requests, but I was wondering if I could request an imagine with Bill Hader where the reader is sick and passes out at SNL and Bill helps them and takes them home

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Ahh thank you so much for your patience @bduchrnskei I really hope you enjoy this fic and it met your prompt expectations. I absolutely loved writing this one amongst all of my evil schoolwork, but what can you do?

Living in a small-sized New York City apartment was not all that it’s cracked up to be. Whether it’s the heavy traffic and clutter of construction that never halts or the extreme temperatures during any season.

In this case, in particular, winter.

Or, more specifically, in this case, your heater broke, and it had become like an iceberg within your apartment space. As stated by your landlord, the repairmen were supposed to come on Saturday night, and as of right now, it was Thursday.

So bundling up had to do, in a way, you kind of missed the heater’s incessant rattling, as it had become a sort of a white noise these last few months.

You hadn’t been in New York City for very long, a little under a year, maybe? It wasn’t like you to pack up and move randomly to the Big Apple, but after clearing a spot as a new cast member with Saturday Night Live. It was most certainly a must.

Ever since you were little, you’d always had a knack for making others laugh or just getting to see someone smile. Saturday Night Live became your goal, and to secure it was like winning a million dollars. Even if it meant having to endure New York’s extreme seasonal changes.

This week was no different in the typical workflow; you were technically a new cast member. So the number of sketches you had been in was significantly limited. Still, you loved it nonetheless, with the lack of skits that you had been in lately allowed you to get to know your cast members more.

Specifically, your other recurring cast members like Nasim Pedrad and Jenny Slate, the three of you would often meet up for coffee on Sundays. Taking the time to decompress and discuss your favorite sketches of the week. It was nice to have a group of people you could relate to and find solace in, especially when the weeks became stressful or exhausting.

And oh boy, did your week’s become exhausting, especially on Saturdays. You shuddered at the thought of dress rehearsal as it stretched late into the night; losing sleep was worth the excitement.

You looked at the clock, it was nearing close to four in the morning, and you still had been awake at this point. Maybe it was the cold or the thousands of thoughts swirling through your mind, much like the snow accumulating outside.

Work was gonna be a bitch tomorrow.

You sneezed at the thought, sighed, and made sure to set your alarm before letting sleep take over.

You awoke with a headache and a blaring alarm that was erupting from your phone. Groaning, you shut the phone off and tried to ignore the incessant pain protruding from your forehead.

Swallowing some painkillers, you got dressed, grabbed your keys, and headed to work. Totally not picking up a coffee and a breakfast sandwich on the way.

“Why good morning Y/N!” Jenny chirped as you walked into the room, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“You sound oddly chipper, what happened?” you said as you put down your stuff, eyeing her curiously.

“She got some sleep, that’s what happened.” Nasim replied, nursing a cup of coffee in her hands, giving you a sleepy smile.

“Lucky duck,” you murmured, instinctively reaching for your coffee as well. It coated your throat nicely, you sighed in content.

Jenny only smirked before starting up another conversation with Nasim; you let your eyes wander across the room. Everyone in motion, working hard to make sure shit got done. That’s the thing about working at 30 Rock; no one ever really stopped moving.

One thing that you still had not gotten used to was Monday’s. The grueling and exhausting twenty-four hour stretch period of planning and concocting up sketches. It was a scary feeling, as if you could ever compare to everyone else.

Every now and then, a pitch you threw into the ball pit would get picked, the tiny butterflies in your stomach reminding you why you did what you did.

Your eyes landed on a particular figure as he strolled into the room. His hair beautifully tousled, eyes half-open, and shirt resting ever so comfortably upon his chest. You diverted your eyes quickly, only to feel yourself begin to sneeze.

Fuck, for the love of all that’s holy, please do not sneeze in front of Hader.... too late.

He looked up, meeting your widened eyes, and gave you a soft smile. It lingered for a bit until Andy swept up from behind and hugged him along by the arm. For a second, you could’ve sworn he was gonna look back, but Andy had appeared to say something.

“Bless you!” Nasim and Jenny said in unison.

You mouthed thanks and leaned back against the wall, replaying the scene over and over again.

“Thinking about Hader again?” Jenny asked, following your line of sight, as she nudged you in the side playfully.

“Jenny! Not too loud, he might hear you.” you frantically whispered, a stern look aglow in your eyes.

“Oh honey, it’s so obvious.” Nasim chimed in, Jenny nodding eagerly in response.

“Plus he’s too far away, you’re more than safe Y/N, I think it’s cute that you like him. All the more reason to make fun of you.” Jenny says quickly before she is shoved by Nasim.

“I’m joking! I’m joking! Okay maybe not fully joking.” Jenny yelps, giving you a wicked grin.

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes in embarrassment. It was so bad, crushing on cast members, but man, was he handsome. Although you had denied it, a lot of your favorite sketches from the past weeks always seemed to involve Hader.

It was not like it was gonna go anywhere; you two barely spoke, and plus you’d probably be a mess if you did. Every now and then, though, you’d often find Hader sitting beside you at table reads. His laugh is always so goddamn infectious, and Jenny and Nasim eyeing you playfully like schoolgirls.

God, you were a mess, and it seemed like everyone knew it. Maybe even Hader knew; let’s hope he doesn’t.

“You know Y/N, I’ve never seen Hader as shy as he is when he’s around you. I mean the man literally sniffed my hair yesterday,” you quirk a brow, “But- but with you, he’s soft” Nasim’s voice crowds your thoughts, and you instantly look up to meet her in disbelief.

“Bullshit.” you retort, trying to ignore whatever attempt she was trying to make.

“Girl, you’ve kind of got a point. He’s not as jokey as he usually is whenever he’s around you Y/N.” Jenny adds, only to be interrupted by Lorne calling for a meeting.

Ah, how could you forget? Dress Rehearsal. While these days didn’t run as long as the others, they were equally draining and stressful. The three of you walked to Lorne’s office just in time as the rest of the cast stood beside you.

You felt yourself to begin to shiver unexpectedly, hugging yourself tightly. Since when was 30 Rock so cold? You felt Nasim look at you questioningly, and you shrugged her off.

Lorne had discussed the skits’ arrangements for the day, murmurs of excitement beginning to spread like wildfire around the room. Everyone just itches to get out and see if their sketch would succeed or bomb.

You took your seat in the audience as the sketches would come and go, meeting your cues whenever necessary. At the same time, your painkillers had seemed to wear off as your headache only seemed to get worse.

You made your way backstage to find the building’s first aid kit, only to brush past another coworker. That just so happened to be Bill Hader.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out, slowly clamping it shut; his eyes met yours in slight confusion before softening slightly.

“Woah, hey Y/N, everything okay? You were in kind of a hurry there.” he asks; you could barely meet his eyes as they searched yours for any sort of response.

“Oh,” you gulped, “Yeah I just have this crazy headache, um I was just looking for the first aid kit.” you say, shifting the balance on your one foot to the other.

His eyes widened before nodding quickly as if he was just reminded of something. The butterflies in your stomach crescendo as he quickly rested his palm upon your shoulder. You didn’t even know how to act, your body practically freezing at the contact.

“Actually to save you the trouble I have some painkillers upstairs in my dressing room. Not that I have like tons of drugs, but it’s no problem with me if that’ll help your headache.”

You quickly nod in response, trying to hide back a small smile before following him up several flights of stairs. God, you hated being so shy around Bill; it wasn’t like he was some mean old jerk; he was oh so genuine and thoughtful.

The two of you halt at a labeled Hader door; he looks back at you almost to check if you’re still there. Opening the door, he led you in, giving you a quick smirk, before crouching down and digging through the contents of his bag.

You had realized that this was the first time that you had ever been in a specific cast member’s dressing room. In particular, Hader’s room was neat and tidy, but you could see bits and pieces of his character sticking out. You couldn’t help but smile at it all, so caught up in the intricate details you didn’t even notice him get back up.

“Y/N, you good?” he asks; you focus your attention back on him quickly.

His hands outstretched, one holding a bottle of Advil and the other clamped tightly around a water bottle.

“Oh, um yeah. Thank you so much you have no idea how much I appreciate you for doing this.” you say rather quickly, but Hader doesn’t seem phased by your awkward nature.

You reach for the bottle and water, fingers gently brushing against his. The two of you looking down at the contact before parting ways.

Hader clears his throat, and you feel your stomach begin to tighten. Slipping two pills into your mouth, you unscrew the cap and down it carefully.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” he asks while placing the pill bottle back within his bag.

“A little I guess, I mean I tend to get nerves closer to the show. I’m sure at this point though, you’ve become an expert at staying calm.” you reply, his gaze falling towards the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m a wreck Y/N. This show is so stressful it eats at me every week, no matter what. I mean, clearly I’m doing something right and Lorne’s not gonna fire me, but, my anxiety gets so bad.” he says quickly. His eyes widened, and his posture became slightly tenser than before.

You couldn’t help but soften your gaze; you had no idea that he even went through this every week. Even now, with the buzzing tension in the air for tomorrow night, you couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Let alone the fact that he made the time to help you out.

“I wouldn’t have ever noticed,” he looks back up at you. “I mean, you’ve always just looked so...confident. I just can’t even begin to imagine what’s that like, every week constantly. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.” you quietly admit.

He shakes his head quickly, putting out a hand almost as if he was trying to stop you.

“No, no, it’s fine. Thank you though, it’s awfully sweet to hear that. Especially from someone like you.” Hader’s eyes filled with such warmth.

Was Hader blushing? Or were you losing it? Probably losing it.

“Oh about that headache, everything okay up in there?” he murmurs, stepping just a tad bit closer to you.

“It’s probably nothing, but I do appreciate the help.” you look back at the door, “We should probably get back? Right? Don’t wanna miss our dress.” you say quickly.

Hader nods within an instant, eyes widening at the realization of how long you two had been gone for. He led you to the door, giving you a quick smile before he ran out, murmuring something about a skit that had something to do with the guest host.

You giggle softly, heaving a contented sigh. It definitely was gonna be a long day, and you could’ve sworn that the temperature had just dropped.

Strange.

You couldn’t have stumbled into it until at least one in the morning, but sleep had been desperately calling your name. Oh, how you missed having a regular sleep schedule; it would make mornings less of a struggle.

Except this morning was different, or more so than you were used to. The headache that had arrived less than twenty-four hours earlier was now ten times worse. Your body ached, and you couldn’t decipher if the bed was too hot or too cold.

This was torture, and quite possibly the flu, not to mention, you had the show tonight, shit. You practically sprang upwards before feeling the instant aftermath of that decision settling in. It felt absolutely criminal to leave those sheets as you groaned and grimaced your way towards your kitchen cabinet. Eyes barely opened while you blindly searched for the thermometer you had kept.

One quick temperature check later, you were running a low-grade fever. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I mean, you couldn’t miss the show, right? It just didn’t seem plausible, or maybe it did?

You frantically wondered while your fingers grazed over the Google search bar whether going to work with a low-grade fever would be beneficial?

Every answer didn’t really seem to fit the unrealistic expectations that you had set for yourself. Still, one disgusting shot of Dayquil later, you were out the door.

The day went by in a haze, and the headache never really did seem to falter. It was almost like yesterday in a sense, but seeing Hader waltz into the room made you smile. He smiled back.

Of course, Jenny and Nasim knew something was up; they always did. It wasn’t like Lorne was gonna fire you for missing one show; it was the flu. Except, you had made it this far, how bad could it possibly go?

The lights were too bright, far too bright for you to even think properly, and your fever was sure burning up. Or maybe it wasn’t, you always had to ask others around for that sorta assistance. Except, this was the primary night of the week and you weren’t gonna ask a cast member to feel your forehead.

Imagine if Hader did, Y/N, please stop being a dork.

You found solace in a large water bottle, but it didn’t do much to help the way your body ached miserably. You looked like a mess, you felt like a mess, but this was the big leagues.

The last time you had checked, the previous performance of the musical guest had been underway. Which meant you had survived, but the exhaustion that had been ever-growing was begging for you to lay down.

The floor looked so good right now, yeah, just for a hot second, ugh why is everything burning up?

Slowly closing your eyes, you let yourself press up against the wall, except there wasn’t a wall right there, and down you went with a thud.

Bill had been anxious all night, of course for the show, but for you in particular. You usually always looked so put-together, but tonight something about you was just off. It was beginning to rub him the wrong way.

“Andy, do you notice anything strange about, um, Y/N over there?” he said, trying to muffle the concerned edge that rested within his voice.

“Y/N? Oh that new cast member you like?” Andy replied without much thought, earning a stern look from Hader.

“She’ll hear you, god man you sure can be loud. Whatever, she just looks kind of off man, I’m a little nervous for her.”

Andy’s gaze softened just a tad until something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

“I mean normally I would say that she looks fine and you’re just crushing, but I don’t think that is normal.” Bill’s gaze instantly locked onto the same thing, which was you fainting onto the floor.

His body going rigid before ultimately bolting upright, he wasn’t gonna catch you in time. Still, he definitely was gonna help if he could. Although he most definitely wasn’t the only one, other stray coworkers who happened to be backstage stood, jaws dropped.

There you went, tumbling to the ground, and Bill couldn’t help but feel his heart drop. Maybe that headache was worse than you had let up. He felt guilty for not speaking up sooner, but there was nothing he could do now.

They called a medic on the site, trying to keep it discreet as possible. It was a live show; he didn’t think it would be professional if broadcasted that shit.

He tried to fill in all of the details of how you had been acting the past few hours. It felt like he couldn’t do much to help, but he didn’t wanna leave your sight. It was odd; something about you really drew him in, leaving him reaching for more.

Plus, at this point, the last thing he had to do was go on stage while they rolled the credits. Bill was optimistic that this would count as a good reason.

He watched anxiously while the medic’s placed you upon a stretcher, his feet following without much thought. They wheeled you out to a waiting ambulance; he gulped at the thought of you having to be taken to the hospital.

Surprisingly they allowed him inside the ambulance; he was so convinced he’d be forced to wait until god knows how long. The vehicle provided seats off the side, allowing him to catch his breath and try not to worry about his current state.

That is until he saw you looking back groggily at him; now, this was definitely normal, as the medic had explained. He just didn’t see it coming; you blinked a few times, looking around at your surroundings.

“Hey, saw you took a little snooze there.” he teased, his gaze never leaving yours.

The ambulance rattled slightly, and you gasped a little before focusing your attention back onto him.

“Is this an ambulance? What happened?” you sat upright, feeling ten times worse, trying to piece together precisely why you and Bill Hader, of all people, were in the ambulance?

“Y/N, you fainted. The doctor’s said you’re burning up, they’re taking you to the ER.” he explained carefully, as you groaned in frustration.

He cocked his head slightly, clearly not expecting that response.

“About that, yeah I think I have the flu, I had a low-grade fever this morning.” you admitted sheepishly, not even daring to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry what?” he exclaimed, his eyes as wide as literal saucers. “Lemme get this straight, you went to work, with the flu?” you nodded, and he ran his hands over his face.

“Listen, I didn’t wanna disappoint Lorne. I mean it’s the night of all nights.” the words came out softer than you had intended; Hader practically melted.

“Oh, did you really think that Lorne’s gonna get pissed at you for having the flu? Oh sweetie, you know your health comes first right?” his words falling ever so sweetly off his lips.

You could barely look at the man, let alone control the multitude of butterflies that jolted in your already queasy stomach. Not to mention that he even thought to tag along, you nodded, not saying a word, focusing on his blue eyes like they were a safety net. Until you closed them, letting sleep overtake you.

You awoke once more to the sounds of machines beeping, people going from room to room, and an incessant tapping of one’s shoe.

This was most definitely the emergency room, your eyes scanning its surroundings until they landed on one person in particular. He looked exhausted, more so than you did, and you felt awful given the time it was at night. In fact, it was practically morning.

“You’re still here,” he sat upright, rubbing his eyes, “Thanks for sticking it out, Bill.” you tried to give him the most genuine smile you could possibly muster.

“Of course, I mean I overheard the doctor anyway. You’re cleared to go when you wake up, and definitely have to get some rest. I already spoke to Lorne.” you gaped, but he only stood up.

“Bill, what did he say?” you whisper.

“That you should listen to the doctor, and me.” you raised a brow. “Okay maybe he didn’t say me, but you get the point?” he exclaimed as he helped you get out of the bed.

The two of you walking towards the desk in which you had to sign out some papers, the pen unsteadily perched upon your fingers. Bill’s hand holding securely upon your back, in hopes you wouldn’t stumble. In reality, just being near him set your heart aflutter.

“Now I’m taking you home, but first I was thinking I could get you some soup for home. That sound good?” you could only look at the man in pure awe.

“You don’t have to do this Bill, really, I mean you’ve already done enough.” you gulped, only to see the man give you a smirk, his eyes glinting at you mischievously.

“Soup it is.” his hand clamping against yours, he led you out of the hospital and into the cold streets of New York City.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach the little soup shop he’d been talking about; it was cozy and apparently open twenty-four seven. Against his offer, you paid for two soups that looked the most delicious and cupped the cups while strolling back to your place.

“How do you think you got the flu?” he asked gently, looking at you with curiosity.

You had to try not to laugh; I mean, at this point, it was your fault, you subjected yourself to the tundra in your bedroom for the past few nights.

“Well, my heater has been broken for the past few nights. I assume that’s how I got it.” a smile aglow upon your face, giggling at Hader’s shocked expression.

“It better be fixed tonight when we get to your apartment complex. That’s ridiculous, Y/N.” you kept giggling, and soon he joined in with that gorgeous laugh of his.

You enjoyed your time with Hader even though internally you felt like shit; he made it so much more bearable. The air was light between the two of you, he made it easy to open up, and you wanted to know so much about him.

God, wait till you let Nasim and Jenny know about this night. They’re so gonna flip; you just knew it. Not to mention, the big looming ‘I told you so’ that was so coming your way.

“This is it.” he came to a halt, admiring the quaint little building that you happened to call home.

“You do know I’m not leaving until that heater is back on, right?” he ordered, but underneath his serious tone, you could see the concern.

“Oh come on Hader, let’s go see.”

The two of you taking the steps at a time, your body wanting to collapse, but you couldn’t let him know. He stood beside you while you inserted your keys into the lock, twisting it, before walking inside.

“What’s that rattling noise?” Hader wondered aloud.

A huge grin meeting your lips, you looked at him in pure delight, and he soon got the memo. His eyes widening before heaving a sigh of relief, only to halt.

“You call me if you need anything okay? Get some sleep, and um, stay warm. That’s an order, you hear me?” you could see his performance wavering as he tried desperately not to laugh.

“Yes, Sir.” you saluted weakly, but he only began to break instantly.

You really did love that laugh.

Thanks, Bill, for everything, really.” you said as he turned to head to the door, stepping up on your toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

His face instantly turned red before trying to compose himself as he walked away. You watched while he left the residence, giving you one last smile.

You awoke in a drowsy stupor that next morning to a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Want me to bring you some coffee and breakfast? - btw, this is Bill. Hope this l wasn’t too creepy. I ain’t no stalker.

Maybe: Bill: ps. How do you like your coffee?

Bill: ps.s yes or no?

You fell back on the bed with such a shit-eating grin, only to groan in response to the mistake you had just made.

You: Yes

#@broadwayandnetflix #bill hader imagine #bill hader x reader #bill hader x you #bill hader #fluff #angst #snl #Saturday Night Live #andy samberg #nasim pedrad #jenny slate #2021

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waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years ago

Text

Under My Skin: Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Word count = 4,6 k

Chapter Warnings = swearing, canon-typical violence, bad writing

Summary = You hate Poe Dameron. Simple, right?

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Part 1 of 4 (I think)

Poe Dameron didn’t like you and you didn’t like Poe Dameron.

“Because!” You grouse to Rose as you make your way to the cantina, “he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, no one could ever come close to his skills, and he always gets the best missions, and he’s good, but he’s not that good, he acts like he’s god's gift to women - no scratch that - to the galaxy, and he’s so arrogant!” You’re growling in frustration as you round the corner, suddenly lowering your voice as much as you can because Dameron is right there at the end of the corridor, deep in discussion with General Organa and Finn.

Rose’s only response is to whack you over the head as she walks through the swinging doors in the centre of the corridor. You’ve never been so glad you don’t have to walk past Dameron in your life. “What was that about?” You hiss as you catch up with Rose, grabbing your own tray and helping yourself to dinner. “You didn’t have to hit me in front of General Organa.” Rose snorts. “Yeah the General was the one you were worried about.”

Trays full, the two of you spot an empty booth and hurry towards it, sitting opposite each other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t shut up about Poe.” She jabs her fork at you, causing bits of potato to fall to the table. You can only gape, words escaping you momentarily.

Momentarily.

“What! I won’t - Dameron - he - he and I - urgh! - never in my life - he’s annoying!” You settle on finally, fully aware that you’re now whining. “He frustrates me!”

Rose raises an eyebrow, “Well maybe you need to work out those frustrations.” You shake your head, deciding to ignore her for now as you concentrate on eating. “You do need to get laid.”

You yelp, coughing when you try to swallow too quickly in shock. And then- “I can help with that, sweetheart.” You whip round, eyes narrowing when Dameron’s behind you, his flight suit tied around his waist, exposing his dirty vest and irritatingly strong arms. The only person who can beat him in arm wrestling is Finn - you can no longer count the amount of times he’s beaten you.

You take another scoop of dinner before talking with a full mouth. “Ok, one, I’m not your sweetheart, and two, Rose is wrong, and even if she was right, I definitely don’t need your help with-” you pause, swallow, and gesture vaguely in his general direction. “That.”

This, annoyingly, only seems to make him grin more. “That? You’re not gonna call it what it is?” You lean back, pulling your most unimpressed look onto your face, as he continues, still smirking, even having the audacity to wink at you. “Hot, animal sex.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, turning back to your dinner. “Whatever you say, Dameron.”

“Does it make you feel better, being mean to me?” Dameron asks as he squeezes onto the small piece of bench next to you. You huff, moving up so that you’re not touching. You don’t like him, but you’re not rude.

Ignoring his question, you deflect. “Where’s Finn? Don’t you want to sit with him?” It takes more effort than it should to sound like you’re asking out of interest, and not because you want him to go away. Which you do.

“He’s still talking to Leia.” Your eyes flick to Rose, and she knows what you’re thinking. You twist your body to face Dameron, bringing a leg up under you. “Is this about the mission?” Her voice is low as she leans across the table, forgetting about the rest of her dinner.

The last few days have been hell. Rumours have been flying around base, centered around a box full of Jedi crystals. Kyber crystals, you’d told Rose the other day, not that the name cleared anything up. You’d poked around the base’s library on your datapad when you had the odd chance, but the Jedi were now the stuff of legend, just stories told to children about ‘the good old days’.

The rumours made things worse - you’re not sure how much of it to believe - there were so few people who were even Force sensitive but as far as you were aware there were no Jedi left. Luke Skywalker was lost, and therefore probably dead. And even if Jedi did still exist, weren’t they supposed to be the good guys? Why hadn’t they come to help fight along with the Resistance?

But Dameron decides to play dumb. “What mission?” His eyes are too wide to be innocent and it annoys you. “Finn’s talking to Leia about…” he pauses, eyes desperately searching the cantina as he tries to think of a good excuse. “The quality of the food!” Turning to you, his eyes are intense. “I know you want more chocolate pudding.” You ignore how he knows that, instead focusing on glaring at him. “Dameron do you think I’m a good pilot?”

“Look,” he turns to face you, ignoring his own food even as you continue to eat, “it’s nothing to do with your skills as a pilot.” He pauses, but you interrupt before he can give you some empty platitude. “I think it is - otherwise why am I not being included?”

“Hey, will you listen,” he turns to you, poking his finger at you for emphasis. “This mission is top-secret and the risk of the First Order finding out is high so-” This time you properly interrupt, flicking his finger out of your personal space.

“So you just decide to talk about it in the corridor by the busy cantina, where everyone and their mother will see you?”

This shuts him up.

The two of you are looking into each other's faces, inches apart. And it’s annoying because Dameron is unfortunately handsome. Why? Why is he of all people so good looking? Rose coughs obnoxiously loud, causing the two of you to break eye contact and turn to look at her. You lean back from him, trying your best to look thoroughly unimpressed as he stands, picking up his tray and when he speaks, huffing, his voice is sharper than it was before.

“Look, I only came over to say that we’re going to have a mission briefing tomorrow at 6. Ok? So, just-” He leaves, mumbling the rest of the sentence under his breath as he walks across the cantina towards Rey, leaving you with your mouth hanging open, looking and feeling like an idiot.

“Well,” you say as you turn back to Rose. “That’s why I hate him.”

“You’ve got a mission, aren’t you pleased about that?” You can tell you’re annoying her now, but you roll your eyes. “Yeah, with Dameron. He’s just going to be hanging over my shoulder and passing judgement whenever he can. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Every time you came back from a mission Dameron was there. Always. Just waiting to tell you what you should have done, how you should have flown, how he would have done it. As though the only reason he hadn’t done it was because he was too important.

You knew you didn’t fly how most people did, it had cost you marks in your final exams at school, and it cost you a place in a higher squadron, but it was hard to find the will to change when the poster boy for the Resistance saw nothing but incompetence when he looked at you. Bastard, you couldn’t help but think as you stabbed the last of your greens, wishing it was his face.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The mission had been going so well. You’d dropped into the planet’s upper atmosphere, bypassing the planet’s security, got inside the compound, obtained the uber-secret box (your briefing hadn’t quite covered what was inside, annoyingly) and you’d been about to sneak out when you’d decided a bit more snooping was necessary.

The box had been in the centre of a library/museum set-up and even you could tell that these were rare books. So you’d told Dameron to inspect the objects while you scanned the books, pulling out a few that caught your eye.

The first warning you had been given was a blaster grazing your arm, causing you to yelp in pain, dropping the books and duck to the floor as another shot had ripped through the shelves - an inch or two above where your head had been. So a crap shot then.

Paper had fluttered down around you as you looked for Dameron. The shelves would provide good cover but unfortunately it also meant you couldn’t see your shooter. Pulling your blaster out from its holder, you aimed a couple of returning shots into the darkness at the edges of the room as you looked for Dameron.

You found him near the exit, standing over a number of droids. He’d been holding the box with one arm, the other bleeding heavily, but you’d managed to escape, tangling with another droid who’d punched you as you left the way you came, avoiding the crap shooter on your way out. You didn’t want the First Order to know who’d been there.

So now you and Dameron were walking back to the ship, cutting through undergrowth as you desperately tried to remember the way, face throbbing in pain. Dameron had fallen quiet very quickly, and you were alarmed to see how much blood he had lost so far. His face was pale and all you could think was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t’ve tried to poke around and look for other useful bits and pieces, you would have got out with no trouble.

Oh shit.

You were definitely lost now. You’d taken a gamble on the last turn and this was wrong. There should be a stream somewhere to your left which led back to the ship. Where was it? This was so wrong. And how were you going to admit this to Dameron? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swore under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dameron’s voice wasn’t right. He’d lost a lot of his power, and you turned to face him, watching as a small drop of blood fell to the floor. You don’t want to say it, you know he’s going to hold this over your head later, your first truly important mission and you’ve fucked up so bad. “I -” you hesitate, mouth open, so unwilling to say it, especially to Poe, you have to force it out. “We’re lost...I don’t know the way back.”

And...oh god, you’re not going to start crying are you? You can feel the familiar burn on the back of your eyes so you blink, looking away from him. But Dameron starts struggling, using his injured arm to try and reach down, looking for something. You move closer, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop moving, to stop aggravating his injury. “What are you doing?” And your voice is mean and you don’t know why but his skin is cool, cooler than it should be causing your heart to skitter out of control.

Dameron looks up into your face and his eyes are a little unfocused. Shit. “Looking for a tracker - the ship -” His voice doesn’t sound normal. But you have to be the calm one, you have to be the one in charge so you push the panic down, trying to speak normally. “Where is it? You shouldn’t be using that arm.”

“In my pocket, I -” But you’re one step ahead, unceremoniously dropping his wrist and reaching in, pulling the tracker out. A thin disc with a central button, which you press, and a red light spins around the edge before settling a direction to your left, forcing you to turn about 45 degrees.

You set off, pushing through the undergrowth and snapping branches from trees, kicking any debris out of Poe’s path as he stumbles behind you. Panic is still rising in you, you can’t be the reason the Resistance’s best pilot dies. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckin’ motherfucker, please, please, plea-

You pause for a second, trying to get your breathing back under control, even as it skitters away from you. You glance back at Poe, who nods at you.

BB-8 is waiting back at the ship, preliminary checks before take-off having been completed. You help Poe lift into the co-pilot’s chair you’d been occupying earlier and squeezing into the pilot’s chair. You don’t remember the flight back, don’t remember dodging the planet’s security as you took off, all you remember is how pale and quiet Poe is. He watches you the whole way which would normally annoy you, but you don’t think his eyes are fully focused.

You’ve done better landings when you get back to the base, but you don’t really care, Poe’s breathing is different, you can’t stop the panic rising in you, and the second you’ve opened the door you’re yelling, voice already hoarse. “Medic! Medic! I need - I need a medic!” People swirl around you, when did they get here? But you don’t want to let go of Poe, one arm around his back, his uninjured one around your neck while you keep a tight hold of the box.

You fight as someone tries to unfurl your fingers, Poe’s weight disappearing and you’re crying now, hardly able to open your eyes. You don’t feel the sharp sting of the tranquilizer, instead blindly fighting the rising darkness inside you, unable to recognise it for what it is. Voices are all around you, muffled like you’re underwater and lights are appearing in bright spots above your head. You’re floating, falling backwards, further and further, until everything turns black.

***

The debrief was not fun.

Barely out of the medbay, you’d relayed to General Organa what had happened, how it had been your idea to stay back, how you’d got lost in the forest after, how you made a mess.

Due to your injuries, it had been just you and her, and even now, safely in your bunk, you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than having to tell a whole command room. Sure, you’d been spared public humiliation, but at the cost of having General Organa’s full attention on your failure.

You’d pulled your curtain across your bunk, and you felt as though you might have to stay buried under your covers for at least a week to emotionally recover from the whole ordeal. The worst part of it was that General Organa hadn’t even seemed disappointed, or angry, just...like she expected it.

And Dameron was still in the medbay. It was coming up to 4 days later, but you’d maintained your distance, not sure your fragile heart could stand the pain of knowing his condition was your fault, no matter what anyone said.

You wanted to see him, to apologise, but at the same time the idea of facing him made you feel sick. It was your fault he was in the medbay, you should have prevented it. In fact, the only reason you even knew he was still in the medbay was because you assumed there would be some kind of announcement or celebration when he was better.

A knock on your door made you jump, and then frown, however the door began to open before you could respond which you supposed was kind of your fault, you should have locked it, now you were going to have to talk to someone-

And General Organa walks into the room.

You stand up so fast, you get a rush of blood to the head, your vision going black slightly at the edges. “General, I-” you start talking before you even know what you’re going to say, so shocked to see your hero in your room. Your eyes flick over to the mess of clothes you haven’t bothered to wash in the last week, tissues on the floor, half eaten snack bars and their wrappers littered around as you wished the room was a lot tidier.

“I wanted to check how you were getting on.” Her voice is soft, but still carries that familiar authority as she pulls out the chair from your desk and sits on it.

Your mind goes blank. General Organa...wanted to check...on you?

You manage to pull yourself together, sitting back down on your bed with a suddenly excellent posture. “Good, thank you General.” You can hardly look at her, it’s like she emits light, and it’s too bright, too much.

You’re hyper-aware of your every movement, this is the first time you’ve properly talked to her, you want her to like you, and oh my god she’s in your room? Her eyes never leave you, so you stare at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. “Call me Leia.” She pauses, but it’s not enough time for the implications of that to sink in. “It’s understandable if you’re still feeling rough.” Oh stars you’re going to cry.

Your eyes are watery and you know looking down only increases the chances of them falling, but if you look up, she’ll see. “I wish I’d done things differently.” You say, and your voice sounds rough.

The room is swimming when you finally look up, but General Orga - Leia is smiling softly at you. “I think about every second of that mission and for every decision that I made, I wish, I wish I did the opposite thing.”

“Why?” The question is asked so simply, and there are so many answers, they crowd your mind. “You were successful, weren’t you?” Still you can only gape at her. Successful? Dameron is still in the medbay-

“I know what it’s like to blame yourself for a mission going sideways.” Leia continues, “But you retrieved the box, you’re both alive, Poe is healing well, the medics say the bleeding has stopped and his stomach is on the mend now.” His stomach? You frown, his stomach wasn’t injured, it was just his shoulder, but Leia mistakes your frown for further dissent.

“I know you think it was your fault because you said let’s stay behind, but what if you had found something important? And Poe agreed, didn’t he? It’s not just on you. You just have to learn when the risk is worth the reward.” With that, she stands, so you do too. “I’ll formally debrief the two of you together when Poe’s out of the medbay, but I thought you needed to know this.” You nod, unable to speak again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

It’s almost too late before you can speak again, Leia halfway out of the door, but she turns back when she hears your voice. “Thank you.” And you mean it. Leia didn’t say much, and nothing new, but she was right. The mission was technically a success. Things went wrong, but you were both alive.

Sitting back on your bed, you feel lighter, more like normal. And a part of that normality is annoyance towards a certain pilot. He was injured in his stomach? The more you think about it, the more a cold fury rises in you. Why wouldn’t he say? He was carrying that heavy box and - you let out a growl, surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

You make your way to the medbay, becoming angrier and angrier with each step. No wonder he had so much blood loss! How dare he not say anything! How could he not tell you? Did he not trust you?

You ignore the signs that tell you visiting hours are over, and maybe it’s the look in your eyes that stops any medics from reminding you as such when you march up to the front desk. “I need to see Poe Dameron, which room is he in?” You feel a tiny bit bad for being so demanding to an overworked medic, but you can’t think past how Poe Dameron lied to you.

You’re shaking as you walk to Dameron’s room, not bothering with pleasantries as you bang open the door. He’s lying in the bed, BB-8 charging in the corner and had you been calmer you would have noticed how Dameron jerked awake when you slammed his door shut. You ignore how he’s hooked up to various machines and drips, bandages covering his body.

“You were shot in the stomach?” Your voice is mean again.

Dameron just blinks groggily at you, a combination of drugs and tiredness, but you push down any pity, letting righteous anger flood your veins with fire. “What?” His voice is hoarse from misuse and sleep.

“You were shot in the stomach?” You repeat, keeping hold of that cold fury as you look down at his face. This extra minute is all Dameron needs to wake up properly and realise why you’re so upset. “No- just, just stabbed.”

“Just!” - and it’s like you’re watching yourself, no control over your actions and even to your own ears you sound hysterical, the volume of your voice rising.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You demand as he presses a button, lifting the top half of his bed up. Tears are once again pricking your eyes, but this time you will not be crying, so you wipe them away quickly, past caring.

“Because,” Dameron huffs, realising that's not a full sentence. “I don’t know - you...you had enough on your plate, I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You should have told me.” Your voice is dangerous now, your whole body thrumming with an unshakeable anger, even as you stand completely still. A strong undercurrent continues to carry you onwards in the conversation, and you know you’ll need to leave before it runs out. “You carried that box for fuck knows how long, and what? You were just hiding your injury? You just wanted to be a hero, or embarrass me?”

Dameron stays silent, glare heavy in his eyebrows. It’s too much, you want, you need answers.

“ANSWER ME!” You roar, lashing out in defence.

“I had to!” He’s shouting now too, pushing against the bed with his strong arm. “It was hard enough to snap you out of it when we were in the compound - I wasn’t going to add to it - I had to know you could fly us home!”

His words are like they punched you, a heavy exhalation, and it’s as though all the anger was tightly held in your lungs. “I flew us home.” Your voice sounds small as you take a step back. Dameron’s found the one chink in your armour again, just like he did when you first met, the one weak spot of your insecurity and smashed it to smithereens.

There’s silence in the medbay, pushing against your eardrums as though to emphasise just how the loud the two of you were. There’s a brief flicker of curiosity in the back of mind, wondering why the nurses haven’t intervened yet.

You can’t look at Dameron anymore, instead taking in the number of different machines he’s hooked up to, watching the drips, how his heart rate starts to lower as he forces himself to calm down. “So you didn’t trust me?” You don’t want the answer, but you can’t stop the words.

He takes his time answering again, but you still don’t look at him, hands playing behind your back with the hem of your jumper. “If you don’t trust me - you should have asked Leia to switch me out!” Shut up, shut up, shut up, why can’t you stop talking, you stupid-

“Maybe I should’ve!” His voice doesn’t change, there’s no difference in his heart beat, although it’s on the high side of normal, matching yours, but something changed. There’s a split in the room, a chasm separating the two of you that wasn’t there before.

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Because I felt sorry for you!” Your eyes snap up, looking at his face in terror. “I wanted to give you a chance! I didn’t think you’d fuck up like that.” If Dameron’s earlier words were a punch to your gut, these sent you sprawling. Short of an atomic blast inside you, any feeling left inside you was obliterated. Hot embarrassment crawls up your arms and you want Dameron to feel the same pain.

“Fuck you.”

The words hang there, each second an eon. Poe instantly regrets his words, knowing he’s gone too far. He opens his mouth to apologise, but the words don’t come.

Neither of you say anything, glares still spitting red-hot fire, when you suddenly want to leave. You don’t want to see Dameron’s face again, not for a long time. So you clench your jaw, throwing up your middle finger and slamming the door behind you.

***

Isolating yourself doesn’t seem quite so appealing once you’ve left the medbay, so instead you make your way to Rose’s room, grabbing a bottle of firewater from the cantina as you pass. You need a drink.

When you arrive, you’re not sure you want to talk about the recent shitstorm your life has recently become so the first words out of your mouth when Rose opens the door is- “Do you like Jannah?”

It’s a little mean of a conversation to spring on your friend, but you’re a lot of things, and blind is not one of them. You’ve seen how the two mechanics look at each other. Especially when they think the other won’t see. Holding up the bottle as a peace offering, Rose smirks at you before leaving her door open as an invitation.

Rose denies having a crush on Jannah as you work through the bottle, only conceding on the point that Jannah is very pretty. You’re probably a little too quick to agree, blaming it on the drink that’s currently making you feel like you’re floating a couple of inches above the ground.

Comfortable silence falls on the two of you as you sit there, the floor a little cold under you, leaning against Rose’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking-” Rose starts but you interrupt before she can get any further.

“Dangerous.”

Rose doesn’t dignify this with a response, instead waiting until you wave a hand at her to continue.

“We’ve got a coordinating day off next cycle, if you wanna go to Sanctuary III. They’ll have a festival then, I can’t remember which but it should be good fun.” You can tell she’s keen, so you’ll go with her, but you find it hard to inject any enthusiasm into your voice.

Rose picks up on this, sighing as she refills her glass. “Alright don’t seem too keen on the idea.”

Your shrug, not really wanting to talk about the real reason you can’t find any excitement. “Sorry. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun.”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is gentle, and her hand is on your arm, and it’s so reassuring, so warm, your skin sings under her palm.

You talk to your feet as you tell Rose what Dameron said. “-and he - it was horrible, Rose,” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes again. “And I - we’ve never got on, he’s, y’know, annoying, we’re always bickering, but I just - I never thought that he actually - it’s my fault he’s injured, and maybe he does hate me and-”

You stop your tirade and for the first time, just let yourself cry and breathe for a second. Rose’s arm comes around your shoulder and you lean into it, slightly. “It’s fine - I mean I never liked him anyway, now I can just move straight into the dislike section, maybe even hate I dunno.”

“Ok you should know that that’s not healthy first of all.” Rose’s voice floats out from above your head. “Second, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, and anyway, who cares what he thinks? Leia thought you did well. And third, this is all the more reason to do something on our day off!”

You give a weak chuckle and nod. You spent the rest of the night, playing cards and chatting about lighter topics until both of your eyes start to burn and you make your way to bed.

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Chapter 2

#poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #...eventually #Star Wars #poe dameron #fanfic #please be nice lol #so nervous I'm grinding my teeth #but I couldn't look at this anymore it was just getting worse by the second #if anyone wants to listen/know about the playlist I made for this let me know #I have a problem with both italics and commas #who knew #I physically feel sick posting this oh god #should be writing my uni essay instead #if I missed any warnings/triggers please let me know

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the-silentium · 4 years ago

Text

Murphy day - Epilogue

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - The survivor

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader, Hunter x Reader

Words: 2708 words

Warnings: None.

A/N: This side story became a prologue, so y’all enjoy this lil piece of fluff. If you guys have requests or ideas for some side stories, don’t hesitate to ask!

Taglist: @haloangel391

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

"Today's the day!" Wrecker exclaimed excitedly, opening the door so quickly that it hit the wall before bouncing back to hit his arm.

Unbothered, he pushed the door back to approach your frightened form on the bed to hit your shoulder playfully.

"Ready to return to the ship, pilot?" He laughed like this was the funniest joke of the universe. Well. In a sense it was.

"I'm discharged?" You asked, hopeful to finally get out of the medbay. Patch and Mylana have been very kind from day one and you were eternally grateful for their support through your healing process. But you were ready to get away from the white walls, bacta smells and occasional nocturnal pain screams down the hallway.

"You are!" He confirmed, placing a pile of neatly folded clothes with your clean boots on the bed beside your folded legs. "Crosshair got you some clothes."

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, well, what remained of it. To reduce the swelling of your brain they had to shave some of your hair to access the skull so Mylana offered to do a sidecut to save the remaining of your hair and make you a bit more fashionable. You were glad that you accepted, the style definitely suited you and the appreciative look you received from a certain sergeant made you forget what the word 'insecurity' meant. Added to your apparent scar, you looked badass.

"Is there another Crosshair on base? 'Cause I don't think we're talking about the same Cross." You maintained his gaze, bewildered.

Sure, the sniper had warmed up a bit to you. He came to visit, rarely, but still came nonetheless. He didn't talk much but his company was enough. He usually brought you holobooks about ships, from their mechanics to how to fly them.

He'd sometimes talk about some of his flying experience or recall some pranks he and Wrecker pulled on the regs if you sighed from boredom enough times. Oh and he brought you a tiny cup of caf one time. Tiny victories.

But to get you clothes? That you noticed were the right size? You must have done a lot more progress than you thought.

"Yeah. Said the gown would smell bacta." He bent over to sniff near your shoulder. "And he's not wrong."

You rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder away.

"Fine. Wait outside, I'll change."

With a salute, he exited the room and closed the door slowly this time.

You grabbed the clothes, quickly pulled the socks on, followed by the black cargo pants. You admired in awe the lots and lots of pockets and immediately thought how many things you could put in them. Your own cargo pants didn't even have that many pockets. You swiftly removed the gown, folded it in a ball before throwing it in the basket in the corner of the room, cheering silently when you aimed right at your first attempt. Your arm really got better in the last 2 weeks the cast has been off.

You traced the scars on your inner arm and abdomen, your proofs that you survived hell and came back stronger. With a smile, you pulled on the grey long sleeve shirt Crosshair chose for you. You pulled up the sleeves a bit until they reached just below your elbow and stepped in your boots to hurriedly get out.

"Looking good Y/N!" Wrecker whistled looking you up and down, catching the attention of the nurses office.

"I have to agree with that." Came Mylana's voice, admiration in her eyes as she nodded with a grin.

"It's all thanks to you." You winked at her, passing a hand through your shaved side, carefully avoiding your sensitive scar.

"I dare to think that I did a good job with those stitches. I should have some credits." Patch appeared from around the corner, datapad in hands.

"You did and I can't thank you enough!" You laughed, hugging him when he opened his arms.

"You're welcome. Take care of yourself. No jumping off cliffs again." He chided, letting you go with a pat on your shoulder to join the nurse station.

"I will! And I fell! Big difference!" You countered, earning a scoff with a shake of his head.

"Well, this is goodbye until next time then! Although it would be nice if you weren't injured." Mylana hugged you, her hand softly patting your back.

"I'll be careful mom." You snarked, chuckling. "See ya Lana! Take care!" You jogged to join Wrecker who took a head start.

He walked you through the medbay, walked a long hallway and finally showed you the hangar where you spotted a familiar ship stationed at the far end. You took a deep breath in, letting out a moan at the smell of fresh air, oil and smoke.

"I missed this." You informed Wrecker, arms open wide at your side to feel the breeze stroking your exposed skin.

"I know what you mean." He resumed walking, glancing at you as you followed. "I was in the medbay for a month for that." He reminded you, pointing at his scar on the side of his face.

"I was in there for three." You deadpanned, looking around to take in the clones moving crates around and the mechanics repairing ships.

Before you knew it, you reached the ship where Hunter was waiting down the ramp.

"Looking good." He approved, the smirk deforming his tattoo, the sight of which sent tingles to your fingertips.

You remembered all too well the day Hunter fulfilled the one condition you asked for.

"That's what I said!" Wrecker said, passing you to enter the ship.

"Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder." Hunter became more serious, his hand presenting you the interior of the vessel.

You followed his lead, taking in all the information he gave you about the ship while creating a mental map of the structure and rooms.

You weren't surprised when he showed you your cot, a small bed pushed against the far wall of a room where two sets of bunks were occupying the side walls. You quickly figured that a ship had very limited spacing and that you would sleep near them all. You weren't a fan of sleeping in your underwear anyway, the lack of clothing making you feel vulnerable.

"Here." Hunter caught back your attention, a well-known knife and tap in his open hands.

You took them back, eager to be your whole self again. Pocketing the tap, you traced the old tree carved in the wood of the knife handle, finding a deep comfort in the movement.

"What does it represent?" He asked, genuinely curious. "The tree."

"It's my family's crest. We've always been close to the jungle." You smiled, remembering the day your dad offered you the knife. "This knife has been passed down for many generations now-"

You frowned at the light bleating sound echoing through the ship. This was unusual.

"What was that?" You asked and when you turned around, Tech and Crosshair were in the doorway. You slipped the knife onto the nearby bed.

"That? Nothing." Tech replied too nonchalantly.

"You took him too?" Your eyes widen as a small green horned Shinehorn poked its head between Crosshair's legs.

Your face broke into a smile as you fell to your knees to receive the excited animal into your arms. You patted his head and scratched its sides, stopping when Tech closed Shiny's mouth when he started to make happy noises.

"He slipped in when we weren't looking. And he's not supposed to be here." He informed you, releasing Shiny slowly to make sure be wouldn't start babbling again.

"Oh. Okay." You stood up. "Are you guys keeping him?"

"Unfortunately, if the GAR finds him he'll be thrown away. So we have to take him back." Tech explained to your disappointment.

"It'll be your first flight. Without pressure, perfect to practice. Tech will be there to help you." Hunter told you, watching closely for your reaction.

"Cool! I feel ready for this." You affirmed, confident. Every day for two months you prepared yourself. You were ready for a first practical test. Your hands shot to your pockets by habit, reminding you of something.

"Crosshair!" You exclaimed to everyone's surprise. You almost laughed at their slightly wide eyes. "Thanks for the clothes! I love them!" You flashed him a toothy grin, bouncing from your toes to your heels.

"You're welcome." He grumbled, moving his signature toothpick in his mouth, snapping his fingers and leaving the room. To your surprise, Shiny followed Crosshair diligently, his tail straight up in the air, alert to Crosshair's commands.

You watched him go and disappear around the corner, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

"He tamed him!" You yelped, pointing to the empty spot that Shiny occupied only moments ago.

"Yeah. He knows many commands now." Tech took a seat on a bunk, holding your gaze. "Stay, come here, lay down, light up and turn off. "

"Aw it's so sad that we have to take him back there." You pouted, but you knew why it was necessary. Didn't mean you had to like it though.

"It's for his best interest." Tech chipped, standing up to leave the room. "Oh and I brought you some food from the mess. Figured you'd get out of the medbay before they could give you your lunch." He told you in the doorway before going elsewhere when you thanked him for the kind gesture.

"Think you're ready?" Hunter asked from his spot leaning on the opposed bunk.

You smirked. "Doubting me Sergeant?" You asked, mischief sparkling in your eyes.

"No. Simply confirming with you." He cleared, raising an eyebrow at your expression.

"Then I confirm. I'm ready for a test run. I know all those manuals by heart and it's as boring as it sounds." You chuckled.

He pushed himself up before taking a few steps in your direction, only stopping when a single inch separated your chests.

"I bet that those manuals would be much more interesting if you'd read them out loud." He said lowly, eyes darting down to your lips before returning to your eyes, calculating.

"Now, I really doubt that." You rolled your eyes at his silliness. "I'm sure you'd fall asleep without a problem though."

"I'd have nice dreams then." He smirked and you couldn't stop yourself.

Your hand rose to the ink at the corner of his mouth, tracing its length carefully like you did that day he completed his part of the deal. Rising up to his cheekbone and temple, his head moved to the side to feel more of your fingers ghosting his skin before they finally entangled themselves in his locks.

He groaned, eyes closing in contempt like every time, his touch deprivation made him like putty in your hand. After that first day, he soon became your most frequent visitor and the Batcher who knew you the most. In turn, you became the first person outside of his brothers to know him well.

"I sure hope so." You whispered, closing the distance between your lips to take his breath away in a passionate kiss, your lips moving with his in perfect tandem. He followed your rhythm, too entranced by all of you overtaking his senses to be able to take the lead.

His fingertips barely touched your waist that you pulled away, the mischievous glint he distinguished before sparkling stronger.

"I have duty in the cockpit."

You tried to pass by him but he quickly blocked your way with his body.

"My hell of a catch-" He growled, his lips crashing back on yours, this time initiating the dance that you eagerly repeated. "-is a tease." He finished, eyes half close but loaded with desire.

"Only for you, sir." You purred, pecking his lips one last time when he straightened at the title, his breath catching in his throat.

You noted the reaction for later and ducked to the side to grab your knife from the bed and took off to the cockpit where you'd execute your very first attempt at flying a metal can.

On your way you took hold of the food Tech gathered for you and you sat in the pilot seat, checking the board before you with all its buttons, switches and levers while eating. You were happy to find out that you knew the vast majority of their functions.

"These are your credentials." Tech showed you his datapad, where your name appeared on top of the page with numbers and letters just beneath it, forming your personal code.

"How did you get that? I didn't do any studies here and even less enrolled in the army."

"Simple." He started, scrolling down to a particular section of the page. "I hacked the system through an encrypted connexion, created you a new identity within the GAR and gave you all the background needed to be a real pilot." He showed you your supposed diplomas and certifications of countless hours of flying practice that you really didn't have.

"Wow. I'm a genius." You noticed the grades attached to some of your supposed diplomas.

With high distinction, some of them read.

"Well, to be assigned to a team of elite commandos, you kinda need to be." He shrugged like it was pure logic.

"You say that but you got me. The freak who never flew before and lived on a planet where we still used bows to hunt." You stated flatly, pointing to yourself.

He met your eyes, blinking a few times behind his glasses to process what has been said and maybe find how to answer correctly.

"Can I take back what I said?" He asked, starting to feel the hot water he just put himself in.

"So you think I'm stupid?"

"What?!"

"If you take back the fact that I'm supposed to be a genius to be able to work with you, then you think that I'm stupid." You pointed out for him, enjoying how a rosy tint invaded his cheeks.

"N-no! Not at all!" He stammered, clearly panicking over his own words.

"Relax Tech, I'm kiddin'." You laughed, almost dropping your food.

"What's going on here?" Hunter asked, suddenly entering with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Tech called me stupid." You pushed him under the bus before taking a bite of your lunch.

"No I didn't!" He defended himself, the high octave of his voice almost made you choke on the food.

"Tech, don't insult our pilot." He reprimanded jokingly before leaving.

He slowly turned to you, the residual pink on his skin vanishing by the seconds, his half-closed eyes burned holes through your skull.

"I'm not helping you fly this ship." He grumbled, insulted.

"I'll do my best!" You affirmed before lifting a hand to your chin in thought and pointing to a random button. "That's the hyperdrive, right?" You faked innocence.

Tech blanched a bit, eyes widening all the while shaking his head in mild crisis. "You're not flying this ship!"

You shot your hands in the air in defense, chuckling at his expression. "Okay I'm done shitting you! Promise!"

Then you proceeded to name and explain the function of each button, each switch and each lever. He approved, sometimes adding stuff you couldn't learn in books and soon you were ready to depart.

"No more jokes." He glared before patting your shoulder and left the room to tell the others that you would soon initiate the take-off sequence.

You contemplated the hangar from your venture point, munching on some dry bread when you realized that you've felt more alive when you were stuck in a medbay bed for two months than you've ever felt in your life in the village.

The reckless gesture of leaving your house on Murphy day was stupid but it bring you so much more than you first anticipated. Instead of having a single day where you weren't stared at with distrust or even disgust, you found companionship, kindness, people who'd gladly talk to you instead of whispering among themselves behind your back.

Relief tears welled up in your eyes when you became aware that the heaviness weighing you down daily was gone. You were happy.

You found your home.

#bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars #clone wars #clone force 99 #murphy day

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cauliflowercounty · 4 years ago

Text

Gone Too Far? (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

House: Gryffindor

Blood Status: You Choose

Warning: Light swearing, some suggestive moments

A/N: Youre in an established relationship with Fred

——

Fred and George have been on a major hot streak. The pranks were glorious and the castle had been in mayhem for the last week, which the twins basked in gleefully and your heart filled with warmth seeing Fred so happy and satisfied with his schemes.

It was obvious who the pranks had been orchestrated by, but the twins were masters of their craft, working with a couple of other trusted Gryffindors to create air-tight alibis and complex game plans, so it was impossible to provide evidence that it was them other than “of course it was the twins!”

This round of pranks all started when the twins decided to get under the Slytherin team’s skin before the upcoming quidditch match. Gryffindor would be playing Slytherin and Draco Malfoy had been targeting Harry as of late to get him off his game.

In order to even the playing field, the twins enchanted all the statues in the castle to shout insults about Draco Malfoy whenever anyone passed them, earning cheers from everyone not in Slytherin. Some of the favorites of the student body were “Draco Malfoy is a deviled old twat” and “Draco Malfoy’s wig is made of treated Sasquatch hair.”

The statues were finally silenced once the statue of the architect of Hogwarts in the front hall shouted that Draco Malfoy was “a bigoted mother fucking daddy’s boy,” which Professor Snape heard loud and clear while discussing the upcoming Quidditch match with Professor McGonagall. Snape quickly silenced the statue and set off to deal with all the others, leaving McGonagall with a small smile on her face.

Next, Fred and George set to messing with the whole team and had sent fraudulent report cards in unmarked envelopes that would read aloud the fake abysmal grades they’d written in them to all the members of the Slytherin quidditch team. Fred and George also sent them to all the Slytherins in Harry’s year for kicks, in order to freak them out, too. This, earned the slytherins a lot of unwanted attention and resulted in all of them wasting about two hours going to their professors, trying to resolve their grades only to find they were fake while Fred and George snickered in the corner and the Gryffindor team booked extra practice time while their opposition was distracted.

Additionally, the twins had charmed all the food at the Slytherin table to turn into ash in peoples mouths and the pumpkin juice to disappear during breakfast among other things.

The last incident was the grandest that had yielded exactly what the twins wanted, but also ended up unintentionally landing you in a 3 week long detention with Snape.

The Slytherin quidditch team had finally been able to book a practice on the Tuesday before the game this upcoming Saturday. The Slytherins has been relieved that they were able to book the pitch since the twins had been putting obstacles in their way for the last week. Their relief was short lived; the twins had arrived at the pitch two hours before Slytherins’ time slot and enchanted all the equipment.

Upon releasing the bludgers, things seemed normal at first until the quaffle started to turn red hot in the chasers’ hands each time someone caught it, causing the player to drop it and yelp in pain.

The bludgers were normal, until Crabbe and Goyle started hitting them. Each time a bludgers came in contact with the bat, the bludgers would split in two. This went unnoticed by the two beaters until all 16 of the bludgers decided to hurl themselves at the team captain, intimately causing him to flee. This resulted in Draco Malfoy losing sight of the snitch, but once he realized what had happened, catching the snitch was the least of his problems.

The snitch on the other hand, had grown to be about a meter in diameter, but it kept its old flight pattern and started to zip around the pitch, cutting into the stands with its wings, which were now blades of destruction. It hurled through the air, nearly knocking all the players off their brooms.

This turn of events made the whole team to abandoned practice and return to the castle and find Professor Snape, knowing full well the twins were behind this. Hopefully Snape would be able to take points at the very least or have them banned at the upcoming match, making the Gryffindor team to have no choice but to forfeit.

As the Slytherins rushed into the changing rooms to escape the gargantuan death snitch, Fred and George popped out from the changing stalls and confunded all of them I order to ensure this couldn’t be traced back to them, making a quick getaway.

After being confunded, none of the Slytherins remembered who was at fault for the outcome of practice, but passed by you studying for Transfiguration on their way to tell Snape what had happened, resulting in you being blamed for the mayhem since you were the last face they saw. This earned your three month detention and lost Gryffindor 50 points.

You knew it had been Fred and George who executed the prank. Most people if they wanted to mess with another team would dye something a different color or perform an easily reversed transfiguration, but charming all the equipment to produce a quidditch practice from hell reeked of Fred Weasley and seeing Fred Weasley’s face after you had your talking to from Professor Snape said it all.

Because of that, you and Fred aren’t talking currently, which was mostly the fault of Fred since he was suddenly to shy to come up and apologize. Maybe it was the look of death you have him after you saw his face? You desperately wanted to talk to him, but he was avoiding you at all costs.

Otherwise, the final days leading up to the game were wonderful. Now, you’re sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, trying to get Harry psyched up.

“Come on, mate,” Ron says, pushing Harry’s plate toward him. “You gotta eat something. I haven’t seen you like this since your first quidditch match ever.”

“I’m just concerned about this time. Malfoy wants blood this time, especially this time since Fred and George have been merciless as of late,” Harry groans, shoving his head into his hands.

“But you gotta admit... Fred and George got him good. That statue moment was priceless,” Ron laughs. “Speaking of Freddie, are you taking with him again, y/n?”

“No,” you reply, “and it’s not my fault. He hasn’t spoken to me since I came out of Snape’s office. It’s too bad. I miss Freddie. I’m not even that mad at him anymore....”

Hermione raises her eyebrows at that comment. “Not mad at him?” she scoffs. “I’m not buying it, y/n. You were livid at him.”

“Well, that was only for 2 seconds. I can’t stay mad at that face,” you sigh, earning a fake barf noise from Ron. You roll you eyes at his reaction. “he did land me in Snape’s detention of all detentions for 3 weeks and lost us all valuable points. Now Ravenclaw is in the lead for house cup,” you explain, “but I’m over that. I want Freddie back.”

You smile, thinking about Fred and your late night conversations in the common room until 3am and the way he families when you laugh at his jokes. You sigh, hoping he’ll get over himself soon.

“Harry, eat something,” you say quickly, eager to change the conversation as you snap out for your day dream. “If you say Draco wants blood, you should eat so he doesn’t have the upper hand to begin with.”

You look over to the Slytherin table and they’re all horking down food like there’s no tomorrow.

“... also I think Crabbe and Goyle just ate a full chicken each,” you whisper, trying to look away from the two slytherin beaters with chicken fat smeared on their hands, face, and uniform. Your friends hiss at the sight and divert their eyes.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione smiles.

“Yeah,” you join in. “You’ve always been the better seeker.”

Harry nods in thanks and returns to his food, eating this time as you all hope for victory this afternoon.

“HARRY POTTER HAS SEEN THE SNITCH! He’s gaining in it and- Ooh! Draco Malfoy has just rammed into him from the side, pushing Potter off course! Now he’s after the snitch- Malfoy should really learn to find the snitch himself, lazy ass-“

“JORDAN!” McGonagall scolds angrily, glaring at Lee.

“Sorry, Professor! It just comes out!” Lee defends, but McGonagall shoots him a look of pure irritation. Turning back to the game, Lee stammers, “I-I mean... it won’t happen again! Potter and Malfoy are neck and neck! Fred Weasley deflects a bludgers header for his seeker! And now the seeker go into a dive! This is gonna be close!”

“GO HARRY!!” You shout as you watch Harry plummet towards the ground, swiftly pulling up inches above the ground.

The seekers fly forward, arms outstretched. From behind, a bludgers heads for Malfoy, knocking him forwards off his broom. As he falls, Malfoy grabs onto Harry’s robes and pulls him down to the ground with him. Both of them hit the ground, kicking up a large cloud of dust on impact. A resounding chorus of oohs euros from the crowd. That must have hurt.

“And the seekers WIPE OUT!” Lee shouts, nearly leaning over the edge of the stands too far in order to get a good look.

As the dust clears, the crowd mourners and a figure emerges. It’s Harry, holding the fluttering, struggling snitch between his fingers.

The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw stands erupt in joyous cheers at Slytherin’s loss. Groans and angry shouts fill the Slytherin stands as Draco Malfoy, holding his arm limps forward and angrily kicks his broomstick, bitter and jealous of Harry basking in the glory of a Gryffindor victory.

You sneak a look at your Freddie. He’s bumping bats with George, a gleeful smile on his face, knowing his pranks and psychological warfare paid off. Fred looks down to the stands, and his eyes scan for you. You smile as you lock eyes. A dopey grin breaks in his face as he realizes that your smile is directed at him. You wave to him, calling him over as the Gryffindors next to you clear stands to get to the after party in the common room that’s sure to last late into the night with streamers, confetti, loud radio music, and endless butter beer.

“Hi, Freddie,” you call as he pulls up in front of you on his Cleansweep.

“Hi..,” he respond, a little on edge since this is the first time he’s said anything to you in days. Fred knew it was wrong to ghost you after the incident, but the longer he waited, the harder it got to say something to you again. “Y/n- I’m so-”

You giggle as he starts. “It’s okay, Freddie. I’m not mad anymore,” you explain with a comforting look.

“Please! I just messed up and I didn’t know that the charm would-”

“Fred! I’m not mad at you! You don’t need to make a speech!” You clarify, reaching out to him. Surprised, he nods and touches down in the stands next to you. He demounts and sits next to you. Folding his hands into yours, you lean on his chest and he smiles at the closeness. He’d missed you more than he’s care to admit.

“How come you’re not mad at me? I landed you in detention.. with Snape!” he says, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Don’t remind me,” you shush, putting a finger to his lips. “All I wanted was a quick apology from you. Detention is a small price to pay.”

“You you think Georgie and I went overboard?” He asks you. “With the pranks?”

“If you didn’t go overboard, I’d be concerned,” you joke, learning you a small kiss. “It’s not like you to just half-ass a prank.”

“How do you even stand all my nonsense?” he asks, pulling you closer to him.

“It’s one of my many talents,” you quip. “And I love you. Now, go get changed, Mister Weasley. You smell like quidditch and we should be heading to the common room to celebrate your victory.”

He nods and grabs his broom.

“Come on,” he says, motioning for you to climb on behind him. You look at him incredulously. “I’m not letting you walk down all those stairs when it’s easier for you to hop on as I fly to the changing rooms. Get on, love. I don’t bite.”

“You,” you start, pointing at him, “know that’s an absolute lie, Fred Weasley. Remember that one time in that broom cupboard? And you just couldn’t-”

“Of course not! I cold too forget that,” Fred interrups, with a smirk. “I also happened to remembered we both agreed on a continuation of that encounter, but a follow up never happened...”

“Okay, okay, Freddie. Later,” you smile, climbing into the broom behind him and wrapping your arms around him. With a hearty Fred Weasley laugh he kicks off and you both fly off towards the changing rooms where he drops you off. As he heads in to change, you call to him that you’ll wait for him.

He shouts back, “no need to, love!”

You wait anyway. He smiles as he comes out with disheveled hair from changing, spotting you. He told his eyes as if to say “I can’t believe you waited again,” even though he loves that you sit and wait for him, and he takes your hand as you place a kiss on his lips. He returns the kiss immediately and holds you closely.

Breaking away reluctantly, you whisper “never leave me alone like that ever again, Freddie.”

“I don’t plan on it, y/n,” he smiles back, packing your cheek and pulling you toward the castle for the Gryffindor house party.

#harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #Fred weasley is a sweetheart

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

The Shape of Love (Pt.2/6)

Geralt had had the most peculiar evening.

The moment the ginger cat had wrapped around his legs he’d known that something was different. His suspicions had been confirmed when the cat had jumped up against his legs, and his medallion had practically leapt off his chest in reaction to the magic. What’s more was that the cat understood him and they’d been able to communicate, just about.

So far Geralt knew the cat was able to shift between his feline form and a human form, which did explain the cat’s fondness for beer, but Geralt didn’t know why he’d chosen to stay as a cat. Surely it would be easier for him to eat and drink as a human, but the cat seemed quite content to lap at the small mug of ale and chew on the left over bones from Geralt’s dinner.

The barkeep was not as impressed with the cat’s behaviour and Geralt had to keep pulling him off the top of the table and back onto his lap.

Once Geralt had finished with his food and drink he stood up with a heavy sigh and the cat leapt from his lap with a discombobulated yowl.

He stared up at Geralt with bright cornflower blue eyes and flicked his tail angrily.

“Time to go, Mister Fuzzball.” Geralt smirked and then remembered the cat actually had a room to stay in. “For me anyway.”

The cat yowled and pawed at Geralt’s leg.

He tilted his head as he looked down at the ginger cat. His fur was all tousled from where Geralt had been petting him. Geralt had never managed to stroke a cat before and he’d been surprised when he’d started purring in his lap. The sound had rumbled under Geralt’s fingers and Geralt felt more relaxed than he had in years. He had never envied humans so much before but he knew it was unlikely that he’d ever find a cat that liked him enough to repeat the experience.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Geralt grumbled. “You heard the man, no rooms.”

If cats could roll their eyes Geralt was certain that this one would be, and he yowled insistently looking pointedly at the stairs.

“You want me to go upstairs?” Geralt asked incredulously.

The cat spun around slowly and meowed again.

“Are you always this bossy?”

The cat trilled, looking somewhat smug.

“Hmm.” Geralt opened his arms and the cat pounced at him. His claws dug into Geralt’s arms as he settled but Geralt’s armour meant that he barely felt it. “I’m not carrying you everywhere.” He grumbled but it was a weak protest as the cat head-butted his chest and purred.

Geralt sighed and carried his feline friend up the stairs. He looked down the short corridor that led into the rooms. One of the doors was ajar. He decided that was probably his best bet and he was sure the cat in his arms would have no problem in biting him again if he got it wrong.

He gently pushed open the door. There was a single bed pushed up against one wall. Brightly coloured clothes were folded neatly on the dresser and the window was cracked open. The room hummed with magic, although the cat sniffing his medallion probably was throwing his senses off. There was a calming mixture of lavender and chamomile wafting through the air. He hummed and tried to scent the cat subtly. There was a faint trace of lavender on his fur so the aroma of the room was probably one the shifter preferred in his human form.

The ginger cat gently pawed at Geralt’s face then squirmed in his arms and leapt onto the bed. He clawed at the sheets and spun round before plopping down happily on the pillow with a contented yawn.

Geralt tilted his head at the cat. “Don’t you want to change back?”

The cat opened one eye and then pointed its nose towards the pile of clothes on the dresser.

Geralt looked between the cat and the clothes. “Right. I can look away?” He suggested.

The cat’s ears twitched but he made no attempt to move.

“Hmm.” Geralt decided it would be best to make himself at home. “You can’t sleep on the pillow.” He grumbled as he unbuckled his armour.

The cat hissed lightly.

“I guess you could always sleep on me but I won’t fit with you like that.” Geralt insisted, pulling his shirt off over his head.

The cat’s ears perked up and he watch Geralt with an intense stare.

Geralt hummed in exasperation, remembering that underneath the feline form was a human. A human who seemed to have no shame about watching him get undressed. Luckily growing up in Kaer Morhen Geralt was used to a lack of privacy and the cat’s unwavering gaze didn’t bother him particularly. He’d seen many strange things in his long life, this wasn’t even in the top ten.

Once he was ready for bed he grabbed the ginger cat by the scruff of its neck and pulled him, yowling, off the pillow.

“I warned you, you bastard.” Geralt grumbled.

The cat sulked and got his revenge, once Geralt had laid back on the bed, by clawing at Geralt’s chest leaving pink scratch marks before he too finally settled down to sleep, purring softly in the darkness of the room.

Geralt fell asleep faster than he had in years.

The next morning Geralt woke up sweating and hot, which was a rare occurrence for a witcher. He’d completely forgotten about his feline friend from the night before until he realised that he couldn’t breathe through the face full of fur. He pushed the heavy lump of fur away from him with a start and jumped at the loud thump as something hit the floor.

There was a yelp followed by a low growl. Geralt sat up and lunged for his sword when he noticed a large russet wolf snarling up at him from next to the bed.

“Fuck!” He pulled his steel sword from its sheath and pointed it at the wolf.

But he didn’t strike.

Those eyes.

Cornflower blue.

“Mister Fuzzball?” He asked in disbelief.

The wolf barked and its tongue flopped from one side of its mouth.

“Huh.” Geralt mused. “Not just a cat then?”

The wolf wagged his tail and barked again.

“Can you change into something less conspicuous? I need to get my money for the cockatrice.” Geralt reached out and scratched the wolf behind his ears.

The fur shifted under his fingers, it became coarser and shorter. The thick pelt underneath the surface thinned out and the wolf shrunk into a mutt with floppy ears and freckles on his snout.

“Still not feeling human?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

The dog shook his head and wagged his tail.

“Can you at least try and tell me your name?” Geralt asked. “I could say the alphabet until we get to the right letter?”

The dog barked and so Geralt began to recite the alphabet slowly.

“Jaskier?” He asked once the dog pounced up and licked at his face.

Jaskier yapped and spun round in a circle.

“Your name is buttercup?” Geralt smirked. “How is that better than Mister Fuzzball?”

Jaskier growled and pulled at Geralt’s underwear. Geralt cursed as he suddenly found himself stark naked in the middle of the room. Jaskier barked and rolled onto his back, wagging his tail, yapping what was probably a laugh. “Little shit.” Geralt grumbled. “Get out whilst I get dressed if you’re gonna be like that.”

Jaskier whined but shifted once more into kestrel and pecked at the window. Geralt rolled his eyes and let him out. “I’ll meet you in the stables, in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

Jaskier nudged him with his beak and then took flight. Geralt almost envied the shifter. The freedom to fly like that, must be incredible. The humans probably wouldn’t take too kindly if they knew the truth about him though. They had an innate hatred of anything that was different, and yet somehow witchers were the monsters in their eyes.

He sighed and finished getting dressed. The barkeep was already cleaning glasses behind the bar when Geralt finally made his way downstairs. The man looked surprised to see him.

“Where’d you come from?” He asked suspiciously.

Geralt moved his fingers to form Axii. “I had a room.” He murmured.

“You had a room.” The man repeated. “Of course. Hey, you didn’t happen to see a bard on your travels? He was supposed to play for his room last night but disappeared without a trace.”

Geralt smiled faintly.

A missing bard.

Jaskier, it had to be.

Geralt nodded. “He lost his voice, came down with something. I’ll cover the cost of his room, but I need to see the alderman first. He owes me for the contract.”

The barkeep furrowed his brow. “That’s awful kind of you, witcher. Does he need any food taken up to his room?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’ll take something up when I get back. He’s still sleeping.” He lied.

Jaskier would probably still be sleeping if Geralt hadn’t dumped the wolf onto the floor this morning. So he didn’t feel too bad about the lie.

By the time he reached the stable, Jaskier was waiting for him. A red squirrel sitting on top of Roach’s head, between her ears, chattering away happily.

Geralt found the cockatrice head amongst her tack and picked it up. Jaskier jumped onto his shoulder and scurried up his arm. The squirrel sniffed at the bloody head and squeaked before running back up Geralt’s arm and onto his head.

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

Another squeak.

“Hmm. At least sit on my shoulder.” Geralt sighed and plucked the squirrel into his hands.

He held Jaskier up and peered at him. Jaskier flailed his tiny arms in the air.

“Why are you following me anyway?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier squeaked and squirmed in his fingers.

“Maybe I should find you a tiny lute to play.” Geralt smirked, remembering what the man had said about a missing bard.

The squirrel froze and stared back at him with soft blue eyes.

“Missing bard at the tavern and a shifter with a room. Not hard to put two and two together.” Geralt shrugged and turned his hand over to allow Jaskier to crawl back up his arm.

Instead he hopped back to the ground and landed as the floppy-eared dog from before.

Geralt rolled his eyes and headed from the stables towards the alderman’s house. The man was a weaselly sickly pale man with mousy brown hair and glassy blue eyes. He stank like booze, even this early in the morning. Geralt dumped the cockatrice head in front of the man. He wasn’t surprised when the bag of coins was half full and not nearly as much as he’d been promised. He challenged the alderman who just fobbed him off with excuses about Geralt taking longer than expected.

Jaskier snarled next to him and snapped his teeth at the man.

“Master witcher! Control your beast!” The alderman’s scent soured with fear.

Geralt shrugged. “He’d be nicer if you paid me what I’m owed.”

“Poppycock!” The man cried. “How the fuck would a dog know the difference?”

“Witcher’s dogs. Specially mutated to sniff out human’s bullshit.” Geralt lied easily.

Jaskier growled and bared his teeth at the man.

Geralt leaned in closer. “When they get really angry, they turn into a wolf. They don’t call us the school of wolf for nothing.”

Jaskier’s ear twitched and Geralt could have sworn he was almost smiling.

“You’re lying!” The alderman cried.

Geralt smirked and glanced down at Jaskier.

Jaskier barked and his fur rippled. His ears stood up straighter and his bones crunched as he grew. He shook and then wagged his tail, never taking his blue eyes off the alderman.

“Am I?” Geralt asked with a tilted of his head.

“Fuck!” He swore and ran to the safe to collect the rest of Geralt’s coin.

Geralt threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s fur. He was wearing gloves now so the effect wasn’t quite as calming but Jaskier nudged his snout into Geralt’s leg and wagged his tail.

“Take it, witcher. Just get the fuck out of my town.” He yelled. “Mutant freak!”

Jaskier growled low in his chest.

“It’s alright.” Geralt murmured to the wolf. “I was going anyway.”

Jaskier whined and looked up at Geralt.

“Stand down.” Geralt insisted.

The wolf huffed but shifted back into a dog, he turned and sulked out of the house.

“Don’t expect a job here any time soon, mutant.” The alderman spat.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Let’s just hope that’s the last of your monster problem. Thanks for the coin.”

Geralt followed Jaskier into the streets. “Come on, Jask. I need to get Roach and get out of here. You coming?”

The dog tilted his head and barked with a wag of his tail.

Geralt allowed himself a smile. He’d never wanted a companion for the road, but then he’d never met anyone quite like Jaskier before.

________

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the shape of love

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

Text

3 _ 44 _ Not the Best News

The light flashed green, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. The action didn’t quite ignite in his mind, though he was looking right at it. Lost in his thoughts, searching for guidance to connect the now to a future he didn’t understand. Did Lewis not trust him? He didn’t get it.

A crackle of static burbled through the radio.

“Lights green.”

Arthur shivered. “Yeah. Just checking for traffic.” There was no rebuke on that, though the intersection was bare of vehicles aside from one car creeping forward. The town shut down pretty fast following six PM.

Streetlamps flashed through the windshield at off intervals, flooding black through the van interior. The rose tinge of Lewis eyes glittered, his shape near insubstantial within the periodic dips of flare bursts. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw the death suit and skull, despite knowing Lewis would not drop his living guise unless his focus broke. It must suck, maintaining that sort of concentration.

“Y’know, you don’t have to look that way around me,” Arthur admitted. “I actually don’t mind Sir Bones Esquire.” Lewis generated a sound, but he couldn’t place if it was a hiss or static.

“I prefer to look not like I crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. The face didn’t move, but the shimmering ember shifted to check Arthur. “Thanks for the offer.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulder. “I try and keep the board clear. Whatever works for you, I’m game.” It wasn’t resentment, it was something else seeping off of Lewis.

“You too,” Lewis uttered. He leaned back a little in the seat and crossed his arms. “You got a lot on your mind. You wanna, I dunno, talk?”

Arthur sniffled. “Not really. It’s, well….” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe later, I gotta tell you some things. Not bad or anything, but it’s pretty heavy. I might… y’know, never mind. That pizza was heckin’ good. How many times did you burn ‘em.” The radio sputtered.

“Five, I think….”

“Awesome.” Arthur pulled into the carport for Kingsman Mechanics. The lights were all out, the parking lot empty; the space barren, but for the vehicles dropped. He climbed out of the driver side and shut the door. On the other side, Lewis swept through the grill of the van in a swell of light and embers.

“Dude, c’mon,” he uttered. “Don’t risk the gas tank.”

“It’s ethereal fire,” Lewis rasped. “Absolutely harmless.” He walked with Arthur to the front doors, the keys already twinkling.

“Hard to tell with you.” Arthur slotted one key, then the next. Until, Lewis brought his hand close, sparking a smoldering ember at his palm. Arthur jolted. “Shit! Warning, next time.”

“Siento.” At the entrance Lewis waited, while Arthur popped inside and gave the building a brief exploration. Within seconds, Arthur returned and beckoned.

When exiting out the entrance corridor, Arthur flicked a switched on the panel and activated the lights throughout the main work floor. “Okay, the boxes are upstairs by the door of my work room. Stacked. I meant to grab them, it didn’t happen. You can’t miss them.” The details dropped, he skittered out of Lewis company, sprinting across the work floor.

“Where are you going?”

“Need parts for my arm. I was kinda in a hurry, excited I was gonna get out of here before Viv started texting me. I didn’t want her to worry.” He spun around, throwing a finger gun Lewis’ way. “I’ll be up in a sec.”

“What else did you forget?” Lewis departed on his alternate route to the dark corridor, leading to the stairway. “Should I grab the kitchen sink, too?”

After a beat, Arthur called back in a sharp whisper, “It couldn’t hurt.”

The worktable was as he left it, which was what he liked. He pulled open the drawer where he kept a sturdy case for the tools he routinely transported in or out, depending on his schedule. There was a specific method for undoing the clasps without the aid of a second arm, it was a little awkward to do since it required the use of his knee. It mostly kept the case stationary while he pried up the latch, but his movement was so practiced it took a mere five seconds. In a smaller drawer beneath the table surface, he kept the soldering wands for minute detail work. If he could, he wanted to get the remedial delicate stuff. It was simple enough, but tedious—

Crack!

Arthur jolted and whipped around, instincts on high alert. His eyes flashed around the room, studying the vehicles left prepared for tomorrow’s shift, the rotary lifts and supply carts spaced throughout the work floor. What was that? It was loud, the clamor reverberated through the hollow garage, emphasizing isolation and a prowling threat.

“Um… Uncle?” he called. No response. Not good. Arthur reached behind him and clenched a wrench. “Who’s there?” He didn’t risk calling the name of the one that should be, but the fact an answer was NOT forthcoming was worst of all. It was okay. It would be okay. He took a breath and crept forward, moving behind a small car and checking through the windows – searching through the tinted glass for an amateur hasting to relocate amidst his momentary ‘distraction’. The silence peeled apart his senses, he should pick up someone breathing or even their deepest thoughts. Was anything missing? He couldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t matter. Someone was here, he was certain.

After taking a short trip around the work floor, he scurried to a far wall and set the wrench down on a table, then jammed a fist into his vest pocket. Before his fingers could grasp at his phone, the hair on his nape prickled, spurring him to whip about. With a yelp, he backpedaled from the hulking shape. His yelp was more of a ‘YEEE!’ and his retreat sent him staggering, when he brushed against the corner of the desk.

“Who the fack?! Hey—” He tumbled to the floor, as the shape snatched at the wrench abandoned upon the table. He rolled until his arm was situated under him, and sprung onto his feet. “Who the—” His voice sputtered, the wrench gave a menacing CLANG! upon skipping across the concrete floor.

At first, he did believe in his heart that this was Lewis. In the dark and sinister parts of his memories, Arthur believed that the spirit had crept down to invoke some cruel ploy to torment him. But as the shape swept through the dull glow of light, he could cleanly distinguish that this was a grunting, breathing, agitated man in a mask. The intruder person kept weaving in and swiping for his arm, intent on incapacitating him through crude means. A shame that Arthur was much too spry and hardwired for evasion, the vandal didn’t expect such resistance either.

The irony of everything, that a masked person would intrude in the shop and assault him. What the hell? He got enough of this crap on rando assignments, this was break from that drama. So much for that fantasy.

Did something crash, elsewhere? Oh boy, oh shit!

“Man, you don’t wanna do this!” Arthur vaulted over the hood of a van and zipped around the side. The big guy was quick too, though not as agile. He huffed and puffed, pursuing like a bear on honey. “You really don’t wanna! I’m warning you! Yikes!” With a lunge he crashed to the floor - he cleared the table, but got snagged by an impact drill and its cord. “YOU! You’re getting into some bad shit!” He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to his feet. The intruder hauled up a whole muffle and swung it down – cracked the concrete and missed his foot by an inch.

Arthur sprang one way, then the other around a small convertible. Intruder followed, swishing the muffler like a damn katana. In a risky slide, he dove by and scrambled to one of the rotary lifts with a jeep suspended. He shimmied up one tower and clambered through the vacant side door, scarcely hauling his legs out of the way before Intruder with muffler could swing and knock his knees off.

“I’m tellin’ you! You gotta leave,” Arthur went on, speech breaking. A fleeting glance surveyed the room, but established no sign of eyes or fury. Still time before this guy got cooked. “For your own—” The muffler collided with the arch of the jeep and the jointed pipe glanced his shoulder. The world twisted as he toppled backwards, and off the hood of the jeep. It was oddly reminiscent of those dreams, the nightmares. He knew what came next.

Unexpectantly, his body collided with a stack of empty boxes.

The masked intruder gulped down cold air, more excited than winded through the exertion. They glanced around, where was it? In all the ruckus, their mind blanked on where they dumped it. Turning, they spied something that made them abandoned the search cold turkey. This was entirely due to the large hand snagging their shoulder, and flinging them like a doll. Heat and an overwhelming scent of char clouded their senses, dissipating only when they descended from the short flight.

The trajectory sent them on a collision course for a flatbed cart, which they tumbled off and skidded across the floor. They didn’t stop, barely checking that their legs remained connected to their spine before retreating from the scene. Exit! Escape! Where was the way out! As they fled, they patted at their sleeve and mask, embers scored their clothing – The hell? The intruder was unable to make sense of where they went, and crashed into a work bench. With admirable grace, they recovered, a pronounced limp following; metal parts and tools clanged in a cacophony of symphony across the floor. They kept going, not chancing a look back and barely examining the area through the sparks dazzling their eyes.

Posed from throwing whoever that was, skull and death suit, eyes blazing, and fire still crackling at his ribs. Lewis would have given chase and done some real damage; there might’ve been something like self-control, perhaps even a capture if he was feeling generous. However, he couldn’t detect Arthur, and the figure buried under boxes was unresponsive to all the horrendous business afoot. He was not playing possum; Arthur couldn’t fool him.

“Arthur?” his tone withered, and became distorted. He glided closer to the comatose figure and towered, gazing down. With hesitance and some second thoughts, he reached down slowly—

Right through the heart he’s shot! A full slug punched directly through his facade and tore the locket clear off his coat front. WOW. What a mistake that was. Lewis twitched, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The last time he felt a sensation like that, it was after falling a considerable amount and choking on his last breath. He could almost feel the heavy tempo of a heartbeat fade out a second time.

DID

NOT

THAT

Directly behind Lewis at a two-meter pace, Uncle Lance stood with a rifle, barrel smoking. It was a good and clean hit, the gray wall on the other side visible through the incision torn through. He waited, uncertain what should happen next. The thing in front of him, how could it be described? It looked vaguely man-like, it had the shape of a person. Except for the ‘head’, and the gap above the open collar where a neck should occupy.

Lewis cocked his head and let his skull swivel, peering back. Another igniting thunderclap, and the spirit snapped around fully, cowering. Fist trembling beside his hip.

“Yu step back from m’boy, ya reject Hall-oh-ween Deck-ARATION!” Lance gave the rifle a crank and took aim. As he watched, the vacant hole in the torso filled in with a strange, glossy light. The chunk in the shoulder sizzled, and what looked like fire crackled over the rich color of the suit. A skull and suit; a very malevolent and pissed looking skull. “YA HEAR!”

Terrible and antagonistic ruminations boiled through Lewis’ consciousness. An endless fall, the impact – mind fractured and every piece of his body dislocated. Shadows sweeping in, swirling around that bent figure high-high above, and the jewel glittering at the center of its sneer. Wild, unruly cackles clattered across the walls of the abyss, mocking his pain. Drinking up the agony spilling across the sharpened stalagmites, as every ounce of care and thought drained away.

He glided toward the attacker, taking another bullet seamlessly in the abdomen. Ribs next, splintering – each patch of destruction inflicted, vanished in a swell of heat conjured by his blazing soul. The pieces and sharp fragments of Lewis fitted back, reworking a bizarre pattern of that day many-many moons ago. Rising, the bitter aversion for this betrayal. Abandoned, isolation and pitiless grief that followed. The loneliness, and sense of loss saturating his very essence. Corrupting, robbing him of warmth and tenderness, replacing everything with whispers and fire. Another piercing bolt, to his lower arm – a wild shot. Panic infused.

Someone was very deserving of all this pain. It would feel better to share it, cleave a sliver loose. Release a portion of that fury threatening to boil over like a raging, scalding tsunami. Let them feel a taste of the bitterness that plagued him.

As the thing approached ominously – clear malevolence burned in the pits of the skulls eye sockets – Lance became steadily more alarmed. There had to be a way to stop it. Someway, he had to put an end to it. But it was apparent brute force wouldn’t do it in. He backed away, nearly colliding with a supply cart.

“Stop!” he snarled. “You can’t do that! No! S’not possible! I won’t believe it!” The next projectile tore through the apparition’s center, but before the echo faded the gaping breach vanished. Lance buckled backwards, gun dry. “ARGH! What are yu made of!”

The rifle swept from his grip and the spirit hosted him up by the front of his vest, yanking him clear off his feet. It glared into him with those intense, blazing embers bristling deep within the cavernous eye sockets. “The souls of the innocent….” Lewis wound back an arm, fingers twitching—

“A bagel?”

Lewis froze. “Artie!” He dumped Lance and whipped around, shooting to the cluster of busted boxes. Before he could lean down, he hesitated – the lights about the work station flashed. “What… happened? I, uh… you’re hurt.” Arthur was sitting up, holding his neck and quivering under the drill of pain in his head. It was vibrant, he could almost feel it in his own skull.

“Honest, I don’t… remember. Oof.” His hand reached over and touched the empty spot of his shoulder.

The confusion was apparent, as well. Lewis needed to wait and see what Arthur came forward with. It might confuse Arthur if he bombarded him with questions, or prompts; he didn’t get a good view of the whole scene. Aside from the flush of rage that compelled his reaction. This couldn’t be rushed, and the other needed time to adjust and come around. Especially since Arthur appeared uncertain of what happened, despite his poor negotiations.

“Did you… try to dump me off somewhere? High?” Now, Arthur peered up at the looming shadow. He couldn’t gather much of Lewis’ features, aside from a towering silhouette and the heated fuchsia orbs peering down. It was super unnerving. “That seems like somethin’ you’d do. Fuk… m’back.”

Lewis smashed a fist into his palm. “That person! This guy!” A puff of flame sparked at his collar, and the embers in his skull snapped into hostile pinpoints. “I don’t know what happened, but he threw something. And then, you FELL! It – uh, I thought….” His speech sputtered into harsh screeches, staccato and hard to distinguish.

“I’ll go ahead and take your word on— No, wait. I don’t remember some guy.” Arthur flinched, his head ached too. “I remember running, and I know I was scared shitless.” Lewis gawked down at him, for once it was endearing and mortified despite circumstances. “Some… guy?”

“In a mask?” Lewis cocked his skullish brow.

Arthur nodded. Ooh. Hurt. “That I remember, I think. Fuck… damn. You didn’t go after him?”

“You. FELL.”

Arthur pinched his brow. “Okay. Shut up. You… I can barely understand you. What? I’m the one that—” He withered, trapped in place by the barrier of boxes bent around him. The barbaric cry could terrify morally questionable crocodiles.

The wild and furious snarl was Lance’s doing. He crept in closer to the spirit with his arms outstretched and two fingers locked together forming a significant and easy to recognize T. Or X. No, it was a definitely a T. A crucifix, like in the movies.

“Evil… BOO! I banish yu!” Lance scooted in closer, edging out around at an imaginary tether which directed him toward Arthur. Determination in his eyes and sweat on his brow, his beard frazzled, that glare did not loosen from the invading spirit. “I don’t believe in this spook fun house nan-sense, but I’ll not have yur sort here terrorizing my kid!”

A touch annoyed Lewis drooped. He debated straight up punching Lance’s lights out or stuffing him in a car trunk. Anything to get him out of the way, if only for a couple minutes. They didn’t need this.

Arthur groaned. Everything was loud and annoying, it wasn’t just Lewis. His grumbling kicked up into a theatrical scream, “A g-g-ghost! Here! You’d better leave, disgruntled… apparition? Fuk, I don’t have the pharmacy enough for this bullshit.” He leaned to the side, moaning. “I mean, eeek! Argh! Spirit! You had better leave, before… I dunno, you’re banished by my dear Uncle’s very clear, um… exorcism. Or whatever he’s doing. OOoooOOooOOOOOoooohhhh….” Under his breath, he spat, “For fuk’s sake, you’re compelled to obey!”

Lewis crossed his arms and leaned a little away from Lance. “Yeaaahhhh, gunna hit that up with a hard no. Not really in the mood, capiche?” He glowered directly down on Lance, right at his face with gloved hands outstretched with that ridiculous T. “Stop that or I’ll give you something to bitch about.”

Arthur took a sharp breath. “Why do you hafta be so pissy?” Everything. HURT.

“Stop with the language, and I might consider an attitude adjustment.”

Arthur screwed his eyes shut. “Uncle Lance, that’s not gunna work.”

Lance fizzled out. “Ehh.” He gawked at the skull, and the skull glared back. For the life of him, he could not begin to figure how it was suspended there. “Then… what will work?” He shuffled the remainder of the way to Arthur and crouched down, protectively. His gaze never wavered from the hostile… it was a ghost, wasn’t it? “What d’we do? How d’yu get rid of it?”

“We don’t get rid of HIM,” Lewis huffed, pointing at Lance. “HE gets an ice pack for Arthur. Keep an eye on him.” In a flash of sparks, Lewis vanished – the extinguished cinder formed an outline before the ash hit the floor.

The unexpected flare forced Lance to recoil, more from the vibrancy than any anticipated retribution. Once the haze faded, he searched around. No sound, no evidence of the spirits presence – aside from that familiar burning. That wasn’t important, what was important was Arthur.

“Yu’re the expert. Is there… a pesteecide? Tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

Arthur struggled to get up. “It’s a….” He flopped back, it was worse than a ballpit, made worse by the throbbing in his head and shoulders. He could remember up to the jeep, then it all got somewhat fuzzy. Lance assisted in easing him off the crumpled mold of his shape, nice and easy, careful not to rush. “He’s like a thorn bur, you try plucking it off and you’ll get third-degree burns.”

Lance blinked. “WHAT?! Is that whut happened to your neck?!”

This was not needed right now. And the guy, their mysterious assailant. Where was he now? Arthur couldn’t debate it out too hard, though some of the ache was fading, subsiding into a monotonous drum. He groaned in his throat.

Then, on the floor. He noticed it beside one of the crushed boxes, snowed in by packing peanuts. The cracked locket. Despite dislocation, it persisted to pulse in time with the throbbing in his ears.

“Shit-shit!” He scrambled out of Lance’s grip and snatched the thing up; it took a beating by the looks. The hinge creaked and unexpectantly the door swung open, threatening to pop off. Cursing, he struggled to hold it one handed without the whole thing coming apart. Without meaning too, he saw within. There was a photograph. He inched down, squinting at the textures and shapes, trying to make sense of what was there. He didn’t know there was—

A dark hand snapped the locket from Arthur’s grasp and shut it. He bristled. Lewis had returned. The spirit looked downright sinister, as he set the ashen artifact back to his chest.

“I didn’t—” Lance grabbed Arthur and heaved him back. Lance’s valiant efforts halted, when Lewis unceremoniously shoved him off. An icebag settled on Arthur’s head.

Lewis knelt on one knee, one hand loaded with supplies. “I’ll invoke my deeply nefarious plot for revenge at a later time. When you’re fixed and patched, and likely better apt to outrun me.” He adjusted the last few items in his hand, by tucking a water bottle into the crook of his arm and twisting open a pill bottle. “You get one of these.” He set aside the pill bottle and popped the cap on the water bottle, enough to break the seal.

Sprawled on his back, Lance observed with a perplexity beyond known rational. “Okay. What is goin’ on ‘ere?” He moved upright and jabbed out a hand toward the spirit. “What is this thing, really?”

Lewis glared. “Rude.”

Arthur swallowed the pill and took the water bottle. “It’s not the strong stuff.” Rather sip, he pressed the chilled bottle to his neck.

“The strong stuff will put you in a coma, and as much as I’d prefer that, I need you awake for awhile. It’s a concussion, not a concession.”

“Mmm, I’m lovin’ the bedside manner. You’re such a dish.” He took a sip and let the water warm before he swallowed. “Oof.”

“Thank you for noticing, I’ve been wor—”

“What in blazes is goin’ on!” Lance exploded, figuratively. “Arthur Kingsman! Explain! Should I call a priest, a medic! Or… what! What m’I suppose to do? Yu’n Viv-vi dealt with this’n supernatural mischief! Professionally! I can’t have these….” He jabbed a hand the spirits way, grasping for words, “…these critters, creeping into my shop! I need somethin’!”

Arthur hung his head and sipped more water. On the sideline stood Lance tapping his foot, veins popped on his face. This was such a mess he wasn’t sure what to say or do, where to begin. “I need another pill.”

“No,” Lewis grated.

“Arthur,” Lance grumbled, tone stern but considerably nerfed since the eruption. “Tell me somethin’. What am I supposed to do here? I wan tu help.”

“It’s me, Uncle Lance. Lewis Pepper.” Arthur choked on the water he was sipping. “You shot me, by the way.” Arthur made a sound, but if it was human or not was the riddle. “Maybe don’t inhale….”

Lance stiffened; teeth clenched. For a full minute he didn’t say a word, but his sturdy outline quaked. “No!”

“Well,” Lewis chattered, “You didn’t… kill me, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry. But you did shoot me, like, twenty times.”

“It was four!”

“Whatever.” The Lewis spirit fixed Lance with his scalding ember eyes, not looking pleased. And there was some familiarity in that expression, despite how feral and agitated it was now. Despite it being a bleached skull, lacking traditional and easily mapped expression. “It didn’t feel nice.”

“Impossible! Yu can’t be Lewis!” Lance stamped a foot. “Yu are not Lewis! That dusn’t work!”

Arthur exhaled, catching the attention of both. “Can you not shout?” He pinched the water bottle in his arm crook and adjusted the ice bag on his neck, before it slid off. “He’s Lewis, okay? He’s not alive, but he is Lewis. We sort of… Viv-vi and I, ran across him awhile back.” How to explain THAT mess! “He was there, and we had car trouble….”

“Funny story,” Lewis broke in. “Thrilling in a lot of ways. Quite the adventure.”

“No! No-no-no-no-no- no-no-no-no! And NO!” Lance swung his arms out, declaring, “Lewis Pepper is dead, gone! He’s never coming back! You said so yuserlf! Yu and Viv-vi, you kids gotta let that go.”

Arthur face palmed against the water bottle. Oh boy.

Lewis rose to his full height, was it possible he made himself taller? He became a looming, malevolent shadow with piercing eyes. “And maybe I don’t want to let them go. Have ya ever thought of that? Uncle Lance?”

Arthur dumped everything and leapt up. He caught Lewis by the tie. “That’s it! I’m calling time out!” To Lance, “Uncle, this is Lewis! He’s dead, it’s a long story, and it is my— ”

“A bitch!”

“You! Lew? What’s gotten into you?”

Lewis hunched over placing his skull inches from Arthur’s face. “He. SHOT. Me!”

“And? You can’t feel it!”

“It hit me right in the feels! Nineteen times!”

Lance hooted, “It was four, ya dumb spook!” He flinched when Lewis looked his way, eye sockets flooded thick with flames flickering. “I don’t BELIEVE in this bogus heebie-jeevies! Why d’I hafta look at it, when I don’t believe in it? This ain’t right!”

“That’s offensive,” Lewis shrieked, “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

A ringing chimed loud and brilliant in the momentary calm amid the fury of the storm. Arthur staggered away, first jamming a hand into his pocket and realized his phone wasn’t there. Of course she would call. They were super fucking late, they should’ve been back days ago.

Arthur pushed through the office doorway and fumbled for the light. In his alarm, he forgot it was on the side of his left arm. He gave up, and went straight to the buzzing receiver on the desk.

“Lords, I hope they don’t kill each other….” He shifted around and checked out the doorway. “Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t— Viv-vi! HEY!” The icepack was sorely missed. “No, everything’s fine. What, uh… gave you that idea? What about my voice?”

Lance squeezed into the office, rifle in hand. “It doesn’t belong ‘ere. End of discussion.”

Lewis hung in the doorway, eyes flashing and flames swelling off his shoulders. He was going to ignite something. The whole shop would implode, just like the mansion. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t belong here! We need to exorcise that nasty attitude! See how you like it!”

Arthur pulled the phone from his ear and fitted the mouthpiece into his palm. “WHY! Did you two follow me.” He shoved the phone to his shoulder. “No! We, er… yu see what happened here, we’ll— I really can’t explain. I need an adult.”

Lance reached for the phone. “Lemme talk to her!”

Arthur sprang back, holding the phone high above his head. “No!”

“Te satisfaría? If I show you? Arthur, I need a mirror.”

Arthur climbed onto the desk, screeching into the phone, “Vivi, for the love of holy doughnuts, please come here, asap! I don’t care if someone sees Mystery! You! Here! NOW!” He slammed the phone down and scrambled off the desk, completely losing his footing in the process and nearly faceplanting. “Can you both NOT SCREAM bloody murder for two minutes! Five minutes? S’all I’m asking!”

After that outburst, both Lance and Lewis clamped up. Arthur shoved his way out the door past Lewis, and crossed the floor back to where he abandoned the ice bag and water. He plopped down on the ground with his back to them, his lone hand fastened to his springy hair, and wilted.

“Fuck.” Lewis swayed, drawing a hand up to the front of his suit. He eased a ways out beyond the portal but paused, once more fiddling with his tie. To the side, Lance was inching out.

The look on Arthur’s face, he’d never seen an expression on his nephew quite like it. Except when…. Lance’s first instinct was get to him, the lad was distraught – the intuition an understatement – Arthur needed… a word. Support. But an arm slashed through his path, stalling the reflexive drive. He nearly refuted the action, the protest was on the tip of his tongue. But something snatched the words away, his throat became dry. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

Given the chance to observe the spirit – as it were – a moment to examine the features, it’s strangeness; a sense of familiarity soaked into him. When it wasn’t glaring or coiled up, he could get the feel for something else. Like a shadow stamped into the world he understood, a vivid memory of someone he could easily recognize from a distance. An unmistakable figure, distinct from a crowd. This… thing, it looked nothing like Lewis Pepper, but the gait it carried, the movement of its arms, it was unmistakable. Somehow, he knew this… thing, but dissension saturated the connection, and its presence was disjointed. It wasn’t alive, yet it was here. Most important of all, it wasn’t going away.

“You, uh… I think he’ll be fine.” When Lance spoke, the smoldering returned. It did NOT like him. So, what was it? What, not who. It couldn’t be…. “I’m… gunna sit down, fer a bit.”

Lance left for the breakroom and made himself a pot of coffee. When he returned from the recess, pot in hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups; Arthur was still seated far from the office, but updated to a stack of boxes that bore his weight. He gave a brief nonintrusive examination, only to confirm he was still breathing and not in any sort of apparent pain. From there, he went to the office to clear his thoughts and keep an eye on the area.

The lights hadn’t been turned on at all, and he almost forgot about the… thing. In the shroud, he nearly missed it seated at one of the chairs facing the desk, eyes aglow, the faint shimmer of its stylish hair. It sat arms crossed tightly, one leg slanted over the other. It didn’t respond when Lance entered.

“I think you have a story to share.” Lance sat one cup in front of the spirit and poured some coffee. The spirit refused to acknowledge his presence, and almost appeared photographic in its uncanny stillness; it wouldn’t even look at him. He reached over the side of his desk and pried open a drawer, and from the drawer, pulled up a small tray with containers of sweetener and nondairy creamers. “You a lil sour? What’s up?” He poured a cup for himself and blew at the harsh steam. “Not doin’ nothin’ but broodin’.”

There was a change in the spirit. The gleaming eyes were now locked on the white cup steaming in front of it.

“I don’t understand how this works,” Lance admitted. He plucked up the dislocated phone from the desk and set it back to the receiver. “Am I supposed t’say a special codeword? Is there a ritual, an uh… Ouiguh board.” The lamp on his desk flickered, came on, and then the bulb popped in a firework splash. Lance winced, sharply withdrawing his hand. Okay, what the FUCK. “Did yu do that?”

“Not on purpose.” Praise the stars, it spoke. “Check on Arthur.”

He wasn’t certain if that was a hint, or a direct command. “Juz did. He’s fine. This is mah office, by the way.” He managed to get a sip of his coffee. “I won’t harass him with this, not now. And I won’t wait for Vivi-vi. Before we get tu this…. Yu say a person….”

“Guy in a mask.”

“All right.” Lance nodded. “Before we pop that can of worms, before any of that. You’re here. I’ll go so far as admit that. But,” he gestured vaguely. “How did this happen?” Those vibrant eyes flicked up to him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Hmm. Don’t like t’way you said that.”

“Funny. I could care less what you think.”

Lance took another sip, and set his cup down. “Listen. Ghost Lewis.”

“Just Lewis,” the spirit had a wispy, sometimes airy way of speaking. The voice didn’t come from it, which made sense, because it didn’t have a mouth. “I’m still Lewis. The only difference, I lost custody of the body.” He huffed, and a bright flame flashed from its neck collar. Lance leaned back in his chair, uncertain what to make of… everything.

“Lewis, then.” He moved his line of sight out of the office, once more checking on Arthur. “Y’know Arthur’s m’boy, and I won’t have yu tormentin’ him.”

For a few minutes Lance sat, mulling through a history he thought was sheltered away in the deep parts of his memories where he preferred not to dwell. His fingers pressed tighter around the defenseless cup in his grasp, the warmth seeped through the insulated material and into the thick gloves he wore. The white of the cup cut through the bleak patterns of the gloom, reminding him of the brightest sheets he’d ever seen – specks of crimson and brown, where the bandages couldn’t stifle the work to recreate a shoulder. Arthur delirious and agonized, unaware that he was maimed as badly as he was. The details were unattainable, shattered and cast out a window. Nothing helped, no amount of medication.

Something happened. Vivi lost her memory. It was awful. Mystery was gone, vanished entirely like a… well. Arthur was beyond consoling, overrun by trauma, nearly splint in two. There was no way to construct a complete narrative, aside from it being a terrible Accident. Irreversible. Lewis never came back, and Arthur insisted that would never change. And they had to accept that.

If he held the Styrofoam cup any tighter, it would spill all over his desk. Lance rubbed at his face, trying to quell his thoughts. Those nightmares kept him up some nights, but he was a master of not showing on the worst days. Arthur had enough to deal with, and apparently more so these days. He sighed, still refusing to raise his gaze to the thing seated across from him, trying to dwell on the mystery of how it could be so devoid of warmth despite what looked like an ember wavering near its shoulder. He tried once more:

“He’s said some things I don’t fully grasp, admitted stuff I don’t have a full spectrum or insight intu.” He rubbed a thumb over the rim of the cup, gazing into the dark depths of the liquid within. “‘E’s been through enough, he’s regretted t’things that happen’. Losin’ you… I don’t even think he realized ‘iz arm was gone, not until—”

“Uncle Lance.” It was almost heartening, the way the spirit – Ghost Lewis. Just Lewis – persisted to refer to him as Uncle, same as his friends. The same way he did when alive. “I lost my life, and all of that had a negative effect on me, on my… prospect for living, and being.” The spirit moved, uncoiling his arms and gently caressed the vibrating heart at its chest. “It’s a topic we try not to touch on. I tend to stray far away from it all.”

How easy it touched upon the subject of its demise, as if it was all a matter of inconvenience. Was it meant to comfort him? Lance took a sip. “Juz curious, but… was there plans to… accept and reconcile, or something?” The eyes narrowed at him and the bristling embers constricted into a needle point dot.

“What are you getting at, now?”

Lance blew at the steam in his cup. The eyes of the spirit flashed, agitated by something, some unknown insult. “I’m not getting’ why your still ‘round. Aren’t spooks supposed to do’n the, is it the crop circle thing?”

Lewis cocked a rigid eyebrow. “Cross… over? No. Nope, it’s not a requirement for certain cases.”

“I have a suspicion that there’s more tu it than—” Without warning, Lewis bolted up from the seat – the flash of movement shocked Lance, in that it was vacuum less and silent. Only the light dousing out, as Lewis’ wide shoulders zipped out the doorway. The embers once swirling his space extinguished altogether, plunging the room into total darkness.

The catalyst must’ve been the racketing dog yaps, which entered onto the work floor. Soon after there was Vivi, racing over to the middle of the room and dashing her eyes around. Mystery was her guide, leading directly to the side wall where Arthur had remained hunched over. Arthur gave her the barest attention when she reached his side and leaned low. An exchange of words followed. Then, Vivi raised her sight to the office doorway.

Without a word, Lewis approached the group, arms clasped behind his back. When Lance emerged from his quarters fully and the light ensnared him, Vivi set her eyes upon him, and they became saucers. In retrospect, it did explain some things, though not nearly enough if Lance was honest. Something about all this didn’t settle right, and at the core of this drama was his boy, Arthur. If he couldn’t enlist Vivi’s aid in this, he might have to pursue other drastic means. But it wouldn’t work to be reckless. Being reckless is what nearly got him socked in the face, by something that claimed to be Lewis Pepper.

#mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls #msa #fanfic #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls ghost #mystery skulls animated #msa lewis #mew arthur #msa vivi #msa lance #msa mystery

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stellar-imagines · 5 years ago

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SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝fly high.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Takami Keigo ]

「Scenario of Bakugou and Hawks making their S/O fly with their quirk.」

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"A-Are you sure that this is safe?" you stammer, looking over at the edge of the building. Your heart dropped at the sight and you stumbled backwards. You never knew that you had a fear of heights until now. Scratch that! Anyone would be scared to be standing at the ledge of a building. Shaking your head and recomposing yourself, you took a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

You stepped back, thinking to yourself that this was practically impossible and that there was no way you were going to face that kind of view without anything to guarantee your safety. Just after about three good steps backwards, you hit something solid. It wasn't as hard as concrete and it felt oddly familiar. When you felt an arm snake around your waist, you squeaked and brought your hand to slap at the person who scared the living daylights out of you. The thrill, or should you say the petrifying sensation was not for you and only for those who're truly adventurous. The culprit behind your yelp was none other than your boyfriend, dressed in all his glory, the hero costume that hugged his muscles perfectly.

My god, you scored a hottie. You couldn't imagine the amount of girls who would kill to be in your position, as the girlfriend of the Pro Hero, Ground Zero.

"Katsuki, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Are you backing out now, babe? When you're already this far?" Bakugou teased you, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame.

At this very moment, you questioned yourself―Why did you say that you wanted to know what it feels like to be in the sky? Seeing Bakugou from the television in action, flying all over the place using his quirk got you a bit curious. You were both chilling on the couch on that day, watching some television together. With your head resting against his chest and a blanket draped over the two of you, it felt very peaceful. At first it was out of curiosity, you had seen all the heroes flying through the air effortlessly with the use of their quirks. You were, on the other hand, quirkless. Bakugou never complained about it, you were a strong girl in heart with a determined heart. The way you didn't take shit from others who berated you for being quirkless was what drew Bakugou towards you in the first place.

"Isn't it dangerous? I mean we're like 40 stories above the ground! What if you slip up and we fall and die!?" you exclaimed, looking up at your boyfriend as you motioned to the ledge. Bakugou rolled his eyes in response, it's ridiculous how little trust you have on him right now.

"I’ve done this a shit ton of times. Don't you trust me?" he asked. You gazed at him for a few seconds, taking note of how his eyes softened and the firm grip he had around you. He has carried countless of people in his arms, saving people from disasters and villains. Bakugou knows what he's doing and you should believe in him. He'd never drop you.

"Of course I do." you replied. The male pressed a kiss on your jaw before pulling away, stretching his arms a bit and moving in front of you and standing not too far from the edge of the building. Even though you said you trusted him, there was no easy way to get rid of the fear. You felt like a kid again, staring at the tall roller coaster ride with a drop and hearing all the children screaming in fear and joy.

"Then grab on tight or you'll fall off." he smirked. You put your arms over his shoulders and around his neck and your legs around his waist, almost as if you were a human backpack. Since Bakugou's quirk comes from the palm of his hand, you tried your best to avoid holding onto it. Before you could even adjust properly, Bakugou's palms began crackling.

"Here we fucking go." he said before blasting off. You instinctively buried your face into his air and held onto him tighter. It was terrifying, you could feel the air whipping past you and the sensation of the sun shining down at you. The blasts from his palms were loud but you quickly got used to it.

"Hey! Keep your eyes open! It's such a fucking waste to keep them closed!" Bakugou hollered. You cracked one eye open, amazed by the sight of the Tokyo cityscape passing your eyes faster than what you’re used to. It was truly a sight. The time was perfect too, the sun had just set but the sky was still bright.

A nice shade of dark blue with lights illuminating the city. You didn’t know how long you were in the air but it was long enough for you to admire the lights, sky, vehicles and buildings. You had been afraid in the beginning but the sight of the city overwhelmed you, turning that fear into bewilderment. Before you knew it, Bakugou descended and landed on one of the shorter buildings. You still clung into your boyfriend’s back when he landed onto the building.

”That wasn’t so bad right?” Bakugou smirked at you, seeing how mesmerized you looked after the ride.

”Y-Yeah, I guess. I enjoyed the view.” you were embarrassed because in the beginning you were kind of throwing an tantrum.

”We’re going again.”

”Wait! I have had enough for today!” you declared, quickly getting off of his back.

“So that means we’re gonna do it again next time.”

HAWKS (TAKAMI KEIGO)

It was a night for you to hang out with your friends. One of your close friends is inviting a few people for dinner in a restaurant, treating you and the others as it was their birthday. You had just arrived back at your apartment, slipping your shoes off and putting your purse aside. It was when you slowly made your way to the living that you heard a few knocks. Not from the front door where you had implemented a bell but elsewhere. A series of knocks that played a playful beat, you recognized this pattern and skipped over towards your balcony, making sure to be extra careful because of your dress.

“You do know that the front door is where people come in from right?” you sighed, opening the balcony door and stepping out. The cool tiles hit your bare feet, causing you to shudder involuntarily.

Standing on the railings was your boyfriend of one year, Takami Keigo also known as the current Number 2 Pro Hero, Hawks. He had a mischievous smile as you chuckled at your greeting as he hopped off the railing gracefully. You moved backwards to give him some space, admiring his appearance underneath the light. He was still dressed in his work outfit and you assumed he just finished patrolling for today. He stepped closer and wrapped his wings around your smaller frame.

”By the way, what’s with the dress? Are you trying to look pretty for me tonight? You know, black always looked good on you.” he wiggled his eyebrow while you lightly shoved him back, retreating into your apartment with him hot in your trail.

”No, I just went out with a couple of friends for dinner.” you picked up your purse and looked at your reflection in the mirror one more time, fixing your hair a bit when you saw how dishevelled it was because of the wind.

”You went with this pretty black dress of yours? Because your legs look really good in these—” the man moved behind you, massaging your shoulders lightly before crouching down.

”Hands off, Kei. This is one of my favorite dress, don't mess it up.” you exclaimed, swatting his hand away. The man chuckled and guided you over to the balcony again, saying something about how the sky was pretty today. The stars were shining and you could see the cars moving from where you stood. You glanced at him, seeing that he was smiling at you. You were sure that he had been staring at you instead of the sky.

But now when you think about it, it has been a while since you get to spend time with Keigo like this. You like to plan a few dates with him but with how busy he was, you would cancel them. You knew what you'd be getting yourself into when you started dating the Number Two Pro Hero and you didn't mind at all. Despite his very busy schedule, he still tries to find some time to text you, ask you how your day was and what you're doing at the moment. You never hoped for anything special from Keigo, knowing that he would be busy on any special occasion. You were quite happy with the relationship you have with him right now.

"I'm craving for some ice cream right now." Keigo suddenly said.

"Now? Seriously?" you questioned.

When you returned it was already late at night, almost 10 at night. You gazed at your boyfriend as if he grew another head. Sure there were a few dessert places that are still open at this time of the day. But after going out with your friends, you didn't to go out anymore and stay at home. You can't believe that your boyfriend was having craving like some girl during her pregnancy. A sigh escaped your lips but thinking about having dessert sounded nice right now, maybe some shaved ice or ice cream.

"It sounds really nice but I'm in no mood to go out at such a time. Besides, all the places that are open at this hour are quite far from home." you tried reasoning with your boyfriend who looked a bit too eager to your liking. Keigo let out a hum, sounding like he's thinking of something as he rubbed his chin in thought.

"So if transportation and distance is the problem......how about we fly there?" he grinned, taking you by your wrists and pulling you into his embrace. The movement had you colliding straight towards his chest while his wings fluttered behind him.

“In the middle of the night? Didn't you catch enough attention in the day by flying already?" you huffed. Keigo crouched down and lifted you up with ease, with one arm around your back and the other under your knees.

“Wait, what are you doing?!"

“Giving you a lift. It's faster this way but you still need to pay with cuddles and kisses." Keigo giggled for a second, and by the next second Hawks had already took flight with you wrapped in his arms.

“Ready?”

"Don't ask me that when you're already taking off!" you scolded. Your face was bright red and you were trying to hide your face from his vision. Because of that, you weren't able to see your mischievous boyfriend smiling victoriously to himself as he started flying off.

"I thought you said you liked to fly with me."

"Say that to me when you're not flying because you wanted ice cream at 10 20 at night okay?" you rolled your eyes.

"But the sky is pretty today right?"

"Yeah, it is."

Total: 1877 words Published: 02.03.2020

We need some votes for our upcoming project! Vote here and read the announcement here!

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ Our first time writing for Hawks. Sorry, we don't write for Sero m(_ _)m Hope we got his personality and character correctly. We've both caught up in the manga and may or may have not fell in love with him ehehehe Hope that you enjoyed it, anon!― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting! For some odd reasons, we find ourselves sleeping a lot nowadays. Which means we have been procrastinating a lot. Sorry to keep you waiting anon. ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

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13dead-ends · 4 years ago

Text

Train Ride

Young Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Henry for years and after high school you decide to go on a trip of a lifetime. Your longtime crush on him only gets worse as the trip goes on.

Word Count: 4531

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (please wear a condom, folks), oral/face riding, swearing, teeth rotting fluff at the end,

A/N: So my first smut is here! It’s shortish, but I liked it, Also @hellcaster901 said it was good so I posted. This fic literally came from a picture of Henry Cavill I sent to her. Thanks for encouraging me to post anything and everything!

Enjoy!! <3

I stared at Henry in as he ran down the beach into the water. His back muscles glinted in the sun as he came back up, hair wet and trunks clinging to his thighs. I swallowed, adjusting my position in the beach chair, the umbrella keeping me from frying completely. While my skin had burned plenty of times on this trip, Henry’s had only gotten golden brown. Only a burn every now and then on his nose and cheeks. I sighed. Why do I notice every little detail about Henry? I shook my head and went back to my book; staring was starting to get creepy. I couldn’t really focus on it though, the heat, and the waves, and other things distracted me. Henry’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since middle school and decided to go backpacking a few years after we graduated high school. We were on country four now. The Bahamas had treated us nicely, but it was our last day here. We had decided on America next, we would fly to New York and spend a few days there, then travel the country by train or bus. We were kind of winging it a little, but it was nice. Especially with him.

I had fallen head over heels for him in 11th grade. When we were younger I didn’t see him as more than a friend, but when came back from living with his uncle that summer, something hit me. More like punched me in the gut. I don’t know what it was or why, but here I am, almost three years later and still feeling butterflies from just him looking at me. I shut my book, I had reread the same paragraph a thousand times. I set it on my towel and sunk in my chair, soaking in the heat, and shutting my eyes.

“Y/N,” Henry had walked up so quietly that I jumped when he spoke. “You should get in, it’s perfect.” I opened my eyes, and there was Henry still out in the sun, drying off. I tried to calm my heart down a little with a breath.

“I will, I’m just enjoying the heat for a little.”

“Did you put on sunscreen?” Henry had not let the fact that I had turned lobster red in Egypt go. I had forgot to put on sunscreen when we went to the pyramids. He teased me, but he also liked to check in on me.

“Yes, mom.” He chuckled and it was like music to my ears. “Did you?” I pulled my sunglasses down and stared at him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He plopped down on the towel next to me, getting a water out of the cooler. Before opening it he pressed the cold thing on my thigh and I yelped, flinching away.

“Fuck off,” but I was laughing. He handed the bottle to me and got out another one. I drank a long swig and stared at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Any places in America that are a must-see?” He leaned back, laying on the towel, his abs flexed under his skin.

“New Orleans, that’s for sure. I’m also dragging you to a broadway show in New York.” I had gotten tickets to A show I thought we’d both like.

“Fine, but you’re bungee jumping with me.” I pursed my lips, jumping off a bridge did not seem like fun, but then I imagined doing it with Henry, and it didn’t seem too bad. “I want to see the Grand Canyon.”

“Me too. I want to go to Denver too.”

“You wanna buy weed don’t you?” He laughed out loud.

“Yes I do! And there’s nothing wrong with that.” I laughed. We discussed possible destinations and then he dragged me into the water. It was nice, though the salt stung my eyes. It was fun to be with him.

…

I rubbed my eyes as I walked behind Henry as we filed off the plane it was a long flight, but we made it. I was just exhausted. We were taking the rest of the day to rest, our Air BnB sounded like heaven right now. Henry was almost to the flight attendants at the door of the plane. I noticed the two ladies who had ran the flight whispering as we approached.

“Thank you, ladies,” Henry said as he passed, and they grinned and told him to have a good day and safe travels. When he was off, and I was walking past them I only got a thank you for flying with us. I scoffed a little and rolled my eyes. I stepped off the plane and moved up, so I was side by side with Henry.

“As soon as we get there I’m sleeping.” I still felt my eyes droop with tiredness.

“Did you sleep on the plane?” Henry had slept through most of the flight. I couldn’t sleep on planes.

“Nope,” I sighed.

“Well, you sleep, I’ll get some food and things for the next few days.”

“Okay, sounds good.” We went through the motions of customs and airport craziness, then took a cab to the place. It was still daylight, but as soon as I saw my room, I was out.

The next day we went around the city and did touristy things. I got a good picture of Henry looking out onto Times Square without him knowing. He looked so good with his curly hair, grown out a little longer than usual and skin glowing from the Bahama sun. I smiled at him as he took in all the signs and logos flashing on the screens.

“When’s the show?” I was pulled out of my trance as he turned back around to face me.

“Tonight, at seven.” He nodded. “We can go eat and just go straight there.” We ate a small bar we found and then went to the show. Us only bringing what was necessary we didn’t have fancy clothes to wear. I had a sundress and Henry honestly just wore a nicer looking T-shirt and pants. We didn’t care anyways.

“My lady,”Henry held out his arm for me as I got out of the cab. I took it and stood. In front of me was the Broadway theatre and I grinned.

“Oh my god, Henry I’m so excited.” He chuckled.

“It’d better be good.” He teased.

“I hope you like it, I tried to pick something we’d both like.” He nodded, pulling me closer to his side as people walked past.

“I’m sure I will. Shall we?” He led me up the steps and to our seats. They weren’t the best, but I still couldn’t wait. As the lights went down and the show started, I felt Henry’s eyes on me. I turned to him and he was staring at me.

“What?” I tilted my head at him.

“Nothing, just watch the show.” I squinted at him and turned back to the stage. The show was amazing, cheesy broadway songs were already stuck in my head as the curtains closed for intermission. Henry and I went out to have a drink before it started back up again.

“Please tell me you like it a little bit?” I nudged Henry as I sipped on my wine. Already feeling the usual warmth alcohol gave me.

“I like it but stop worrying about me. This was really for you anyways.”

“I know but I want you to have fun too.”

“I am.” He looked at me. “This is the best trip anyone could ask for.” I grinned and hugged his neck. He squeezed my waist, his strong hands sending shivers down my spine.

“I’m so glad we did this.” I muttered only for him to hear.

After the show, I was tipsy, and we decided to just walk back to our place. It had cooled down and it felt nice on my hot skin. I always got like this when I drank. Henry on the other hand held his drink well and walked beside me, looking beautiful in the street lamps.

“Okay now you’re staring at me.” I turned to look straight ahead, and he chuckled.

“I think we have a staring problem.” I joked, but I knew I did. “We’re just that beautiful.” He was that beautiful. “I mean I do but look at you.” I punched his shoulder, which hurt me more that it did him.

“Shut up, as if you didn’t notice those guys staring at you on the plane.”

“What guys?” Henry wasn’t looking at me when he spoke.

“They were a few isles down and I could feel them looking at us, well you.” I blinked.

“I didn’t see them.”

“I did, they were like vultures.” I glanced at him, but his face was blank. I was too busy noticing those flight attendants to notice those guys. “I can’t believe you didn’t see them.” I shrugged.

“Maybe I was distracted,” I mumbled.

“Don’t mumble like that.” He shook his head. “You sounded like you did in middle school.”

“We agreed we wouldn’t talk about middle school me.” I laughed.

“I’ve just been thinking about when we first met and how we are now. It’s so different.” I wrapped an arm around him, well not really around him he was so big now.

“Don’t get sappy on me now Cavill.” I squeezed him.

“No, I’m just glad, that we’re still friends. Seriously.” I swallowed but pushed a smile onto my lips.

“So am I, Henry.” I really was, I couldn’t live without him in my life, so if that had to be as his friend then I was okay with that, but I would still love him. I let my arm fall back to my side. “Ha, remember that time you asked Kim out in tenth grade.” He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips together. “You’re telling me I mumbled, she couldn’t hear a word.”

“I swear, little girl.” He grabbed my waist and I screamed, the nickname ringing in my ears. He lifted me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder.

“Henry, I’m wearing a dress you prick.” He held my skirt down, His arm right under my ass.

“I won’t let anyone see.” He chuckled and I huffed, arms swinging down. I did have a nice view of his butt from here.

“You were so nervous though.” He squeezed my thigh hard. “It’s okay, it was cute.” His grip lessened, but it was still holding me in place.

“At least I had you there to comfort me after rejection.”

“You gotta put me down if I you want me here for future rejection.” I don’t think he’d ever have a rejection again. He wasn’t that 16 year old anymore. He set me back down but kept his hands on my waist.

“And I you. Just like I was there for the Jacob break up.” My face dropped, and I shoved him. We walked back to the apartment teasing each other and when we got back, I pretty much passed out.

. . .

I swallowed at the tiny train compartment. It was close quarters for the two of us. Henry was towering over me as he shoved our bags in the top compartment above the small couch that would eventually turn into the bed. His chest was brushing up against mine, my neck felt hot and I turned my face to the side so my nose wouldn’t brush his shirt.

“There,” He shut the compartment and smiled down at me. “I’m excited.” I cleared my throat and sat down on the couch, Henry plopping down with me.

“Me too, it’s just smaller than I thought.” He just shrugged, looking out the window at the city.

“This train stops almost every day, and there’s a lounge to go to. We don’t have to be in here the entire ride.” I nodded.

“I know, but you work out too much and you’re gonna suffocate me when we sleep.” I almost choked at the thought. We were sharing a bed. I hadn’t shared a bed with Henry since we were kids. I stared at my feet.

“Is that how I get rid of you?” I kicked him. “Stop hitting me when you don’t have a comeback.”

“Stop teasing me and I’ll stop hitting you.” He leaned forward our noses almost touching.

“Never, love.” I may as well be putty. I’d let this man tease me all he wanted if it meant being with him. I moved back before I could do something stupid. Henry blinked once and leaned back as well. The train started moving and Henry got us some snacks and drinks from the restaurant car. I could breathe for a second when he was gone. I rested my head on the back of the chair. He was gonna kill me. I chewed on my lip. The worst part was that the only person I wanted to get advice from was the one I was freaking out about in the first place. I leaned forward my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I rubbed my temples and tried to relax.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Henry came back inside, and the room got smaller.

“Nothing,” I sat up, flipping my hair back. “I think I’m tired.” Henry sat down and rubbed my back.

“I bet,” His hand stayed on my back. “We can put the bed down now; we both could use some sleep.” I swallowed, that was the opposite of what I wanted, well not really, but I couldn’t handle that yet.

“Well, if you’re not tired, we can leave it up, so it doesn’t take up so much space.”

“No, I’m tired too. We can just eat and take a nap for the ride.” He handed me a bowl of grapes.

“Okay,” We ate, and Henry told me about this game he got for his laptop, but I was trying not to have a panic attack, staring into my grapes, disassociating a little.

“Alright, you’re zoning out.” Henry was waving a hand in my face. “Time for sleep.” Henry managed to get the cushions in the right spots and made the pillows fluffy and ready for us.

“Get in,” I looked at him, but crawled into the blanket, it wasn’t the most comfortable, but I did feel sleep start to tug at my brain as I laid my head down. Henry came in next to me, his side brushing mine. He barely fit without me being squished against the wall. I couldn’t help but giggle at his awkward movements in the bed. He was just so big.

“Shut up,” Then my giggles stopped as he slid his arm around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breathe. “I think this is the best way we fit.” His voice was right at my ear and goosebumps rose down my arms. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.” He squeezed me once.

“Sorry,” I pressed my warm cheek into the pillow.

When I woke up it was dark in the train, the curtains were closed, but a small bit of light peaked out from underneath. I wasn’t turned towards the wall anymore, my nose brushed Henry’s chest as he breathed deeply. He smelled like cologne and nostalgia. I shut my eyes again and pressed my face into his chest. He was asleep, so who cares? A gravelly ‘hmm’ made my heart lurch.

“Someone’s cuddly,” Henry’s voice was low and close. My heart started beating fast I looked up at him. “Hey, there she is.” He smiled at me and my legs felt like jello. He furrowed his brows at me.

“Henry, I-“ I cleared my throat, not knowing what came over me. He brushed my hair out of my face and my stomach flipped.

“What?” He kept his hand on my cheek, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. “Tell me, please.” I pulled myself up and just kissed him. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to push me away, but instead he pulled me closer. I let out a gasp and he just pressed into me harder. His tongue made its way in my mouth and I hooked a leg around his hip. “Finally,” He growled as he moved his mouth to my neck.

“Finally?” I titled my head back, breathless, but he stopped.

“Yes, finally. I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N.” He continued kissing my neck and slid his hand down my side, landing on my breast, he kneaded it and I moaned out. “You’ve just been too distracted to notice.” He finished but wouldn’t let me respond by kissing my mouth again. I gripped his T-shirt, pulling him even closer.

“I wanted you too.” I sounded airy and out of breath as I spoke, he kissed me all over my face.

“That’s music to my ears.” He started peeling my top off, but a loud rap came at the door. We froze in place, the top covering my face.

“Dinner’s ready in the dining car.” An attendant called. I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, thank you.” Henry replied and when we heard the footsteps fade away, he ripped the shirt of the rest of the way. “Do you mind if we miss dinner?”

“No,” I moaned out as he kissed my collar, making his way down to my breast. “Henry,” I moaned his name as he unhooked my bra and let his lips surround my nipple. I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling tingles shoot over my skin from his lips. I pulled him back up and kissed him, holding his cheeks so he wouldn’t pull away. I never wanted him to go away. He wrapped his big arms around me, enclosing me inside. He grunted when I pulled his hair.

“Take your shirt off,” I pulled my hand out of his hair to tug at his sleeve. He immediately tugged it off and I ran my hands down his chest. He groaned.

“Fuck,” He held my waist, his fingers digging into my skin, then suddenly one of them dipped down into my shorts and he grabbed my ass, hard. I gasped in his mouth, and he grinned. He pulled me closer and I felt his bulge press against the inside of my thigh, and I quivered. He felt so big already and his pants weren’t even off. He pushed his other hand under my waist band and pushed the shorts down, he let me kick them off and then rolled over on top of me. My chest heaved, I felt hot, and Henry’s lips looked red and swollen. He was propped up on his hands, his knees pressing into my thighs. He stared down at me, only in my panties now. I wanted to look away from his blue eyes, but they almost glittered in what little light we had. “God, so beautiful.” He brushed a finger down my side and goosebumps rose in his wake.

“So are you.” I mumbled, his eyes shut, and he had a smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t mumble.” He was stern, but his hand brushing down my cheek made me smile. He leaned down and kissed me, his hands held my waist down as I tried to arch my back.

“Henry,” I whined, letting my hands slid down to his waistband. “Please get these off.” He smirked, but pushed the clothing off, his erection on full display. He was huge.

“Now you,” He hooked a finger in my panties and pulled them off. “I swear, I’m gonna-“ He stopped.

“What?” He looked me up and down. “Henry, you’re taking too long.” I tried pulling him back to me, but he stopped me.

“I’m trying to decide how I want you.” I bit my lip his words sending shocks through me, and then he grabbed my waist flipping us over. Now I was straddling him and my hands were on his chest, my hair hung over our faces. He tucked it behind my ear and kissed me, but not for very long. He grabbed my waist tightly and moved me slowly up so that my pussy was over his face.

“Fuck, Henry,” I rested my elbow on the wall of the train. Was Henry about to eat me out? Like this? On a fucking train.”

“Is this okay, baby?” He rubbed the back of my thighs gently.

“Yes, yes. Very okay.” I sounded like a child, but he just laughed, the air hitting my core.

“You’re already so wet. Is that all for me?” I could only moan back. “What a good girl.”

“Henry, can you please-“ I was cut off by his mouth on my pussy. I covered my mouth to keep from the entire train from hearing me.

“Is that what you wanted?” He whispered, then went back to kissing and licking me. My legs were quivering, Henry’s hands were doing most of the work holding me up. “God, you taste so good.” I whimpered under my hand.

“Henry,” I felt like I was gonna burst. “I think I-“ His mouth stopped and he pushed me back and his cock slid through my folds. I moaned out and he grunted. I fell over, my forehead on his chest.

“Fuck, I want to feel you.” Henry growled in my ear.

“Please, I want to feel you too.” I kissed his chest, feeling sticky with sweat.

“So many pleases, what a polite girl.” His hand slid down between us and he positioned the tip of his cock at my entrance. I took a shaky breath. “Are you ready baby?”

“Yes,” My eyes closed as I felt his head push into me. “Fuck, oh my god-“ I was a mess above him, but as he entered into me fully he pushed me up, so I was sitting on him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N.” I must’ve looked insane, but he smirked up at me. He gripped my hips and started moving them for me. He was so large that every new movement made him brush a new part of me. I was going to snap. “Yes, there you go.” He grunted and groaned as he fucked me and it only added more pleasure. I loved hearing him. He picked up the pace, thrusting into me now. I arched my back.

“Please make me cum, Henry,” I was out of breath as I spoke, my chest heaved for air.

“God, yes, baby girl. Cum for me.” That was all I needed; bliss washed over me as a came. My legs pressed into Henry and my hands fisted over the blankets. “Good girl,” I collapse over him, my body flopping over his. He locked his arms around me, our skin pressing together, and he thrusted up into me until he came inside me. I whimpered at the overwhelming feeling having only just come down. He grunted in my ear as he fell over the edge, the sound sending tingles through me. We were panting together, my face pushed into his neck. He released me from his arms, and then pulled me off of him. I shivered as I felt the emptiness without him.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He ran his fingers through my hair, and I nuzzled closer.

“Yeah, I am.” I whispered. He moved me off him and kissed me.

“Let’s clean you up, okay?” I could only nod, feeling too tired to do much else. He got a towel and wiped away his mess for me, and then started kissing me. Fluttery little kisses up my stomach, in between my breasts. I giggled as he reached my neck. He threw the towel on the floor and kissed my lips. I looped my arms around his neck, smiling into his mouth. “Why didn’t I do this sooner?” He pulled away and laid beside me, pulling me to his side. His kissed the top of my head.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” I drew circles in his chest and the sweat on my body started to cool.

“I tried to give you hints.” He chuckled. “I literally invited you to kiss me earlier.” I smacked his chest and sat up, feeling goosebumps rise, it was getting chilly. “Hey, where are you going?” I crawled over Henry, my knees on one side and my hands on the other. I picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it on. I barely had my head through the hole before Henry pulled me back to his chest.

“I’m completely oblivious.” I scoffed. I was too distracted by him to notice him. His arms were around me tight. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he pulled up the blankets.

“It’s okay, you finally figured it out.”

I woke up in the big spoon position with Henry. I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. He liked me too. He wanted me too. I pressed my nose into his back, wrapping my legs around him, resembling a koala bear. His large hand slid over my arm grabbing my hand.

“Hey baby,” His voice was low with sleep.

“Good morning.” I replied. He turned around to face me, he was smiling, and his eyes looked extra blue. He wrapped me up in his arms around me and I kissed his lips. We were making out like teenagers for a while and then my stomach growled.

“Shit, we missed dinner.” Henry chuckled.

“Shall we get breakfast then?” Henry sat up and opened the curtains. I squinted at the bright sun. The train hadn’t stopped the entire night.

“Can we bring it back here?” I wanted it just to be me and him for a while, and I’m pretty sure I’d be waddling down the train car. I laid on my back, hands over my stomach, watching the scenery go by.

“How about I just go get it? You can stay in my shirt a little longer.” He kissed my nose and got dressed and went out. When his footsteps were gone I squealed into my pillow. Part of me thought it was all a dream, but he was here and didn’t reject me. The rest of this trip would be completely different. It wasn’t long before he came back with a pile of food. We didn’t bother putting the bed away, we were sitting on it and cuddling anyway. When the train started to slow down, we had finished eating and Henry had gotten his laptop out and I got dressed. He wanted to show me how to play some game. He was sitting against the wall and I was in between his legs, the laptop on my lap. His arms reach around me to show me how to use the keys.

“Henry you know I’m not good at these.” He chuckled.

“I know, it’s just fun seeing you try.” I rolled my eyes.

“Where are we again?” I looked out the window as the train stopped. Henry shut his laptop, setting it aside and getting out of bed.

“Let’s go find out.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room.

#henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #fanfiction #oneshots #junewrites

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aurora-nuova · 4 years ago

Text

Rude Love

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Naruto

Universe: Modern AU

Relationships:

Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara (main)

Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito (side)

Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama, Uzumaki Mito

@madatobiweek Week 4: There was only one bed OR Not realizing they are already dating

Summary:

Summer sun, cool waves, a beautiful beach. Nothing could go wrong on this long awaited, blessed holiday to the sea, right? W r o n g!

Madara should’ve just pushed his best friend off of that cliff they had been playing on as kids when he had the chance.

Read on AO3

————————————————————————

Chapter 01: Something new

Madara startled awake with a curse on his lips when a cheering Hashirama‘s elbow hit the pillow his head had been resting upon but momentarily got distracted by a female speaker announcement.

“—and gentleman, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position and your seatbelt is securely fastened—”

Ah, apparently it was time for their airplane to land. And surely, looking out of the window confirmed it as no clouds were greeting him. Instead, the ground was rapidly closing in on them.

Turning his head away from the window, he threw Mito—who was sitting on Hashirama‘s right— a tired but bemused look that she promptly returned when her husband started making quiet hooting noises at the bumpy arrival at their destination.

What a child, he thought fondly as he acknowledged a warm feeling making its way through his body. Though such mushy thoughts were only allowed in the privacy of his mind and were never to be discussed out loud or lest he got made fun of by Izuna or his other siblings.

Looking at his best friend, he sometimes wished he had half as much, well, or maybe only a third of his positivity. At least on his good days.

Though, on second thought, it sounded rather exhausting.

Maybe his slightly more realistic approach to life wasn‘t so bad after all, he mused as said best friend turned around to him with a beaming smile, not even having noticed that he had been the cause of his interrupted sleep in his glee. Returning a sleepy smile, he realized that Hashirama probably was positive enough for both of them. Or rather both of their close families, if he were to be honest.

It still amused him to this day that no sane person would expect this child of a man to be a renowned paediatrician but sometimes people were apparently wrong. Very wrong.

Because jokes aside, fortunately, Hashirama indeed could be serious when his patients and their parents trusted him with the children’s life. And doing so, he tended to them with unmatched enthusiasm and passion.

So all was good, he guessed.

Stretching his stiff muscles through a yawn, he noticed familiar tresses of long, dark hair sticking out from between the gap in the seats in front of him. Zeroing in on it with a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he nimbly stuck his hand through the gap to pull one of the bigger chunks of hair, only to immediately receive a satisfyingly high pitched yelp.

“OUCH! You ass!” Izuna screeched turning his head back around to him and hastily reclaimed all of his hair with a scowl, making Madara huff in amusement.

“Oh please, stop being such a drama quee-” the older of the two started retorting when suddenly his younger brother turned around in his seat somewhat—seatbelt still fastened, making the endeavour pretty awkward looking as he smushed his face between the backrests to make a grab for Madara’s own hair.

“No!” he groused out, leaning away from the squiggly hand. “Stop!”

“Payback‘s a bitch, Nii-san!” the younger Uchiha snarked back, voice muffled by the seat and continued to make grabs for his hair that Madara defended by slapping his grabby hands away.

“Children, please,” Mito‘s exasperated voice suddenly broke through their argument, making both of them stop—Madara crossing his arms while Izuna turned back around and untangled himself from the space between the two seats, arm almost getting stuck in the process.

“I‘m not a child, he is!” Izuna grumbled out as he was facing the right way again, missing the red head‘s amused but quiet laugh.

Wondering why the biggest child of them all hadn‘t joined them in their squabbling and actually kept quiet for once, the Uchiha looked back at Hashirama, noticing that he too had an arm moving, but in the right gap between the seats in front of himself. The Uchiha made a confused sound and nudged the taller man who then looked at him with a questioning smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to wake up Tobi and Itama, I saw them asleep when I left for the bathroom a few minutes ago,” the brunette answered with a sunny smile as the Uchiha hummed in acknowledgement as people around them started to get their luggage from the overhead stowage spaces to leave the plane.

Finally exiting the airport‘s sliding doors with their heavy luggage to walk into a metaphorical wall of humidity as the sun tried to roast them alive only made Madara close his eyes in misery. The heat was so much worse than he had anticipated.

Great

To be completely honest, he hadn‘t even wanted to come here in the first place, would have instead preferred a milder, more enjoyable weather for his long-awaited vacation but unfortunately, he had lost in the poll their two families had held to determine what this trip‘s destination would be as everyone except Itama and him had voted for this dreaded hot climate as their travel destination.

Surprisingly even Tobirama—currently dressed in long pants with a long-sleeved sweatshirt‘s hood and a pair of sunglasses covering his face—had wanted to come here.

Whatever, he would make the best of this holiday.

As it was, unfortunately, not all of their siblings had been able to come with them due to scheduling difficulties. However, they had already agreed on another trip in winter when hopefully their schedules would align a bit more smoothly with much more desirable weather, at least for him.

He already looked forward to it.

Something he could live without though, was the planning and scheduling part as arranging things for the six of them had been a logistical nightmare already. What with Itama having to hand his last thesis in the day before while Izuna and Tobirama respectively had to write their exams a few hours before their flight took off.

He himself probably wouldn’t even have been able to take time off on such short notice if his position at work as detective hadn‘t been so high and he himself and his good reputation hadn’t been so well regarded amongst their ranks and—no, he was joking. In reality he still had a few open favours with his boss and promptly used one of them to be able to be here with his family and friends when Hashirama had texted him the booking confirmation.

His boss obviously hadn‘t been too happy. But after Madara had helped out countless of times, sacrificing his free time again and again when needed, raked in so many extra hours, that he had accumulated a lot of those favours. And just to be on the safe side, had tied all loose ends at work in preparation which thankfully had swayed the man to agree in the end.

The Uchiha briefly wondered how Obito and his fellow colleagues were doing before Izuna chatting him up caught his attention.

Next thing he knew, they were leaving their rented cars parked outside an Italian restaurant and taking their seats around a big but crammed table as Hashirama had rejected the friendly personnel’s offer to push two tables together because apparently he wanted to cuddle in this inhumane heat or who knew why tree brain hadn‘t wanted the second table because Madara for sure didn‘t.

Smushed between Izuna and Hashirama, he could already feel the sweat run down his back as he pushed his sunglasses atop his head, tangling up a few strands of hair that he couldn’t care less about at the moment in the process.

“Get anything you want, it‘s on me to celebrate the end of the semester for our three youngest and of course, the start of our amazing holidays together!“ his best friend exclaimed when everyone had received their beverages and toasted all of them, resulting in clinking of glass and various intonations of gratitude amongst them.

After Madara downed his glass in one go and lowered it back on the table with a loud clink, he rummaged through his pockets to find a godforsaken hair tie. His hair was already uncomfortably sticking to the back of his neck. Frowning, he gave up when he came up empty.

Hashirama probably didn‘t have one on hand, as he only tied it for work and Mito used hair pins, which left him with only Izuna who was typing away on one of his social media accounts. Leaning over, he saw a snapshot out of the airplane window.

“Pretty picture.”

Izuna immediately shot him a dubious look.

“Okay. What do you want?” his younger brother asked with an expectant look on his face.

“Can‘t I compliment you without wanting anything?” he asked bemused.

“Oh please,” the other huffed out.

“Alright, whatever. Do you have a hair tie?”

Izuna took a terribly amused look at his horribly mussed up hair. The stupid humidity wasn‘t doing the older Uchiha any favours, making his usually wild hair poof up and stick out in an even crazier mess than usual. He was well aware but the brat didn‘t even try to stifle his derisive snort.

“Yes, but know that this will cost you a third of your dessert,” the little shit haughtily replied as he took a tie out of a bag between them.

“A fifth and you have yourself a deal,” Madara huffed, holding his hand out.

“A fourth and you have to order something I actually like,” Izuna countered, holding out the desired hair tie just out of reach.

“Deal,” he heaved out with a heavy sigh, accepting the cargo and tying up his hair into a messy ponytail, immediate relief flooding him, as the slightly less warm air of the ceiling fan caressed the back of his neck. Much better.

Madara shot his greedy brother and his mostly immaculate hair an annoyed look, when the other happily turned back to continue typing away on his smartphone.

He would need to steal whatever the little shit had used to wrestle his own mane into submission out of his luggage and use it on his hair tomorrow when the other inevitably would still be snoozing away the morning, since he liked to sleep in.

They had the same hair structure, after all, but he wasn‘t willing to pay the unreasonably high price his sibling surely would come up with as soon as he asked him about the product he must‘ve been using to tame their family brand of crazy hair.

Under no circumstances would he walk around like some caveman after today, though.

Right now everyone was still tired and mussed up from their flight, even elegant Mito, so his crazier than usual hair wouldn‘t be noticed too badly.

But starting tomorrow, that excuse wouldn‘t fly anymore, as everyone would attempt to look presentable for the undoubtedly many pictures Hashirama and Izuna would take in the span of their holidays. And seriously, latter didn‘t need even more blackmailing material, as he already had more than enough of that stowed away already.

But more importantly, tomorrow Tobirama wouldn‘t be so exhausted anymore that his head would look like it was ready to loll onto the table.

Seriously, the poor guy looked ready to fall off the chair any minute if it weren‘t for Itama on his left, holding him up in an embrace while happily chatting with him and Izuna squished in on his right, forcing him into a somewhat upright position.

The younger Senju seemed way too tired to even notice much today, belatedly reacting to any verbal or physical stimuli as far as he had seen.

In fact, the exhausted albino probably couldn’t wait until they finished their food and finally drove to the hotel so he could catch up on all of that lost sleep tonight. However, that also meant that the albino‘s sharp eyes would be scrutinizing and analyzing everyone and everything starting with tomorrow, so he needed to look presentable if not a bit nicer than usual at least.

Feeling eyes bore into the side of his head, he inwardly startled at being caught staring, as his eyes slid back over to Izuna who was wiggling his eyebrows and pursing his lips at him in an imitation of a kiss.

“Shut up!” he quietly hissed and shoved at him, hoping no one had noticed the idiot.

“But I‘m not saying anything!” the brat cackled, as he bumped into an unresponsive Tobirama next to him, subsequently rattling Itama who shot them a quick bemused but confused look.

“Just stop it, you ass,” he grumbled out, refraining from hitting his younger brother upside the head to avoid any additional spotlight from the chatting couple by his side to keep the cause of the start of the situation under wraps.

There was no need for Izuna to spout lies about him ogling the light haired man like he had a crush on him or something similarly stupid. Definitely lies. Shut up.

He avoided looking in the albino‘s direction for the rest of their duration at the restaurant, even when Izuna stole more than a fourth of his dessert.

But apparently things were still going too smoothly and the universe wanted to punish him for whatever sins he had accumulated over his life at once because right before they entered their hotel to check in, Hashirama abruptly planted his feet on the searing hot concrete under a palm tree and waved them over.

Oh god, what would this be about?

Judging by the massive grin on his face, it couldn‘t be anything good.

When everyone was situated around him, Hashirama clapped his hands.

“Alright, since we always, well, almost! Since we almost always do the same room distributions, I came up with an idea this time,” he revealed giddily.

“Wait, what?” Madara exclaimed confused as the taller man started rummaging in his pant pocket.

“We‘re drawing straws!“ the idiot exclaimed joyously as he held out a fist of sticks, receiving mixed reactions from everyone around him.

“Please tell me you‘re not serious?“ the oldest Uchiha replied with a sinking feeling.

“Why not?“

“Mito, your wife, is the only female in this group?“ he tried reasoning to no avail.

“Oh yes, that‘s why we‘re sharing a room!“ the stupid tree answered him cheerfully.

And it was that moment that Madara actually took a look at the sticks in his hand and noticed that there were only four of them. Opening his mouth, Hashirama immediately interrupted him.

“Because we booked on such short notice, they only had one room with two single beds, the other two are double beds. Mito and I will take one of those but there‘s still the question of who will get the other two rooms each,“ the older Senju explained with a smile.

“Still, it doesn‘t make any sense why we should draw lots in the first place. I don’t care in what kind of bed I sleep in with Izuna,“ Madara said scowling as he crossed his arms.

“But Itama and Izuna want to try something new and right now you’re the only one not agreeing,” the brunette said pouting.

“You didn’t even give me a heads up— Wait, what? Since when does snowflake agree to your stupid ideas?” he asked, throwing the two Senju brothers in question a confused look. One of them half asleep and not even listening, the other one pouting down at him.

After all, out of the siblings Tobirama was the only one stopping Hashirama’s mischief on a daily basis when things looked like they would get out of hand while the two younger ones loved to indulge in their eldest brother’s silly antics.

“Anija asked him on our way to the airport,” Itama helpfully supplied, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Do you really think that‘s fair? Snowflake has been closer to a walking zombie than a human being!“ he groused out, scowl intensifying.

Tobirama very belatedly pursed his lips in a pout and softly furrowed his brows but didn‘t react any further, making the older Uchiha feel all sorts of fuzzy and mushy things. God no. Trying to not show any emotion besides annoyance on his face was getting harder by the second.

“No offence, but that’s a very underhanded tactic for you, Hashirama. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days,” the older Uchiha accused to hammer in his point.

“But that’s the only way he agreed for once,” the older man admitted with a chuckle.

He zeroed in on Izuna when he too chuckled.

“And since when do you like trying out new things?” Madara accused his sibling.

“Excuse you! I try new things all the time and you would know that if you followed my social media accounts like you said you would!” the younger Uchiha answered scandalized with furrowed brows.

The older Uchiha groaned. Not this again.

“Is it too much to want some fun on this vacation?” Hashirama asked with one of his better renditions of a puppy look directed at him while Tobirama slinked off to sit down next to Mito on a bench not far from them.

Huffing, he shuffled his feet, looking around and tried to think of a way out of this.

Izuna would be his best bet of course. But if he had to share a room with Itama, things would probably get awkward pretty fast as they never had spent time on their own until now. However, Tobirama would be an even worse pick. Not because he had anything against the younger man but because of other things that he didn’t want to think about at the moment.

No, he wouldn’t play Hashirama’s stupid games this time. Why should he? Especially when his idiotic friend easily had taken himself out of the equation. Unfair. He was here to relax and enjoy himself.

Having decided against his best friend’s plea, he looked back to said friend only to freeze at the triumphant look on his face.

Oh no.

“What?”

“Have you forgotten? You owe me!” the idiot exclaimed with a wry grin.

Now it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows in incomprehension.

“You lost that bet at our last poker evening weeks ago,” the tan man replied giddily.

Madara’s eyes widened. He was right but he wouldn’t, would he?

“Are you seriously going to waste it on something like that? Hashirama, you wouldn’t, right?” he asked, rubbing his forehead to soothe his growing headache with a grimace.

He knew he was doomed, when three grinning faces met his.

“I absolutely would and I am henceforth officially claiming the favour you owe me!” the childish tree trunk of a man exclaimed laughing in glee, hands on his hips.

Suppressing another groan, Madara felt more sweat trickle down his back. Honestly, he could’ve done worse, he guessed. Hashirama could’ve used the favour to send him off to do much more horrible or embarrassing things. This was absolutely not ideal but whatever. What were the odds of him having to share a room with Tobirama, after all? Two to one against it, not bad at all. And he surely could make it work with Itama, too.

Being already fed up with the situation and the sun searing what felt like holes into his back, he decided that he didn’t care anymore as long as they could go inside soon. Preferably right this instant.

“Fine,” he conceded defeated, receiving surprised looks at his unusually short lived refusal and hooting from Hashirama.

“Alright, youngest first! There’s two short and two long ones,” the excited man exclaimed, holding out his hand with the sticks to Itama after he had shuffled them behind his back. “Don’t reveal them until everyone has a stick!”

When it finally was Madara’s turn, he didn’t have much choice but to accept the remaining stick as the oldest of the four.

“Reveal your sticks on the count of three! One, two, three!” Hashirama exclaimed excited.

Madara blanched when all of them unfurled their fists to showcase each of their picks. Had he seriously ended up with one of the short sticks? Wait, if the other two had the two long ones, that meant that Tobirama and he—

Hashirama clapped him on the shoulder with a huff of laughter.

“Looks like you and Tobi share a room!”

“Wha—”

“Okay, now I need those back and the winner team picks one of two to decide who the winner of the room with the two single beds is,” the older Senju exclaimed.

When Itama picked the longer stick, Madara despaired internally.

How could his luck be this bad? Had he seriously just lost two times in a row? Also wasn’t the looser supposed to get to pick first and—

Wait.

Oh no.

His eyes widened and he paled even more when suddenly the realization hit him that he had to share a double bed with his cru- Tobirama for the upcoming two weeks here.

He was doomed.

Suddenly he didn’t even feel warm anymore.

60 notes · View notes

puckinghell · 5 years ago

Text

Let It Snow | William Nylander

Summary Request:

alternatively, our flights get cancel and we’re two strangers who rent the last available car together (it might be a little dangerous but we’re living on the edge)

and

we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b

and

we don’t know each other that well but i found out that you’ve never been sledding skating and feel like it’s my personal mission to change that

Words: 10k (I’m SORRY) Note: So, a few things: I wrote most of this when I was either drunk or sick, so excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Second of all, you guys wanted one long thing instead of parts, so here’s 10k of word vomit. Third of all, this is cliche central, and I’m not even sorry. And lastly, I know Will’s family doesn’t live in Calgary anymore but I very well couldn’t have them drive to Sweden.

---

“I hate snow.”

It’s meant to be mumbled under your breath, for nobody to hear but you; you didn’t even really mean to say it out loud, but it kinda slipped.

You really hate snow.

The guy that’s sitting opposite you looks up. So far, he’s been engulfed in his phone, but now there’s an interested look on his face as he takes you in.

“Why?” he asks.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to ask a complete stranger in the middle or a crowded airport.

You shoot him a dirty look, take a sip of your coffee before answering him, your voice deadpan. “Have you looked around you?”

The guy looks, as if he actually hadn’t noticed before that the airport around him has been getting busier and busier, the people there more annoyed and miserable looking by the second.

“Oh,” he says.

Yeah, oh.

You huff and return your attention to the announcement board again, hoping the message is going to magically change.

It doesn’t. Flight delayed, it says.

“Are you going to Calgary too?” the guy asks.

Now it’s not really his fault: he hasn’t personally caused a huge snow storm to hit Toronto and he’s probably just trying to be nice, but you’re already in a bad mood.

So you snap: “No, I’m just sitting here for shits and giggles.”

“Never mind,” the guy mutters, and his eyes fix on his phone again.

Great, now you feel like shit about that.

However, the universe needs to give you a break. This has literally been the worst week of your life and it’s only Thursday: the only thing that has pulled you through so far is knowing you’re going to see your dad, and now it’s looking like that might be going up in flames.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention,” a voice sounds over the speaker at your gate, and you perk up in your seat. “We regret to inform you that, due to the upcoming snow storm, all air traffic in this area has been cancelled until further notice. Your flight will not depart today. For more information, you may contact the information desk.”

“Fuck.”

The guy opposite you raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want people to start a conversation with you, you might want to stop talking to yourself.”

He stands up leisurely, as if the cancelled flight is no bother to him at all, and grabs his suitcase. He points to the board, where it now says Flight cancelled instead of Flight delayed – fucking fantastic – and motions at it, as if to say “what can you do”.

“How are you so chill about this?” It’s more that you’re wondering out loud than actually wanting an answer, but of course the guy grabs the opportunity.

“Well, it’s still four days to Christmas, and Calgary isn’t on another continent. It sucks that there won’t be any flights anytime soon, but you can’t change the weather.” He smiles. “I actually love snow, personally. And a little snow has never stopped me before. So I’m gonna rent a car and drive to Calgary.”

You stare at him. “Drive? To Calgary? That’s insane.”

“I mean, not as insane as spending Christmas away from my family,” the guy reasons, and….

He might have a point. You could stay here, and be miserable alone, or you could drive to Calgary and spend time with your dad like you planned. You could be enjoyed your dad’s pancakes, drinking hot chocolate by the fire place watching Elf, within a mere 40 hours, if you put the gas pedal down.

It’s, objectively, insane.

“I’m gonna rent a car too.”

“Great,” the guy says, jovially. “We can walk together then!”

And that was not really your plan, but to be fair, you don’t really know where you’re supposed to go to rent a car and this guy is walking as if he does this every day, so you dutifully follow him.

You take this time to look him over; he looks funny, in sweatpants with white sneakers – in the snow! - and a hoodie with a coat. He has a beanie on and there’s a few blond streaks of hair escaping from under it. He’s wearing thick black framed glasses. The suitcase he has with him has the Gucci logo on it, and you find yourself wondering if it’s real.

The guy is dressed like he’s either super rich but doesn’t care, or is slightly blind and got a 13 year old high school boy to pick out his clothing at a weird second hand shop.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and you frown.

“Why do you care? I wasn’t aware we were going to become best friends in the time it takes to walk to the rental car booth.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, remaining completely unbothered as if you didn’t just snap at him. “I’m Will.” He glances over at you, seemingly amused. “It’s just a cancelled plane, you know. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just about the plane.” You almost tell him about the week you’ve had, but you decide it’s not worth the trouble. After all, you’re just going to rent a car and then you’re going your separate ways, and you’ll never see him again.

That’s the plan, at least. But it wouldn’t be this time in your life if your plan didn’t get ruined.

“I’m sorry, miss, that was the last car we have available,” the woman behind the computer says, right after she’s handed Will some keys. “Everyone is trying to get outta here by car, now that the planes aren’t going.”

You nearly, nearly, start to cry.

“What do you mean the last car? Surely you have a car somewhere,” you beg. “Any car. A bike. I don’t care. I have to get to Calgary for Christmas, you don’t understand…”

“I understand,” the lady interrupts, the friendly facade sliding off her face. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Have a good day.”

Have a good day?

“Look, lady…”

You’re about to yell at her some more when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Of course, it’s Will, beaming down at you with the keys to your last option in his hand.

“Yelling at her won’t work, you know. It’s not gonna make you feel better or stop you from being in a mood.”

Something inside you snaps.

“In a mood? You wanna know why I’m in such a mood, Will? I’m in a mood because this Monday, I got told my residency at the hospital I work at might not be available to me next year, because they’re cutting personnel at the department. On Tuesday, I ran my legs out of my body for 15 hours before they told me that I shouldn’t come back after Christmas. On Wednesday, my boyfriend of almost a year broke up with me because he’s looking for different things in life, whatever the fuck that means. And the only, only thing I was looking forward to was seeing my dad again, and now this stupid snow has ruined that for me as well. So excuse my mood, but I will yell at whoever I want to!”

Will blinks at you, then raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

Slowly, you exhale through your nose. You do, actually, feel better, and Will seems to know that because he’s grinning.

“If you’re done yelling, I was gonna ask you…” he trails, “do you want a lift?”

---

Arguably, this is a bad idea. You don’t even know this guy. He could be literally anyone.

“You could be a serial killer,” you tell him, putting on your seatbelt and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “You could drive me out of the city, murder me, dismember my corpse and leave me in the woods.”

“Hmm,” Will hums, as he starts the car. “I could, but that would massively delay my arrival time.”

You kick up your feet on the dash and play with the radio; the only songs you’re getting are Christmas songs, and that’s just not the right mood. Of course, as soon as you settle on some station that’s not playing Christmas music, Will frowns.

“Do you hate Christmas? Cause if you’re the Grinch, I’m gonna have to kick you out now.”

You look out the window; Toronto traffic is bad as always and you’re standing still barely out of the airport.

“I’m not the Grinch. I just don’t love Christmas.”

“How?” Will exclaims. “Christmas is the best holiday of the year!”

“I prefer Halloween,” you say, and Will rolls his eyes.

“And I’m the serial killer.”

“Christmas is overrated. I don’t care for trees in my house, creating a mess, Christmas movies are cheesy, Christmas songs are objectively bad and everyone is just stressed around Christmas time, trying to find gifts and decorate and wear stupid sweaters and go to parties with people they don’t like.”

You don’t tell him that you also don’t like Christmas because when your mom left, she said she would send you a Christmas gift.

As if that made it okay for a mother to leave her 12 year old daughter behind.

“Grinch,” Will mutters under his breath. You reach out and smack his arm, and he yelps in surprise. “Hey, don’t hit the driver, we could crash!”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“I could accidentally press the gas!”

“Then you’d be an idiot!”

You sigh and drop your head against the headrest, staring out of the window at all the headlights surrounding you.

It’s gonna be a long trip.

For the first few hours of the drive, it turns out the not be the worst. First, you and Will talk about your families a little: he’s got four siblings and his parents are still “very grossly in love” (his words) and you tell him that you’ve got just your dad and grandma left.

You don’t tell him what happened with your mom and he doesn’t ask, which is probably good judgement from his side.

Most of the time, however, you nap and Will drives or you drive and Will sleeps; you both decided that you want to get to Calgary as fast as you can, and not stopping is the way to do that.

It feels like it’s been days, but in reality you’ve only been driving for about 8 hours when Will stretches beside you and yawns.

“We should stop for gas,” he says, “and get me at least two liters of coffee to inject into my veins.”

“Probably a bad idea,” you deadpan. “That volume of liquid into your system would probably kill you instantly, and if it didn’t, the caffeine would give you a heart attack. Also, if you have to pee in an hour I’ll kill you.”

Will grins. “No good outcome possible for me, then, huh?” He points out the window. “Gas station.”

While you’re driving down the lane, he turns to look at you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says, and you frown.

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I know, but like, you’re an actual nurse. I didn’t think about what that meant. But that’s really cool.”

You sigh. “Well, yeah, but if I don’t find another residency I’m gonna be half a nurse. And that won’t pay the bills.”

“You’ll find one,” Will says, easily enough, as if it’s a mere fact, and for the first time since you got the news, you feel some of the anxiety in your stomach settle.

It’s probably strange, that the fact that this guy, who you have only spent one day with, can tell you it’s gonna be fine and you believe it.

Maybe it’s because he seems truly genuine in his conviction. Maybe it’s because you’re just that desperate.

“Coffee?” Will asks, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get it, you fill the tank,” you say, because you really want to stretch your legs. You spend your time wandering the little shop, getting two large coffees and also a few snacks for the road – what else is there to do in a car but eat and nap – and when you finally reemerge, Will is talking to someone next to the car.

“So awesome to meet you, dude, huge fan,” the man says. You watch as Will scribbles something on a napkin with a pen.

“Anytime. Sorry I don’t have paper.” Will smiles at the man politely as he hands him the napkin.

“No problem!” The man seems very excited about the napkin, and as he walks back to his car, he looks at Will again over his shoulder and waves. Will waves back, then turns to you and makes grabby hands for the coffee.

“Gimme!”

“What was that?” you frown, holding the coffee out of his reach. “Who was that?”

“A guy,” Will deadpans, “and a napkin. Coffee, please?”

You don’t hand it to him but he somehow manages to snatch it out of your hands; he’s faster than you’d think he’d be, and he’s back in the car before you can ask again.

Luckily, he’s stuck with you in this car for a while.

“That wasn’t just a guy,” you say, stubbornly. “He was really excited to see you. Does he know you?”

“I don’t know him,” Will answers, and that’s about the best deflecting you’ve ever heard.

“Not what I asked.”

Will sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Do you watch hockey?”

“Hockey?” you repeat dumbfoundedly. “Like, where people skate after a piece of rubber? No, why?”

“But you know hockey is a pretty big deal in the city, yeah?”

You don’t know why Will is pressing the issue; you’re more interested to find out who the man is, but Will seems very intent on this line of conversation, so you decide to let him get away with it for now.

“Yeah, my boyf… ex boyfriend is a big Maple Leafs fan.”

Will snorts, but before you can ask what he means by that, he points to your phone, that’s laying in your lap.

“Google Maple Leafs number 88.”

“Why, is he hot?” you tease, but you do as he says.

William Nylander, your screen tells you, and beside it is a picture of Will.

“Kinda,” Will says blankly.

You look at Will, and then at your screen. Then back at Will. “That’s you,” you bring out, and Will chuckles.

“Well, yes. Does that explain enough to you?”

And it does. You might not watch hockey – you don’t really watch sports anyway – but you know from your ex how big a deal it is to some people, and you can imagine what it must be like to be a Leafs player living in Toronto.

You also remember your ex screaming at the television screen.

“Rough season so far, huh?” you say. “That why you wanna go to Calgary so badly?”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, new coach, new opportunity, I’m excited, it’s just…” He pauses, seems to ponder his answer. It doesn’t sound like a rehearsed media answer, when he finally speaks. “I really need that new start, but I need a little break to empty my mind a bit, first. Put it into perspective, I guess. My dad is really good at helping with that, and so is my brother. Alex plays in the NHL too, and my dad used to. It’s… They know what it’s like, but they’re not on my team, so they offer more of an outside view.”

“You can tell me?” you offer. “I don’t know shit about hockey, so I’ve got an outside view.”

Will is laughing, then, and his eyes are twinkling and the car feels strangely small, suddenly.

“What do you do when you suck at your job for a while, and everyone loses their faith in you, and then you get better but nobody believes in you anymore?”

For the heaviness of the question, his tone is light, and he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the music, as if he asked about your holiday plans.

You think of your mom.

“When I was little, I used to patch up my dolls with plasters and tell my mom I wanted to be a nurse. She said I couldn’t because I fainted at the sight of blood.” You shrug. “You just have to show them, I guess.”

Will nods slowly, then breaks into a smile. “Did you really faint at the sight of blood?”

“Shut up,” you chide, and the mood is lifted. It’s getting dark outside and you know you’ll have to start napping soon if you wanna take over driving in two hours, but for now you’re perfectly happy listening to Will’s chatter and the soft rumble of the engine in the background, as the car speeds down the highway, getting a little closer to Calgary with every passing minute.

---

Your eyes flutter open to darkness around you, and the car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station.

You turn just enough to see Will: he’s behind the wheel, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape as his head hangs back.

The car is surrounded by snow: white flurries of it floating down to the ground, hitting the car.

For a second, you wonder why you’re not cold. Then you catch sight of Will’s coat, draped over your legs and stomach. You can’t help but smile at it, and then you close your eyes again.

The situation feels safely serene and safe, and you might as well take advantage of that and get some more sleep.

---

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Christmas music coming from the speakers, Willy’s voice singing along.

“Not the time for Christmas carols,” you groan, and Will laughs.

“It’s always time for Christmas carols, Y/N,” he chides. You hear rustling, and you finally open your eyes.

“I stopped for a few hours,” Will says, “just to get some sleep. But we’re up and running again.”

Ah, that explains the scene you woke up yesterday. You glance at the clock: 7am. The sun is slowly starting to rise.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” you grumble. You haven’t had any coffee yet and that means you’re really not in the mood to have Will radiating energy around you.

“How are you not this happy?” Will asks. “Look outside!”

Outside is the road, but you understand what he means. Everything is covered by a thick layer of snow.

“It’s… white,” you say, because that’s about as far as you’re getting.

“It’s beautiful!” Will’s eyes are lit up with excitement.

“You’re insane,” you state, because that has been proven by this exchange.

“No I’m not! Snow is amazing. It’s beautiful, and it’s fun. Everything gets better in winter.”

You crank up the heat in the car and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Everything does not get better in winter,” you frown. “First of all, it’s cold. Everything is slippery because of the frost, the snow turns to yellow mush within a few hours. You have to shovel the driveway.”

“Or you could build snowmen with it. You can go skating on the ponds. Have snowball fights.”

You snort. “Snowball fights? What are we, 12?”

Will’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re never too old for a good snowball fight.” His voice is fond as he continues. “I play in the snow with my younger siblings every winter when I’m home. That’s like, the best part of Christmas.”

And, well…

“I can kinda get that, in concept,” you say softly. “There was never really anyone to play with me, I guess.”

Will’s eyes are a little sad as he glances over at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You appreciate that: you’re not ready to share anything more and it’s like he senses that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Hey, have you ever been skating?”

“Nope,” you say, and the grin Willy shoots you is a little wicked.

“We’re changing that today.”

---

What Will means, apparently, is that it’s a good idea when you’re halfway between Toronto and Calgary to stop in a small little town and find an ice rink.

“This is insane,” you protest. “We’re losing time!”

“We’ve got 48 hours til Christmas,” Will shrugs, “and only an 18 hour drive left. Come on, after this we’ll drive straight through. It’ll be fun.” His eyes are shining and you can literally feel the excitement buzzing off of him, and, well…

Skating did always seem like fun to you. When you were younger, you asked your dad to take you once, but renting skates costs money so it never happened. You remember the disappointment in your dad’s eyes as he had to tell you no, so you didn’t dare ask again.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate after,” Will coaxes. You don’t understand why he wants to go that badly: he spends most of his days on the ice, anyway, surely he’d be happy for a break.

“Fine,” you grumble, and you can’t help but laugh at the smug look on Willy’s face as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

The rink is small and filled with people. There’s a lot of small children that are skating behind little chairs, and you can picture yourself being there too.

“I’m gonna be so much worse than them,” you whine, at the same moment one of the kids falls onto the ice. A woman helps the little girl up and she goes right back at it.

You don’t think you’re gonna be that brave.

“Oh, shush, I’m not gonna let you fall,” says Will, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This whole situation is so freaking cliche, and you are not going to fall for it.

You rent skates for you and Will brings his own, because of course he brought skates in his suitcase. You’re struggling with the laces on the bench next to the rink, mostly to stall for some time; your heart is beating fast in your throat and your hands are a little clammy.

“Need some help with those?” Will is sitting sideways on the bench, and he’s grinning at you amused while you struggle. Feeling a little bold, you swing your leg into his lap.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes widen slightly, but then the grin only broadens and he starts carefully lacing up your skates. You watch as his fingers work the laces expertly – it’s clear that he’s done this a million times before – and then, his hand curls around your ankle.

“Other one,” he orders, and you switch legs.

Finally, the skates are on and Will hops to his feet, extending his hand and helping you to your feet. You’re already wobbling and you’re not even on this ice yet.

“If I break my leg, I can’t drive,” you say, mostly because the thought pops into your head.

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna break your leg.”

“If I hit my head and have a concussion, I can’t drive either.”

“Y/N.” Will’s voice is firm enough that you look up at him. He’s frowning. “You’re not gonna break anything, or hit anything, or fall. If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave now, but if there’s any part of you that agrees that this could be kinda fun, I promise you I’ve got you.” His eyes are a little shiny as he adds: “Trust me?”

And it’s stupid, you know it is, because you barely know Will. You’re pretty sure you’d have found out if he truly was a serial killer or any other type of psycho, but you can’t be sure he’s not irresponsible – although he did pull over in the snow – or prove that he’s trustworthy in any way.

And yet…

“I trust you,” you say then, and the blinding smile that crosses Will’s face is worth the fear in your heart when you place your first foot on the ice.

You can feel it slipping right away, but Will literally hops on the ice next to you, two feet planted firmly on the slippery surface, and places his hands on your hips, steadying your waist. In a reflex, your hands curls around his biceps, and once again you are reminded that holy shit, he’s a professional athlete.

“Wow, easy,” Will hums. He slowly guides you further away from the door, and your other foot adds to your first, and then you’re gliding.

You can’t call it skating: Will is moving backwards and pulling you with him, but you’re not necessarily moving on your own.

The first round goes like that, and then you decide to be brave and start moving your feet.

To be fair, Will keeps his promise. He never leaves your side, his hand firmly on your lower back even when you do start skating yourself, ready to catch you whenever you stumble – which is a lot.

“I’m doing it,” you yelp excitedly, when he finally lets his hand hover a little away from you. “I’m skating!”

Will laughs. “Proud of you, babe.”

And it’s probably just something he says; he probably calls a lot of people babe, it probably means nothing, and yet…

“Help,” you manage to squeak, and then your arms are waving in the air and your feet are slipping from under you and you try to maintain your balance, but you can pinpoint the second it’s a lost cause.

For a split second you’re plummeting towards the ice, but then two arms are wrapped around your waist and you just kinda… hang there.

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You’re hanging in Will’s arms as he’s hysterically cackling out laughter above you. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and pull you up.

“Majestic,” he giggles, and he tightens his grip on your waist when you slap him in the chest.

“Rude,” you grumble, but you can’t help the smile that’s tugging at the edges of your lips.

It’s weird, but suddenly you notice how close he is, and when his eyes travel to your lips the smile falls from his face and you can tell he noticed too.

You stare at him, and it’s like the air is charged with something; your heart is beating in your throat and you swear he’s moving closer.

Oh, you think, we’re gonna kiss.

Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t send panic to your throat the way it did when your ex kissed you the first time, the way it always has when someone kissed you. Instead, it’s like everything inside of you goes calm and quiet.

You want him to kiss you. And it’s a little scary how not scary that is.

You’re interrupted by a small voice.

“Mister Nylander?”

Will startles, yank back fast enough that you nearly tumble straight back down to the ice, but one firm hand on your waist keeps you standing. He turns around then, to face the little girl that spoke: she can’t be more than five years old and is wearing a helmet with a cage, holding a hockey stick in her hands and staring at Will with wide, starstruck eyes.

He bends down into a squat – on skates, literally, how – and smiles at the girl.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You can call me Willy, though. What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” the girl beams. “Can I get your autograph, mister Willy?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Willy says. “How about I bring my friend here to the safety of the ground and I shoot some pucks with you, huh?”

Amanda looks like someone just offered her the entire world and everything in it. “Please,” she says, and Will quickly guides you towards the side of the rink.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, and he almost looks apologetic, which…

Which is ridiculous. Because you can tell that him just being here made that little girl’s day, and you think of the things you wanted as a little girl and the heroes you never got to meet, and…

“Take all the time in the world, please,” you say. “I’ll go get myself that hot chocolate.”

For two hours you sit at the side watching Will with the kids. Somehow after Amanda more and more kids appeared and now he’s created somewhat of an impromptu hockey team because they’re all playing and the adults cleared the rink.

It’s entertaining, to watch Will with the kids. He’s a good teacher, and you can see them hitting the net more and more as time passes on, and he clearly makes it fun: they’re all laughing and screaming and at one point, a few of them tackle Will to the ice, where he rolls around and pretends to be unable to get up, yet hops to his feet the second the kids get distracted.

It’s insane, how comfortably he moves around. Like, you knew this, because he’s a professional hockey player, of course he can skate, but you didn’t really think anything of it until you see it in action. He’s obviously not even trying to do anything fancy, and he’s probably not trying to be fast either, but he is, and he stops without problem and turns in any direction and even jumps over a puck, at some point.

You can’t lie. It’s kinda hot. But then, you’ve always had a thing for people who were clearly good at something.

For example, your ex was a really good painter. He was also really good at being a lying, cheating bastard.

Before you can go too far down that rabbit hole, there’s commotion on the rink, someone crying and then Will’s voice, too loud: “What happened?”

When you look up he’s kneeling in front of a little boy, who’s crying and staring at his hand.

You jump up, worrying, but Will has already lifted to kid in his arms and is skating towards you now, with big strides.

“He took a skate to the hand, we’re gonna need some bandages,” he says, and a parent yells something about getting a first aid kit while Will puts the kid on his lap on the bench. “Can you look at him?” he asks you, worry evident in his voice even though he’s clearly trying to remain calm. He’s a little pale, but you don’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo at the kid, kneeling in front of him, placing your hand on Will’s knee to steady yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the kid cries. “My hand hurts!”

“I know it does, Tim. But the good news is that we can fix it,” you promise him, examining the hand. It doesn’t look too bad: there’s a cut, but not deep enough to perforate anything more than flesh, so you’re not too worried.

The first aid kit arrives and so does Timmy’s dad, who doesn’t seem too bothered. “He falls all the time,” he says, “that’s what hockey is, isn’t it?” He preens at Will, who dutifully ignores him in order to talk to Timmy in a low voice.

You wrap up Timmy’s hand and tell him to take it easy for a few days, and then before you know it you’re in the car and Will is holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“Do you want me to drive?” you ask tentatively. There’s no answer, but Will isn’t turning on the car. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.” Silence. Another try. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just can’t believe,” Will starts, but he seems to choke on the last word and lets the sentence die, drops his head and inhales sharply. It takes a while, but finally he speaks, a little more composed. “I hate when parents tell their kids that hockey is about pain and sacrifice. It can be, sometimes, but it shouldn’t be, not for a little kid. It should be about fun, and learning skill, and being with teammates, and loving it. It shouldn’t be about falling and injuries.”

He sounds so frustrated that it tugs at your heart strings, and for a split second you allow yourself to wonder what Will was told by his dad, when he was a kid himself.

“He wasn’t even trying to soothe him,” Willy bites. “He was too busy fawning over the presence of a professional hockey player, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be the person these idiots believe I am.”

“And you’re not,” you blurt out. “Will, these kids had so much fun with you.”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… Me and my brother, we always had fun skating. My dad told us it was important to always have fun. But I’ve seen it happen to friends. They were so passionate about hockey, but their parents pushed them, wanted them to be better too quick and told them to suck it up when the skates hurt their feet and it just fizzled out, you know? Until one day it wasn’t any fun and they quit.”

“It’s a shame,” you echo. “But your dad…?”

“He was hard on us, sure.” Will shrugs, smiles for real this time. “Pushed us to be better. But he always made it fun.” He turns to you. “Your dad… He stood behind your dreams?”

You remember you told him your mom didn’t think you could be a nurse, and you laugh. “The blood thing, you mean? Yeah, he didn’t agree with my mom. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and if I decided I wanted to be something else, I could be that, too. He’s always been there for me.” You shrug. “I’m lucky to have him. My mom… She left when I was 12. And I…”

You stop, for a second, wondering if you’re really gonna tell this to a complete stranger. But the thing is, Will doesn’t feel like a complete stranger anymore. Talking to him feels more comfortable than talking to most of your friends, and you can tell he really cares about what you’re saying, and you just, you want to tell him, so you do.

“I don’t like Christmas because my mom left right before Christmas, and she said: ‘I might not see you for a while, honey, but I’ll send you a Christmas gift.’ She didn’t, and I never saw her again.”

When you glance at Will, he’s frowning, a deep crease edged into his forehead. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, but, it was a long time ago. I’m mostly over it, I just never learned to love Christmas the way most kids do, I guess. My dad tried to make it fun for me, but it was always the reminder, you know, that I didn’t have a mom and other kids did.” You laugh, a little bitterly. “And then this year my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the 16th. My mom left me on the 17th. So I guess December is just not a good month for me.”

“Your ex is an asshole.” Will says it with such force, gritting his teeth, that you can’t help but reach over and put your hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” you muse, and the tension leaves Will’s shoulders as he carefully wraps your hand in his.

His hand is warm and a little rough and there’s something hammering in your chest, and you wonder how it’s possible that you met him two days ago and he’s already making you feel more than your ex-boyfriend ever had.

You guess you never really liked that guy as much as you told yourself you did.

“It’s not,” he says, but he doesn’t so upset anymore. “And if he was here, I’d punch him in the face. But I’m glad to see you didn’t let him hurt you too much.” Will grins. “And now you’ve been skating, so, like, fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you echo, and Will starts the car.

18 hours to go. And then you’re in Calgary, and you’re gonna see your dad, and you’ll probably never see Will again.

For some reason that thought leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

---

“Psst.” You groan as someone softly tugs your arm. You try to turn around, but there’s something digging in your back and you can’t quite get there. The tugging gets more persistent. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What?” you grumble, finally forcing yourself to open your eyes, and it’s only when you see Will’s face in front of you that you realize you’re not in your bed. You’re in a car, it’s pitch dark outside, and you’re standing in front of a lit up building.

“Snow storm is getting really, really bad,” Will says. “We have to stop for the night. It’s not safe to keep driving.”

You’re about to tell him to stop being such a baby, and you’ll drive, no problem, when you risk a glance out the window and see… nothing.

Literally, almost nothing. Just a big building, and some lights that could be from streetlights or UFOs, for all you know, because there’s a big blanket of white covering your sight. Snowflakes are streaming down in a curtain, and you can hear the wind howl around the car.

Okay, yeah, maybe it is unsafe to drive.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel,” Will says. “I checked, only hotel within 10 minutes of the highway. Pray that they have a room for us.”

He leaves you in the seat to wake up a bit more, and goes to get your luggage; he swings your bag over his shoulder and hauls his suitcase out of the trunk, and finally opens your door.

“Come on.”

You grab his hand and let him pull you out of the car, although you walk in front of him to enter the hotel. The woman behind the desk looks up as you open the door.

“Please close that behind you,” she says, friendly enough, “I swear if that cold comes in I might freeze, here.”

“Hi,” you say to her, “I know, it’s bad, right? We were hoping you have two rooms available for us, so we can escape the storm?”

The woman types something on her computer, then frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s very busy at the moment. Lots of people stopping in from the highway. I have one room left, if you’d like? Double bed.”

Oh, fuck. You’re not sure if you’ve quite wrapped your head around in, when Will chimes in next to you.

“Cool, we’ll take it.”

“We…” you start protesting, but Will raises an eyebrow and looks at you with so much attitude that it shuts you up.

“Would you rather freeze to death in a car?” he asks pointedly. “I’ll take the couch or the floor, or whatever, chill. I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep.”

Getting murdered is not what you’re worried about, to be honest. You’re worried that sharing a hotel room with Will is just gonna make these feelings in the pit of your stomach worse.

But there’s not really another option.

“Fine. We’ll take it.”

“You know,” Will chirps, when you’ve got the keycard and he’s taking the luggage up the stairs, “there’s a lot of girls that would kill to be forced to share a room with me.”

“That’s because they’ve only looked at your face, and don’t know your personality,” you drawl, and you know you’ve made a mistake when Will’s face lights up.

“You think I’ve got a pretty face?”

“Not what I said,” you answer quickly; too quickly, because Will is looking way too smug as he takes the keycard out of your hand and opens the hotel room door.

The room itself is nothing special. It’s small, but the bed looks comfortable and it’s warm, so you’ll take it.

“Shotgun on the bathroom,” you say as soon as you get in, and Will rolls his eyes but dutifully flops on the bed and starts typing on his phone while you find your toothbrush and disappear to the bathroom.

When you walk out, Will is laying sprawled over the bed, although he’s luckily still on top of the duvets. His hoodie has ridden up a bit and his sweatpants are – dangerously – low on his hips, so there’s a strip of skin showing.

Your mouth goes funnily dry, all of a sudden.

The thing is. You might not have wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with a guy you met at the airport only 2 days prior, but if it had to happen, Will is not a bad guy to be stuck with. He’s, objectively, very hot – you’re not blind – and he’s funny, and easy to talk to, and he’s been nothing but nice, even when you were a teeny tiny bit rude to him at the airport.

Did you mention he’s very hot?

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, jumping up from the bed.

While he’s doing that, you lay in bed and scroll through Instagram on your phone. Maybe you stalk Will on Instagram, only for a little bit, and you find a picture of him with his siblings that’s so cute it has you smiling at your phone.

“What are you smiling at?” Will’s voice surprises you so much that you drop your phone on your face with a yelp, and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears as you bury your red hot face into the pillow.

You hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door again. Luckily, you don’t think he saw, but you lock your phone just in case.

Then, you look up, and if you thought you couldn’t be any redder in the face, boy were you wrong.

Because Will is wearing boxers, and nothing else. Now, you think to yourself, as you glance at him before shamefully returning your gaze to your hands, if you had a body like that, maybe you’d be more keen on showing it off too, but…

“You’re gonna be cold,” you tell him, and you can hear, more than see, his eye roll as he says:

“Okay, mom.” Then, he opens the closet and takes another duvet out. “I’ll be fine, I have this.” He grins a little cheekily, as if he fully knows what he’s doing to you. “Normally I sleep naked, but…”

“But not today,” you squeak, and he’s laughing again.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s getting to you, you throw the second pillow at his head and then roll to your side.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he answers softly. You listen as he potters around the room; probably tries to get his ‘bed’ for tonight as comfortable as possible. Finally, the lights click off.

You can’t sleep. You know it the second the lights are off, and Will’s breathing evens out. Your mind is going a million miles per hour and there’s so many things that happened, that you’re going to have to overthink before you can sleep. What’s not helping, either, is the fact that Will keeps tossing and turning.

You’re starting to feel a bit bad. You’re in a bed that’s big enough for two – maybe even three, it’s that big – and Will is laying on a cold, hard floor, with just one duvet and a pillow.

Outside, the wind is howling, and you know if you looked out the window the entire world would be covered in white. The room is warm enough, but you picture how there must be a draft, so close to the floor, and suddenly you can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, to make him sleep on the floor all because you’re worried about wanting things you can’t have.

“This is stupid,” you say, sitting up. “You should just sleep in the bed.”

For a second, it’s quiet. When Will speaks, he sounds unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, the floor isn’t great, but I don’t mind, I promise, if you’d rather not…”

“Look, we don’t have to, like, cuddle, or anything.” You can feel yourself blush but in the darkness of the room, there’s no way Will can see, so you keep talking. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on my side, and it’s basically the same distance as having you on the floor. Just, the floor is cold, and uncomfortable, and there’s no need to…”

“Okay,” Will cuts you off, and he jumps up, duvet in hand. He’s grinning as he slides into the bed, curling the duvet around himself. “You don’t have to convince me, I was just being a gentleman.”

You snort. “Don’t do it again, it freaks me out.”

“You drive tomorrow, then,” Will hums, and it already feels better, to hear his voice right next to you instead of from somewhere at your feet. He sounds better, too; lighter, and more comfortable. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you answer, finally closing your eyes.

“If I had to cross the country in a Kia during a snow storm with anyone from that airport, I’m glad it’s you.”

You think of what you were thinking before, and smile.

“Me too, Willy, me too.”

It’s quiet again, and Will’s breathing starts evening out. For some reason, you still can’t calm down: you try to match your breathing to his, but it’s too shallow and you can feel your heart beating in your chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” Will says then, his voice loud in the quiet room. Only then do you notice that you have been twisting the duvet between your fingers time and time again. Will goes to lay on his stomach and turns his head to you. “You okay? I can sleep on the f…”

“It’s not you,” you interrupt him. It is, of course, but not in the way he thinks.

“Okay,” Will says slowly. “Then what?” Before you can answer he reaches out and slowly wraps his hand around yours, causing your fingers to dis-attach from the duvet.

And, the thing is…

You could tell him to mind his business. You could tell him a lie, or something that’s kinda true but not the real reason.

Tomorrow, you’ll be in Calgary. On your dad’s couch, drinking hot chocolate. And Will is gonna be in his own house. And then after Christmas, you’re both flying back to Toronto, but you’re not stupid. Will is a famous, and really attractive, athlete. You just got out of another failed relationship. You’re not good at relationships, turn out; you don’t even know if you really believe in love, anymore, don’t know if you even think it’s worth it to try.

But right now, you’re here, and he’s here, and you swear you’re not imagining the way he looks at you, sometimes.

You’ve had to deal with cancelled planes, problems at work, a dumb ex boyfriend, and this stupid everlasting snow, ruining your life one day at a time. So, you might as well give yourself this one thing that you want.

“Or, it is you,” you say, and you can feel Will stiffen beside you. “But it’s not that I don’t want you in this bed with me. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite.”

You can feel your cheeks flush: you’re not good at this, don’t really know what to say.

But then Willy grins and suddenly he rolls around, his body now hovering over you as he pushes himself up on his forearms.

“So does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” he hums, and you answer by pressing your lips against his.

---

Hours later, you’re both naked, a mess of tangled limbs in sheets, and Will’s chest is rising and falling with every peaceful breath. You close your eyes and bury your face in his neck.

Outside, it snows, and it snows, and it snows.

---

You wish you could enjoy the next 10 hours.

First, you spend 2 hours getting showered and ready – it would’ve been a lot shorter if Will hadn’t slipped in the shower with you, so it’s his fault if you’re late – and then you have breakfast at the hotel while Will tells you more about his family.

His face lights up when he tell you which Christmas gifts he’s got for his siblings and it’s adorable.

Then, you drive. The final 6 hour drive, and it flies by so fast you would’ve believed it if someone said it was just 2. You drive the first few hours and then Will takes over for the last part, and you chat the whole way there.

At some point, Will starts singing along to Christmas songs, and you don’t even change the channel.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” Will croons; you can’t help but laugh and then you’re both laughing and singing along at the top of your lungs.

You wish it never had to end.

“So,” says Will, “this is your street, huh?”

You decided he would drop you off and take care of returning the rental car, and you’re almost regretting that decision cause you would’ve liked those 20 extra minutes with him. However, you know that that is, objectively, insane, so you ignore the knives that are being ran through your heart when Will parks the car on the curb.

“Home, at last,” he says, softly. He’s not smiling anymore. “So, when we get back to Toronto, we should…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt softly. “We both know this is where it ends for us.”

At this, Will frowns. “It doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, it does.” You swallow heavily, try to get rid of the lump in your throat. It doesn’t feel right but it is, and you need to let it end here before you end up with hopes that will crash and burn and expectations that will never be met.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks quietly.

As much as Will might believe he wants to see you again – and you don’t doubt that he’s being truthful about that - it’s just not realistic.

People don’t meet the love of their life in an airport after a cancelled flight, don’t live together forever after long a cross-country drive, don’t live happily ever after after a snowed in hotel.

People do leave their husbands and kids the week before Christmas, they do cheat on you, they do break your heart.

Snow might make things seem more magical, but after all, it’s just frozen water.

“But I want that.”

Will’s face falls, his eyes sad and honest, but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the drive, then.”

His voice is distant, now, cold and impersonal: you know you deserve it but it hurts, anyway, and you scurry out of the car, take your suitcase out of the trunk.

You’re standing next to the car, ready to walk down the driveway, when the window opens.

Will’s head pops out, and he sends you what you think is meant to be a smile. It’s not a real one, and he still mostly just looks sad, but he’s trying, you think.

“I know December is a hard month for you, but I truly do hope it’s gonna get better. Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

The window closes and the car drives off, and something inside of you breaks.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. You could’ve stood there for hours, but the front door opens.

“Y/N?” your dad’s voice calls. “I’m so glad you made it, you won’t believe the snow we’ve had…”

---

There’s a blanket on your lap as well as Snuggles – your dad’s cat – and you’re drinking tea while Elf plays on the television.

Your dad has been talking excitedly all through dinner, but now it’s quiet as he watches the movie. He seems happy, light, and it soothes something inside of you.

Sometimes you worry about him.

It’s not until the end credits roll that your dad turns to you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively, and that’s all that you need to hear in order to break into tears. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, then takes your hand in his. “What happened?”

You have no idea where to start.

“Dad,” you whisper, “do you think you can die from a broken heart?”

Your dad smiles sadly, shakes his head. “If you could, I would’ve been gone by now, probably,” he jokes, but it doesn’t land. “Is this about that boyfriend of yours?”

And, well, the funny thing is, you haven’t told your dad about the break up, but it doesn’t even matter. Your heart is broken and it has nothing to do with your ex.

So you tell him about Will. You tell him about how you almost weren’t here, tell him about cancelled planes and one lone rental car, about how he went from Will to William Nylander right back to Will, about coffee breaks and sleeping on the side of the road and skating and the little kid who hurt his hand, about snow storms and a hotel room with one bed – not about anything else from that night, though – and finally you tell him about goodbye.

When it’s all said and done, your dad frowns. “You keep saying it had to end. But honey, it sounds like you really like this guy.”

You do, oh God, you do.

“Why would it have to end?”

You don’t say anything, but as always, he knows exactly what you mean.

“Just because it ended for your mom and I doesn’t mean it always has to end, you know. Sometimes it’s worth to try.” He pats your hand. “I think you should call him.”

And that’s when it hits you. It doesn’t really matter if you’d wanna call him.

You don’t even have his phone number.

---

“Y/N! Patient in room 11!” your colleague yells. “I’m going to the kid in room 4 if you need me!”

You sigh and throw down your clipboard. You have no idea why the hospital is so busy; it’s December 28th, which promises a disaster on New Years Eve, which is usually your busiest day of the year.

Fireworks, man.

You’ve been on your feet for 9 hours but you don’t even really mind. Just the thrill of working in a new hospital has been keeping you going; it might have something to do with the fact that this hospital will let you finish your residency, too. They called you the day after Christmas.

Some might call it somewhat of a Christmas miracle.

“I’m on it,” you call back, then start making your way to room 11. You nearly bump into the doctor you’re working with today, and she halts you by putting a hand on your arm.

“Are you a Leafs fan?” she asks.

It might be the weirdest thing someone has randomly asked you; the conversations you have had with this woman have ranged from “can you get me some blood from the vomiting boy” and “in what room do I find the catheters” and now she’s asking you about your sports teams?

Your heart clenches tightly as you think of Will.

“Not really,” you answers. That seems to be the right answer because the doctor smiles and waves towards the room, telling you to enter. You’re still confused by the whole exchange when you walk into the room and nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh,” Will says slowly, “that’s quite a coincidence.”

It’s like your tongue has grown two sizes; you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of what words to say, when suddenly you notice something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

There’s blood all over the hand he’s clutching to his chest, and his face is white as a ghost. Next to him is an equally pale guy wearing a Leafs sweater, who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I fell,” Will says sheepishly. “Turns out snow is quite slippery.”

It hasn’t snowed in Toronto in days.

“He didn’t fall in the snow,” the guy next to him grumbles. “I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand and he fell into the Christmas tree and sliced his hand open with an ornament.”

“And Kappy has just promised to clean everything up, right, Kap?” Will asks with a sly smirk. Some of the color is returning to his face, which is more than you can say for his friend Kappy.

“Okay, well, let me have a look,” you mutter, and you gather some of your supplies before sitting next to the bed.

If you try very hard to avoid Will’s eyes and focus completely on the gash on his hand, that’s between you and the hospital room.

“So, first aid, huh?” Will asks. “Found a new job? Told you.” He sounds stupidly smug, so you raise your eyebrow and press the gauze to the wound. He inhales sharply. “That’s mean.”

“I’m trying to clean it,” you tell him sternly. “Sit still. God, Timmy was a better patient.”

“Hey,” Will protests, offended. “I’m a perfect patient.”

When you see how deep the wound is, you wonder how it’s possible that Will is still so chatty, and you also feel a little nauseous; it’s always different when it’s someone you care about.

“I’m gonna go get doctor Summers,” you say, and your voice is a little unsteady.

You’re probably imagining the edge of disappointment to Will’s voice when he says: “Yeah, okay.”

While doctor Summers examines Will’s hand, his eyes are fixed on you, and you keep yours fixed on your shoes. There’s so much you want to say to him, so much you want to do, but this is not the time or the place and also you have no idea how to start a conversation like that.

You tune back into the here and now when you hear the word “surgery.”

“It’s not a real surgery,” doctor Summers says, “I just think we need to set a bone and we also need to stitch up the muscles.”

Will is a little pale again as he nods.

You get send away to prepare the necessities for the procedure and when you come back, Will’s friend is gone.

“He’s gonna pick me up when I’m done,” says Will, who sees you looking. “Are you gonna… Are you gonna be here, while she does it?”

“Nope,” you answer, and this time you’re definitely not imagining the way his face falls. “Are you gonna get in trouble with the team for this?”

Will pulls a face. “I’ll probably get a stern talking to from Kyle.” When he sees your expression, he laughs. “My boss.” He sighs, looks out the window.

It’s started snowing, again, because apparently the universe loves taunting you.

“You know what the worst thing is? I ruined my tree.”

“That’s definitely not the worst part,” you roll your eyes. “It’s after Christmas, you should’ve probably taken it down anyway.”

“I couldn’t take it down yet,” says Will, his face completely serious, “there’s still one Christmas miracle I’m waiting for.”

He’s staring at you intently and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

There’s no way he means…

But what if there is?

You make a decision then, and when Will is getting his hand worked on in a different room you run to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” you yell at the lady behind the counter. “I’m gonna borrow this for a second!”

She looks at you like you’re a crazy person and you can’t blame her: you’re literally standing in your scrubs, screaming at her from the middle of the cafeteria after having just yanked a tiny Christmas tree from the table.

“Okay?” she yells back, and it sounds more like a question than a blessing, but you take it and run anyway.

Room 11 is still empty; although Will’s coat is still lying on the bed, so he must be coming back. You take the tiny tree and put it on the bed side table, plug it in.

There’s only about 10 lights in the tree, but when you flick off the big lights, it still looks pretty Christmassy.

And so, you wait.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement; there’s every possibility in the world that Will has changed his mind since you last saw each other, and the last thing he wants is you confessing how much you like him in a hospital room after just having destroyed his hand, but you have to try.

Every time you think about bailing, you hear your dad’s voice in your head.

Sometimes it’s worth it to try.

This is one of those times.

“No strenuous activities, take it easy…” Finally you hear doctor Summers voice and you stand up.

The door opens tauntingly slowly, and there is Will. At first, his eyes widen as they catch the Christmas tree, and then his head swivels around and he sees you; a slow smile spreads across his face.

“A Christmas tree?” he asks.

“Well,” you smile, “you did say you wanted a Christmas miracle…”

“But you don’t like Christmas,” Will points out.

And that’s true, but…

You take a step closer and Will raises an eyebrow, questioning but not looking like he wants to run away.

“I don’t,” you admit. “I didn’t. But then something happened… Or, well, someone happened. And now I’m thinking that I might have to give Christmas a chance.” You’re standing right in front of Will, now, and he had all the time in the world to back off but he didn’t. Instead, he’s looking at you with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his mouth curled into a tentative smile.

“I think there might be a few things I have to give a chance,” you finish.

“God,” Will breathes. “I really hope you mean us.”

Instead of answering, you kiss him.

It feels somewhat familiar and yet as if you’ve never been kissed before: there’s fireworks in your stomach and everything feels warm and fuzzy, like nothing matters except for the feeling of Will’s lips on your lips, his chest pressed against yours.

“Y/N!” someone yells from the hallway, and you reluctantly pull away.

“I have to get back to work…”

“Okay,” Will whispers, pecks you cheek quickly. “But we’ll talk…”

“I’m done with work in an hour,” you interrupt.

Will nods. “I’ll tell Kappy he doesn’t have to pick me up.” He grins. “Unless you’d rather not drive in the snow?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, but it’s with nothing but fondness.

You’re already running to the hallway, ready to see the next patient, when you hear Will yell after you: “You said you hate snow!”

And that’s kinda true, but…

Sometimes, even if it messes up your plane, or gets you stuck in a snowstorm, or makes you fall on your ass…

You just have to let it snow.

#william nylander #toronto maple leafs #winter prompts #william nylander imagine #william nylander one shot #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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junquisite · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Mirror

WORD COUNT : 3.8K

GENRE : Supernatural of sort.

WARNING : Implied death but not explicitly stated. Open to interpretation, Open Ending

NOTE : Please enjoy whatever this is. It’s a lot and confusing but i tried to be as clear as i can be before messing the feeling of the story. If there is anything confusing, Please tell me. I’m sorry if the ending feels rushed though.

“Daeun-ah?” she stopped when she heard her name to see the landlady waving at her.

“This package was delivered for you today. They dropped it here with me. Take it, it's quite big.” she said and a confused Daeun walked to her apartment and saw a huge pack. It was almost equal to her own height ,if not bigger, she thought as she tried to pick it. It wasn't heavy per se but she still struggled to bow to the lady after picking it up, already dreading the two floor stairs flight she’ll have to climb with it. Mentally she cursed the out of order elevator and finally thanked the gods for letting her live after bringing it up and to her apartment.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and dragged it in, checking the details and seeing no information of the sender was there, she opened it to find a full body size mirror covered with styrofoam and she just stared at it.

Who could have sent it?

She opened her phone to see through her contacts to see any person who might have sent it but she concluded at none. She hadn't talked to her parents in 2 years since they did the whole “disown the kid because she wont do the thing they want her to do'' so now she was working at her own flower shop. It wasn't much but it was keeping her happy even if most of the nights she would come home exhausted and would have to wake up before dawn to go to the flower market.

There were no friends of hers she knew in the business school who were close enough for them to send her a gift and that too a mirror. It made no sense.

For the next three days the mirror stayed near her apartment’s entryway, covered in styrofoam and she would just pass it a glance whenever she'd go out or come home.

Finally on Sunday when she chose to close the shop early, she came home and just stared at it for a couple of minutes. And then finally pulled away the styrofoam.

She had to accept, it was a pretty mirror. Simple But beautiful. It had a golden stand and golden border with beautiful design adoring the corners. She pulled it and placed it beside her vanity in her room, and startled herself the next morning when she woke up, flung her legs off the bed and saw her own reflection staring back.

“I’ll have to move this somewhere.” she mumbled as she glared at it, her own bed hair mocking her and she groaned. It was too early in the morning for this.

Eventually she got used to it though. It was not like her small apartment provided her with any other option to place the mirror at.

One morning a few days later she woke up, habitual now to look at the mirror, she felt as if she saw a different room and a man inside the mirror. She rubbed her eyes and watched again to see herself staring and blinked. Must be her sleepy mind, she thought as she got up to freshen up and dress up.

The day went by and nothing significant happened so she went back, tired but satisfied and clumsily wobbling through her apartment, she ate a cup noodle and deemed it enough to sleep after. She went to her bedroom, stripping down to her underwear to wear her pyjamas when she heard a loud “Shit I did not know you were changing!” and turned around to see a leaving silhouette from the mirror which showed a room definitely not hers.

She almost screamed, but chose to scramble for her clothings and quickly wear the pyjamas, went to stare at the mirror which was now showing her own room. She tried to look at it sideways only to see her own reflection and pulled away.

“Am i hallucinating?” she whispered to herself, giving a last look to the mirror as she went to her bed.

“Have i finally lost it?” she whispered again and turned away from the mirror to have a fitful night of sleep.

The Next day Daeun woke up with an expected headache and cursed whatever she saw in the mirror to not let her sleep in peace. That day she was slightly out of everything at work - her regulars asking her if she was okay and she tried her best to assure them she was, worried that confiding in someone about what she saw would definitely have her certified as a crazy person.

She tried to delay as much as she could to go back to her apartment that night but finally when the clock striked 11pm for the night, she trudged slowly to her home, choosing to eat at the nearby convenience store and finally she stood outside her apartment.

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door, the silence welcoming. She sighed and cursed herself for being scared for nothing and after freshening up, went to her room. She turned the lights on, not expecting a man to be getting up from the floor but on the inside of the mirror who said, “oh you’re late today!”

Sadly that was all she remembered as she saw the corners of her vision blurring and blackening, losing her footing as a yelp died down on her tongue.

A while later, she got up, groaning as she looked at the clock above her vanity, it was slightly past 1 in the morning and she rubbed her head softly, feeling the bump she probably gained when she fell and whined. Things were not supposed to go like this.

“Oh you're up! Please don't faint again, i really can't get out of here on my own and you have no clue how anxiety inducing this past hour has been for me.” she heard and she turned her neck to see a man inside the mirror, carefully looking at her, his hands up in a way to let her know that he was harmless and the room behind him was definitely not hers and she didn't knew him and she could feel her breath quickening as she scrambled back on the floor, a whimper escaping her lips when her back touched her bed.

“Please I won't hurt you.” the man pleaded again and she shook her head.

“All serial killers say that.” she whispered, eyes quickly looking for something to grab to hit him with.

“Serial killers are also not usually stuck inside a mirror so.” he said as he placed his hand on the mirror on his side, his open palm in her vision and something akin to peace engulfed her.

Could he really not come here?

“Am i hallucinating?” she asked and he snorted, his eye roll very clear to her and she felt her blood rushing to her cheeks. This was embarrassing.

“No you’re not.”

“And you’re real?” she asked again and saw him nod hesitantly.

“At Least i think I am?”

She sat up now, a bit more comfortably, “And you can't get out of there?” she asked again and he nodded.

“I need someone to come inside and take me out. I can't come out on my own.” at his words her eyes widened and she took a step closer to the mirror.

“I can come inside?” and he nodded again, stepping back on the inside as if to give her way.

“Do you want to try?” he asked.

She knew it was a bad idea. What of this was all a plot to get her inside and what if she gets stuck, but maybe it was his downturned eyes or his warm smile that tempted her to believe him.

“What's..your name?” she asked as she took a couple more steps towards the mirror, standing in front of it now, looking at him on the other side.

“Donghun. Lee Donghun.” he said as he beckoned at her to come in. she touched the surface of the mirror - the usual cold tough material suddenly felt like soft silk at her fingertips and she gasped.

“What's your name?” Donghun asked and she looked at him intently staring at her point of contact with the mirror.

“Kim Daeun.” she said as she tried to push her hand through the mirror, which went past the barrier easily, and she felt warmth surround her hand on the other side of the mirror.

“Step in..” she heard him whisper and nod, hypnotically almost, following his voice in as she stepped inside.

A sudden warmth surrounded her as she looked around at the small room - the warmth wasn't uncomfortable but it was still warmer than her own heated apartment.

“The room looks nice.” she said as she looked around the closed off room with one door and no window. It had a bookshelf full of books, a lamp on a table beside it which had a few diaries and notebooks on it. There was a bed on the wall against the bookshelf with a small table beside it which had another lamp. There was also a light overhead on the wall as she looked up.

“What's through the door?” she asked and saw him smirking.

“Why don't you find out for yourself?” he asked as she, deciding to trust him, walked up to the door and pulled at it. When it didn't budge, she pulled again, this time with more pressure but it won't budge.

“It..wont open?” she said and Donghun smiled at her but it didn't reach his eyes. He was stuck here.

“It has never opened since I have opened my eyes here. My only source of knowing day and night is through the mirror.” he said as he pointed at the mirror.

Suddenly though, Daeun felt dizzy and grabbed the corner of the table as Donghun came to stand in front of her.

“Are you alright?”

She tried to nod but the lights started flickering creepily and two books fell down from the bookshelf.

“What’s going on?” she asked, panic clear in her voice.

“I think you should leave. I dont think this place wants you here.” Donghun said, frantically pulling her towards the mirror as she stumbled on her feet as he pushed her away. A few seconds later she was in her own room, looking at her own reflection from the mirror, no sign of Donghun left except for the slight red marks around her wrist from where he had grabbed her and pushed her away.

The next morning she woke up with a heavy head thanks to the mere 2 hours of sleep she managed to have and again no sign of Donghun. She even tried knocking at the mirror in hopes of seeing him but no sign.

The day trudged at a snail’s space as if mocking her frenzy to go back home. For the first time since she had opened her shop, she rushed back home as soon as she closed her shop, deciding to clean the next day in the morning.

She opened her apartment in a hurry, kicking off her boots and throwing off the coat at the couch, eyes falling on the red marks still on his wrist - her sole reminder that yesterday in fact, actually happened.

She rushed to her room, turning on the lights and felt a huge surge of relief flooding her system when Donghun smiled at her, albeit surprised as he stood up from the floor on his side of the mirror.

“You’re earlier than usual today.” he said as he closed the book and she saw him going out of the frame of the mirror and coming back empty handed.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” she said as she felt her anxiety of the day pass as she slumped down on the bed.

“Why won't I be?” he said, a small smirk still present on his face as he tucked his blond hair behind his ear and she looked away, praying to the gods above that her face won't flush red and failing miserably at that.

“I don't know. You didn't show up after that nor this morning so i was just worried.” she said, looking at the floor instead of at him, adamant to avoid his gaze.

His laugh made her look up at him.

“You’re cute.”

After that, her daily schedule got tweaked a bit - now she started closing her shop half an hour early, cleaning and going back home to Donghun, the man in her mirror who had her absolutely enchanted.

“What do you mean you’ve never eaten anything?” she said as she took off her scarf and threw it on the bed, picking a pair of clothes to change in the bathroom. She hadn't tried going back in since then but he had come out for a while, going back in after a few minutes to 2 hours till now.

“I've never felt it, that's all i'm saying.” she heard him say and chuckled as she stepped out in her work clothes only and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I was thinking..” she trailed off. “What do you think will happen if you stay longer than 2 hours outside of the mirror?”

Donghun looked to be thinking. “I dont know?” and she nodded.

“You want to go see my shop?”

Half an hour later, Donghun was wrapped in an old men’s coat she had found that morning that brought this whole idea into her mind. She was giddy - her shop was her baby and she had built it over the past two years with everything she has got. And Donghun was one of the few people she was nervous about showing it to.

They entered the shop and the fascination on Donghun’s face and how it lit up made all her nerves leave. He was happy at the one place that keeps her going.

When they were coming back, after she gave him the small flower crown she had made for him, which he happily kept on his head, they were on their way back to her home when his stomach grumbled and they stopped dead in their tracks.

“I thought you have never felt hunger.” she whispered and looked at him looking at her wide eyed.

“So did i.”

They ended up at the convenience store near her apartment. And she ended up indulging all of his demands and they came home with two bags full of convenience store snacks. They munched on them, lost in conversation as Donghun told him how different the world was when he almost stepped out, somewhere around the 90s Daeun assumed from his description.

“Where was the mirror before?” she asked and he hummed.

“Somewhere near the water? Ocean? I think it was jeju?” he said and she hummed.

“I used to be able to be out and about for way longer than now. Almost a day and it used to be so much fun.” he added wistfully and she smiled at it.

“So why can't you be out longer now?” he shrugged.

“Also why was the mirror sent here?” she asked the question that has been occupying her thoughts for a while.

“I am not sure. One day I just could not see out of the mirror and when I could, it was your room.”

Due to the ongoing discussion, they didn't realise how much time had passed until Donghun gasped. He looked at the clock and got up suddenly and Daeun followed as he tried to go back.

“Donghun? What’s wrong? Daeun asking, grabbing his wrist and then she saw it.

The bracelet she had noticed him always wearing, it was burning his skin. The black braided bracelet was turning his skin red with every passing second until he pulled his hand loose and went back into the mirror and she was left alone in her room.

That night a lot of thoughts kept her awake. Wandering from why she was the one who received the mirror to how he was quite literally burning when he overstayed in her world. Whatever was going on in her mind, she slept with the vague fear of never being able to be long enough with him.

She was a kid - about 8 years old? When she remembered going to Jeju island with her family. There was an antique shop on the beach with a lot of cheap trinkets and it was almost always occupied with tourists as she noticed whenever she would go to the beach. On the last day, her mother wanted to buy some souvenirs from there so they went in. Her mother and father were busy discussing gifts when she wandered off to the back of the store which only had really dull items for a 8 year old, a huge golden mirror caught her eyes. It was the shiniest item in the whole shop and she happily sat in front of it, staring at her reflection when something flickered in it.

There was a vague flicker of an image of a man with sad eyes who smiled down at her.

“Hi little one.”

She woke up with cold sweat. She tried to convince herself it was a dream and forced herself to freshen up. By the time she was ready to go out, she was sure that it was in fact not a dream and was now sure that that was the place where Dongun was before. Now the question was, does he remember her?

That night when she got back home, Donghun was waiting for her with a smile and she was weak. So she did not bring up that she had seen him before. But she did tell him that she found this antique shop down at Jeju which was on the beach and likely to be the place he was at earlier. When she showed him the pictures, she saw a flicker of recognition come on his face and then a huge smile took over.

“Yes that is it!”

So that night ended with their potential plans to fly to Jeju and find some information. He asked her to come inside the room again and for the first time, nothing happened - no dizziness, no discomfort, only the peace Donghun had started to bring in her life. She woke up in that room with his arms around her and it was blissful. She went back to her own room and spent the whole day with a kiddish smile and closed up earlier than usual to rush home.

She stilled as soon as she entered her apartment though when she smelled food. Donghun was supposed to be stuck and she just got home so it made no sense. But as she moved in further, a sight that took her breath away greeted her - Donghun with a “kiss the cook” apron around his waist was tasting something and then he turned around and she almost cried.

“You’re out..” she whispered as she took a couple steps towards him and he gave her a huge smile. “I tried it today and it somehow worked! If this goes on, I think I'll be able to stay longer too outside!” he said gleefully but Daeun was overcome with emotions as she went and hugged him suddenly.

She hadn't realised how much that man had come to mean to her and she could not stop the sob that came over.

“Hey hey! What's wrong?”

“Nothing!” she said as she hiccuped and buried her face in his shoulder and felt him combing his hands through her hair as he cooed at her.

“I'm just very happy to see you!”

He pulled back to smile at her and that was the moment she realized how close her face was to his and how much she wanted to kiss those lips. As if he had read her mind, he leaned down softly, only to stop and stare at her eyes until she nodded and tugged at his shirt.

That night was everything and nothing like she could have imagined and in the morning she woke up, sore and giggling with the kisses he was pressing on her face. She got ready to go to her shop with him clinging to her back with pressing kisses to the marks he left behind last night and she had to use all of her will power to actually move away.

A few days later, Donghun asked her if they could go on a trip to Jeju and an excited Daeun purchased tickets online and pulled out a lot of cash from her account on her way home. She entered her house to see donghun cooking again and went to give him a peck. “I've booked the tickets, let’s go shopping tomorrow before going to Jeju!” she told him excitedly.

That night Donghun insisted on sleeping inside saying he was feeling exhausted and Daeun insisted on joining him, since she hadn’t experienced any discomfort since the first time.

The next morning she woke up to a really bad headache and a cold bed. As she looked around and found Donghun missing, she got up and pulled on a donghun’s shirt from the floor as she trudged to the mirror. She found it weird how unlike the usual scene of her own room, this time around the mirror showed nothing but an endless baclk hole. That should have been her first sign. But she missed it.

Ignoring it, she tried to go through it to her own room but the mirror was equal to a wall. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

“Donghun?” she called out but received no response.

She tried to go through the mirror again and then she noticed it. The balck braided bracelet on her own wrist.

One month later

The public are at an uprising against the police since today marks one month of the mysterious disappearance of Kim Daeun. The police are still adamant on ruling it as a robbery gone wrong on the basis of the cash gone missing that she had apparently taken out the day before and the broken mirror in her room as a potential sign of struggle. The lack of any ransom call had ruled out the possibility of a kidnapping and there's a very low chance that she’s still alive. Although the police stays adamant that they can still save her since no body had been found.

The man scoffed behind his mask as he waited at the pickup station of the cafe as the barista prepared his order.

“Lee Donghun-ssi?” the barista asked and he stepped forward and thanked the barista as he took his coffee and exited the cafe.

#a.c.e #a.c.e donghun #lee donghun #a.c.e scenario #a.c.e scenarios #a.c.e imagine #a.c.e imagines #donghun imagines #donghun scenarios #ACEWRITERS

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