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t0wnspersonb · 4 years ago

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Better Off As Lovers (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Word Count: 5,076

Warnings: SMUT, oral (female receiving), bad language, my shit writing

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salty4tsukki

said:

hello! i luv ur blog sm!! can i pls req a scenario (or hc if that’s easier) of tsukki and reader going from enemies to lovers? perhaps reader ended up doing tsukki a solid that saved his ass and that marked the turning point of their relationship? sfw+nsfw if that’s oki!! tysm in advanced :-)

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Here is some spice for you guys. I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing it lol. Tsukishima is such a fucking prick, I absolutely love it. @salty4tsukki I hope this was what you had wanted, also thank you so much for your support! Requests are closing tomorrow! I’m slowly but surely making my way through all of the requests and writing stuff up. I should probably be focusing on school but ya girl is avoiding responsibilities right now lmao. I hope you guys have a wonderful weekend!😚😚😚

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“You’re literally the fucking worst.” you hissed; eyes narrowed into slits. “I bet hell gave you back to earth because you’re worse than Satan himself.”

All you got in response was a raise of a blonde eyebrow and an ignorant smirk.

“You want to get hit? Is that what you’re asking for?” You threatened, holding your fist up for emphasis.

You had never been more upset; in all honesty you probably wouldn’t have been this annoyed about the situation if it was someone else.

But because it was him, you knew that it was intentional, it wasn’t an accident as everyone else was making it seem.

“Now, now…” Koganegawa said, stepping between the two of you. “Tsukki didn’t know that was your dessert. It was an honest mistake.”

“That’s not an honest mistake Kanji!” You screeched. “I literally told everyone how excited I was to finally get my hands on that famous strawberry shortcake from that bakery! I got the last slice and he went and ate it!” you pointed at the tall blonde accusingly; who’s smirk was growing wider and wider as you wailed about the unfairness of it all.

“Can’t you just go get another one?” Kyoutani huffed, rolling his eyes from his spot on the floor.

“They’re famous for a reason Kentarou! I had to get up super early to stand in line! And even then, the line was super long! I waited for hours! You think I’m going to do that again!?” You were all but hysterical now.

You might have already been having a rough day though, and your missing cake was the cherry on top to it all.

The soft huff of a laugh caused you to whirl around, your tiny fists coming up to hit Tsukishima on his chest repeatedly.

“You’re the fucking worst!” you huffed out, frustrated tears springing to your eyes. The tall blonde was full on laughing at you now, much to your embarrassment and anger.

You couldn’t lie, it was a tad bit irrational to get so upset over a missing slice of cake. But it was a long sucky day, you were looking forward to that delicious morsel of strawberry goodness after practice, and it wasn’t fucking there.

“You’re so weak,” Tsukishima mused, easily grasping your hands in his large ones, preventing you from hitting him further.

Despite his rude words, his grip was surprisingly gentle.

You still ripped your hands away from his in anger.

“Don’t touch me, you thief.” You growled, cradling your hands against your chest, eyes glaring into the tall male.

“You’re so annoying. I already apologized.” Tsukishima said, stretching his arms above his head.

“An apology won’t bring back my cake!” You snapped, grabbing your stuff from the floor. “You’re the worst Tsukishima. Let’s go already, Kentarou.” You huffed.

The said male rolled his eyes before saying goodbye to his teammates, following you out of the gym.

You were still fuming quietly as you two walked home together.

Funnily enough, you had developed a close friendship with the small male, which resulted in him walking you home since he lived close by.

“I hate him.” You whined, tugging at the bottom of Kyoutani’s team jacket.

He swatted your hand away, causing you to whine again, reaching for him once more, he sighed in irritation but let you hold onto his jacket this time.

“You guys just need to fuck already.” He said.

You stopped walking; causing Kyoutani to be yanked back since you were holding onto his jacket.

“What the fuck Y/n?” He growled.

“I would never in a million years have sex with someone like him.” You said, face twisting in disgust.

Kyoutani had definitely lost his mind with that comment. Tsukishima was your enemy, your opposite half, the worst person that you have ever met, there was just no way.

“Are you serious?” He asked deadpanned. “It’s so disgustingly obvious you two like each other.”

You rolled your eyes at him, releasing his jacket from your grasp as you guys continued walking. “You’re blind Kentarou, we hate each other.”

“I think you’re the one who’s blind Y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow for morning practice.” he said waving goodbye to you as you entered your home.

The rest of your night was plagued with thoughts of Tsukishima, leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth despite the fact that you had brushed your teeth.

There was no way that Tsukishima liked you, nor you him. You did find him incredibly attractive, but who wouldn’t? He was tall and muscular, incredibly intelligent, and he was a good volleyball player.

Of course, people would find him attractive, but his personality was anything but, to you at least.

Your first ever interaction with him was entirely unpleasant, his mocking attitude and sarcastic comments left you with the worst impression of him, and it resulted in how you felt about him now.

But then… What did Kyoutani mean about you being blind?

You screamed loudly into your pillow.

****

“You look terrible.” Tsukishima raised his eyebrow at you, taking in your disheveled form.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” You muttered, rubbing at your eyes tiredly.

Tsukishima was actually quiet for once, somehow you had missed the flash of concern that shot through his eyes.

That didn’t go unnoticed by Kyoutani, who rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath how dense both of you were.

Practice ran smoothly, there surprisingly wasn’t any sarcastic comments directed at you from Tsukishima. For the most part, he left you alone today, much to your relief.

Now you were currently in one of the history classes you were a TA in. Between managing a volleyball team, and being a teaching assistant, it was no wonder you were always stressed out.

Funnily enough, Tsukishima was one of the students in that class.

“We’re going to hand back your midterm essays now.” The professor announced. You grabbed the papers from your folder and started walking around the class handing them back to the nervous students.

Your brows furrowed as you had realized that you only held three more papers in your hand, you hadn’t even given Tsukishima’s - oh. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked over at the tall male, he looked irritated, his eyes finding yours, there was a slight shake to his head.

He had never turned in the essay.

That’s right, the essay was due around the same time that volleyball practices were incredibly strenuous in preparation for some important matches.

But the midterm essay counted as a large portion of the grade, which meant that if Tsukishima received a zero, then he would fail the class, which meant that he wouldn’t be allowed to play volleyball any -

“I seemed to have made a mistake Professor.” You said. “I think I lost Tsukishima’s paper…”

What were you doing?

Shit, you could get in big trouble for this so why were you doing this?

“It’s not like you to be scatterbrained like this Y/n.” the Professor shook his head. “I swear you take on too many tasks, between this and being a team manager… Tsukishima, do you mind turning in the paper again to Y/n? Let us say… by the end of the day?”

“It’s no problem sir.” Tsukishima said quietly, eyes glancing over to you as you finished handing out the last of the essays.

“I’m sorry Tsukishima, I hope you can forgive me.” You said sweetly, bowing at him slightly.

What the fuck?

What the actual fuck were you doing?

Tsukishima was taken back by your tone and your show of respect towards him, that was new.

That was… shit was he blushing? He ignored the creeping heat in his face and the slightly quicker thump of his heart. He pushed his glasses up slightly. “It’s not a problem.” he said quietly.

You nodded at him once more as you made your way back towards the front of the room, ignoring the rising blush in your own face and the racing of your own heart. You got lucky that the professor really took a liking to you as his TA, you could get away with murder when it came to this class.

Tsukishima was incredibly lucky as well, he was the top student in this class, never missed any assignments, always participated in class, so of course the professor was going to be more lenient with him.

No one would have ever guessed that he had never turned in his midterm, except you.

That was something that you didn’t understand, why would you help him out?

It was because he was just part of your team, right? You were doing this because you wanted your team to succeed right? He was one of the best players you had, so if you lost him that would hurt the team… that was why, right?

Or maybe… maybe Kyoutani was right.

Maybe, just maybe, by chance you actually did harbor a small attraction to the tall blonde.

****

The rest of the day was seemingly uneventful, and you found yourself wrapping up the evening volleyball practice.

“Hey.” an all too familiar voice called out, a sudden shadow being cast over your small form as you began picking up the volleyballs on the floor.

You glanced up to see Tsukishima looking down at you, curiosity clear in his gold eyes.

“What is it?” You asked, ignoring the quickening of your heart. What was wrong with you?

“Why did you do that?” he asked, beginning to pick up the balls.

“What do you mean?” You sighed tiredly, you just wanted to go home. You had no energy left in your body to argue with the snarky male before you.

“You knew that I didn’t turn in the paper… why did you lie to the professor like that?” He asked quietly.

“Well…” your eyes slid over to him before looking down at the ball in your hands. “I knew that the professor would cut you some slack since you are one of his favorite students… plus… it would be bad if you got a zero, right? You would’ve failed the class…” You trailed off, your eyes glancing back up at him, taking notice to the small smirk that began to cover his lips.

“- and we can’t afford to lose one of our players! You’re tall and stupid but you’re a decent player so that’s why I did it! I didn’t want to hurt the team just because you were being stupid and forgetful!” You said, voice annoyed as you all but slammed the volleyball into his arms. “Hurry up and put those away, I want to go home.” you huffed, stalking away.

You hadn’t noticed the small smile that overtook his face as he watched you walk away.

“Are you ready to go?” You asked once you guys had finished cleaning up, Kyoutani nodded, grabbing his bag from the floor.

“Hold on.” a hand grabbed the back of your jacket, yanking you back into a warm and broad chest.

You blinked up to see Tsukishima peering down at you, eyebrows raised.

You could feel your face burn at his proximity and as you stumbled away from him.

“W-What is it now?” You stuttered out.

“Here. Professor said to give it to you by the end of the day. I just had to reprint it out.” he said, handing you his midterm.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you actually did the assignment?”

“It was already done, I just forgot to submit it.” he said, shrugging.

“And I thought you were just lazy and didn’t do it at all.” You said in awe, eyes skimming through the papers.

“Don’t put me in with the likes of you.” he snorted, eyes rolling, although there was an unseen fondness swimming within those golden orbs, unseen to you at least. It was entirely apparent to Kyoutani who seemed to have a larger scowl on his face.

“Shut up stupid! I’m going to grade your paper harshly now!” you hissed, glaring at him.

“You can try,” he drawled out. “But I did the assignment perfectly. I shouldn’t get anything less than an A.”

“We’ll see.” you snapped.

****

“Stupid Tsukishima. Does he have to be perfect at everything?” You grumbled to yourself as you finished grading his paper.

He was right.

He did the assignment perfectly.

You shouldn’t have said anything to the professor, especially if he was going to be so smug about it.

Why was he so infuriating?

You could see the flash of his smirk behind your lids when you blinked, it caused your heart to race, your fist to clench tightly together. You just wanted to slap that stupid smirk off of his stupid gorgeous face and -

Damn it.

It seemed like recently your thoughts were completely consumed by him.

“Speak of the devil.” You muttered to yourself when you noticed who was calling you.

“What do you want?” You hissed.

“Oh, good you are awake.” His rang smoothly through the speaker.

“Yeah because I stayed up late to grade your midterm, so I didn’t have to worry about it over the weekend.” You huffed, sitting back in your chair.

“Well what’s the verdict?” he asked smugly.

You could feel your nostrils flaring in anger at his tone. “You got an A. Which is surprising to me since you’re the biggest moron that I know.”

“I already told you not to lump into the same category as you.”

“I’m hanging up now.” you announced, your blood boiling at his comment.

“Wait. Go open your door.” he demanded.

You frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Just do it and hurry up.” you could all but see his eyes rolling.

You huffed angrily, stalking over to your front door, and yanking it open to reveal the blonde male smirking at you.

You could feel your brows furrow as you tried to register what was happening.

Tsukishima, your enemy, was standing at the front of your home, cladded in his team jacket and joggers, and he was holding a bag.

“Took you long enough.” he said, removing the phone from his ear and stepping past you into your home.

He was already removing his shoes and placing them on the shoe rack near your front door, heading towards your kitchen.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” he called out, never looking back.

That comment snapped you out of your confusion, you quietly closed the door, following after the blonde that was beginning to make tea like he was in his own home and not someone else's.

“What are you doing?” You asked quietly, eyes following his every movement.

“Just be quiet and sit down.” he said simply, and for some reason… you actually listened.

You wracked your brain for all the reasons as to why Tsukishima was in your home this late at night, using your kitchen.

You snapped back to reality when he placed a plate and a mug in front of you.

Your eyebrows raised slowly, but you couldn’t help the twinkle in your eyes as you gazed at the treat before you.

A slice of cake, but the strawberry shortcake from that bakery to be exact. The sweetness of the strawberries and cream, along with the earthy scent of the tea, caused a delicious warmth to swell up in your body.

“How did you -”

“It’s a thank you.” he cut you off, pulling up a chair across from you, tea and cake sitting in front of him. “For helping me out with the paper.”

You couldn’t help the smile that began to stretch across your lips, Tsukishima seemed shy almost, embarrassed maybe? Whatever it was, it was a pleasant change from his usual scowl and smirk.

“Did you wait long?” you asked quietly, carefully cutting into the cake. “They aren’t even open at this hour…”

“No, the line wasn’t too bad, I went after practice finished.” he said, glancing over at you. It was a partial lie, Tsukishima did wait a long time, but he did go after practice had finished.

“Why did you wait this long to come over then?” you asked, sighing in pleasure as you took a bite.

There was a reason why this bakery was so famous for their strawberry shortcake, it was the best cake you had ever had.

“I thought you might’ve been too busy in the evening, since you promised coach you would hand in those data forms tomorrow… and the in class activity we did today… you said you would grade tonight and get it back to us Monday…” he trailed off quietly, cutting into his slice.

You blinked at him, the thumping in your heart increasing.

Since when was he so observant with you?

“Since always. You’ve just never noticed.” he said, gold eyes boring into your own.

You could feel your face heating up, shit, did you really ponder that aloud?

What was this feeling bubbling up in your gut? It burned and turned pleasantly the longer you stared at him.

A sudden shyness washed over you as you broke eye contact, eyes casting back down to the cup of tea that was now resting between your hands.

“O-Oh.”

It was silent again, it wasn’t awkward, but there was definitely something lingering heavily in the air.

You just couldn’t place your finger on it.

“You have something…” Tsukishima began to say, suddenly reaching over, his strong fingers gently grasped your chin, tilting it up, thumb beginning to brush at the corner of your lips.

Without even thinking about it, your tongue darted out, swiping across his thumb, tasting the saltiness of his skin and the sweetness of the cream that had lingered at the corner of your mouth.

Tsukishima’s eyes darkened considerably; air rushing out of his nose as he exhaled deeply. His thumb rubbing against your lower lip.

Your eyes glazed over, lips parting slightly, inviting him entrance to your mouth. Tsukishima’s thumb pushed past your lips, resting on your tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, your tongue gently running along the pad of his thumb.

You could feel the blood roaring in your ears, your stomach twisting in arousal.

“Fuck.” he whispered, the sound of a chair being pushed back, his thumb leaving the wetness of your mouth.

It all happened so fast, by the time you had opened your eyes Tsukishima was hauling you out of your chair and up on the counter. His large hand grasped your face firmly before slamming his lips against yours.

You gasped, allowing his tongue to snake his way in, exploring every inch of your wet cavern.

You couldn’t help the moan that tore through your throat, your arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers sliding into the blonde locks at the back of his head, your legs wrapping around his hips.

Fuck, you couldn’t get enough of this. He was everywhere, warm and solid against your body; all you could smell was him, all you could taste was him and fuck did he taste good. You could still taste the sweetness of cream on his tongue, the tartness of the strawberries, and him.

It was intoxicating.

You were drowning in everything that was Tsukishima and fuck did you like it. The way his big hands gripped at your face, your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you deeper, it was too much.

But it also wasn’t enough.

“What are you - ahh - what are you doing?” you whimpered out, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he trailed his hot lips against your throat, sucking and biting at every inch of it.

“What do you think I’m doing you idiot?” he breathed against the shell of your ear. He grinded his hips against yours causing the loud moan to escape your lips, he was hard against you.

“I don’t…” you whined softly as he grabbed your hips, pressing you tightly against his crotch, grinding against you sinfully. “I don’t understand… Tsukki… Kei.” you whined again, hips bucking up on their own, aching for more friction.

Fuck you were so wet, so hot and bothered, you needed him to touch you more.

“Fuck.” he hissed out, eyes squeezing tightly together as you whined out his name. “Fuck… you’re so infuriating. You still don’t get it do you?” he growled out, nipping at your lobe as his ragged breathing increased.

You couldn’t muster up any words, all that escaped your lips was a drawn-out moan as one of his hands reached up and massaged one of your breasts harshly.

“I like you, Y/n. I’ve liked you since the very beginning. But you never… fuck…” he hissed as you slipped a hand under his shirt, nails dragging against his smooth skin. You could feel the muscles of his stomach flexing beneath your touch, the pace of his hips increasing against yours.

“You never noticed.” he finally growled out, reaching up and yanking your shirt off your body. “The only time you ever paid attention to me was when I made you mad, you simple minded woman. It’s so easy to get you riled up…” he kissed you harshly now, teeth knocking together before he bit into your lip harshly, causing your nails to dig further into his chest.

“But then in class when you lied straight-faced to the professor… and then when you looked at me with that sweet expression, and those wide eyes… I couldn’t help but wonder what other kinds of faces you can make for me.” he finished quietly. His breathing was labored, and his lips were swollen but the intensity of his gaze caused your body to squirm.

“What do you say?” he asked, his voice deep and rough, his grip on you was still tight, but his hips had stilled, he was pulled back slightly from you, allowing you space to breathe.

“Please.” You whimpered out, tears springing up in your eyes, you were too riled up now, body too hot and aching for release.

You needed him. You needed Tsukishima to touch you more, you needed him to whisper filth into your ear, you needed to feel his skin sliding against yours, and most of all, you needed him be buried deep inside of you.

“I need to hear you say it Y/n.” He grasped your jaw, angling your face up to his as he stared down at you. “Say it.”

You could feel your lower lip quivering, you were aching for it, aching for him. “Kei please! Just - just fuck me already!” you wailed. “What are you waiting for!? Just fuck m-” he yanked you off of the counter, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he carried you to your couch, dropping you down haphazardly before his hands were everywhere, ripping the clothes off your body until you were completely bare.

He stared shamelessly at your nakedness, eyes running over every curve of your body. His hands rested on your bent needs, pulling them open and staring openly at your glistening cunt.

“Don’t look.” you whimpered, moving one of your hands to cover yourself up. He easily knocked your hand away.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” he said as he moved to remove the rest of his clothing.

Tsukishima was beautiful, long, and lean, his muscular frame exposed to your greedy eyes as you scanned his body.

Your lips trembled at the sight of his stiff member, leaking precum and standing painfully tall.

He grasped his cock lazily, his hand easily sliding up and down his shaft as he gazed down at you. His other hand reached down to gather the obscene amount of wetness that was gathering between your legs.

“You’re soaked,” he moaned, eyes flashing dangerously. “You want me to fuck you? Or do you want me to taste you?”

You could feel your mouth run dry at his questions.

Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed slightly, his large hand coming down to swat at your thigh. You gasped the stinging sensation, your arousal spiking dramatically.

“Answer me.” he demanded.

Your lips trembled, eyes glazing over with unshed tears, you were so pent up, you needed something, anything that would provide you with some kind of release.

It was only for a moment, but there was a flash of gentleness, the hand that had swatted at your thigh rubbed at the skin tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful.” he said quietly, and then he was moving to situate himself between your legs, grasping at your thighs before his head ducked down and his hot tongue licked a strip up your soaked slit until it rested on your clit.

You moaned loudly; your head being thrown back as your body trembled with pleasure.

His tongue lapped lazily against you, flickering up and down against that swollen bundle of nerves, occasionally dipping further down, sliding into your entrance, tasting you completely before sliding back up.

It didn’t take long for you to get close to your orgasm. Your body was taut, aching for release. It was too much almost; your fingers tangled tightly in his hair, you couldn’t tell if you were pushing him away or pulling him closer.

All you knew was that he was giving you everything right now. Tsukishima pulled your clit into his mouth now, sucking hard, his front teeth gently brushing against it.

Your legs were tense, thighs quacking as you approached your release, the quiet room was filled with your drawn out moans and pants, wet slurping noises escaping your lower half as Tsukishima all but devoured your cunt completely.

You came with a cry, body convulsing against the cushions of the couch, thighs trying to close together, squeezing tightly against Tsukishima’s head. You whimpered brokenly as you tried to wiggle yourself away from the blonde that was still sucking at your clit, but his grip was tight, refusing to let you go, forcing your over sensitive cunt to produce another orgasm.

In the midst of it all, he yanked himself away, lining his stiff cock against your swollen entrance and then snapping his hips forward, sheathing himself inside of you completely.

A loud cry tore through your lips, you were still in the middle of your orgasm when he entered, your slick gushing out around him and spilling onto the cushions below.

“Are you gonna cum again?” he breathed watching you in awe as you struggled to adapt to his size.

“Fuck you are.” he moaned, your tight walls fluttering around him as your third one ripped through your body. “I can’t believe you came again just from me entering you.” he breathed out, hands resting on your hips.

Tsukishima gave you no time to adjust, his hips snapping forward harshly as he set a brutal pace.

You could feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your fingers gripping at the couch, needing something, anything to hold on to.

His cock rubbed against your walls perfectly, your body having no time to keep up with his movement, the stretch burned, the pleasure toe curling. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper, keeping him closer.

Suddenly your world shifted, Tsukishima hauled your body up, forcing you to sit on top of his thick member. You cried out loudly, this new position caused his cock to rub up inside of you at a new angle.

He never stopped, his large hands gripped at your hips now, forcing you up and down as you rode him, his hips snapping up to meet the downwards roll of your hips.

All you could do was grip at his broad shoulders weakly, struggling to keep up with his pace, struggling to adjust to the new depth that he reached within you.

But you couldn’t. You could hardly breathe, you couldn’t think of anything except for Tsukishima and the pleasure he was giving you.

“Look at you.” he groaned, eyes never leaving your face. “You make the sweetest faces when I’m inside of you.”

“Kei…” You sobbed. “Please.”

You weren’t sure what you were asking for at this point, the pleasure was mind numbing, the room was filled with sounds of your moans and his grunts, the wet squelching noises of your cunt as it was being stuffed over and over again was something that might’ve embarrassed you if you had the time to even think about it.

But you didn’t, all you could think about was unraveling again, all you could think about Tsukishima Kei. Your enemy, the most annoying man you had ever met, but he was also the most intelligent man you had ever met, the most beautiful man you had ever met, and now he was the only man that you ever wanted to receive pleasure from.

You came again with a loud sob, gushing around him, dripping onto his upper thighs, body trembling against his as you collapsed on top of his chest.

He groaned your name loudly, thrusting up sharply into your cunt once more before spilling himself into your hot center.

It felt like time had stopped around you as you struggled to catch your breath. You weren’t sure how long it was that you guys stayed like this.

But you have never been more tired, more comfortable in your entire life than right now.

You could feel your eyes drooping down, your face buried into the crook of his neck, his long fingers gently tracing delicate patterns into the skin of your back.

Tsukishima shifted, easily picking you up, your legs wrapped around his waist, his member still buried deep inside of you. You vaguely remember answering his question about where the bathroom was and soon you found yourself perched up on the bathroom counter.

You could feel his cum slowly leaking out of your swollen cunt, trickling down your leg as he gently cleaned you up. You didn’t even remember how you ended up in your bed, but now you were curled up against the tall blonde, wrapped up in the security of his arms as he rubbed your back gently.

“I still hate you Kei.” you mumbled against his chest, sighing softly before pressing your lips into his smooth skin.

“I know.” he smirked against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “Go to sleep. We’ll go and get breakfast tomorrow.”

Okay maybe you didn’t hate him, but he was still infuriating to you.

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fnf-brain-rot · 4 years ago

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[Whitty x Boyfriend] Chapter - 7 don’t worry about it

Whitty found it hard to rest that night.

He had been thinking about that sad look on Bee's face when he got home that night. He didn't like seeing him sad, it put him on edge. Boyfriend said he would talk it out with him, but they never did talk about what happened over dinner, or even after. The small male simply retired to his room at about ten at night.

He watched the boy sleep, out of being new to staying in one place. Boyfriend obviously wasn't sleeping peacefully, however Whitty had no idea how to fix that. It must have to do with what was bothering him earlier that day. The only thing he could think to do was Boyfriend's favorite form of comfort; physical touch. He tried his best to gently slide into bed with him, curling his large body around him protectively so he could snuggle. Boyfriend didn't wake up, though he did lean against Whitty's arm some, and his tense expression finally calmed down. Whitty smiled a little at the sight. He hadn't known Boyfriend for very long, but seeing him smile was starting to have an affect on him. He was warm, but on the inside. But not warm on the inside like mechanical wise, like.. happy? Was this happiness?

________________________________________________________________________________

Boyfriend felt like shit in the morning.

He opened his eyes, only slightly since a ray of sunshine decided it would be best to hit him directly in the face. He grumbled irritably, turning around so the light wouldn't be in his eyes, though he paused when he saw Whitty staring at him.

Fucking again.

The rapper let out a yelp and shot up in his spot, pulling the covers up on his half naked body. He immediately relaxed though, upon realizing it was Whitty, but tensed when he noticed Whitty was in his bed. "Whitty!! What the hell are you doing in my bed??" He quickly asked, and Whitty sat up beside him, not breaking eye contact. "You looked sad last night.. So I thought it would help if I gave you cuddles.." The bomb responded with a soft tone, then seemed to remember something. His expression took a more serious and angry one, and he pointed to a purple bite mark on Boyfriend's shoulder.

"You told me no one hurt you yesterday. Where did that come from?" He then asked. Boyfriend knew Whitty was naive to most things, that probably included sex and everything surrounding it. "N-No Whits, no one hurt me.. It was uh.. I wanted that.." He then explained softly, though the pang of guilt from the mere thought of Pico made him not want to continue. "Why would you want to be bitten? It looks painful." The taller made a face at the statement. He noticed Boyfriend's face begin to saturate a deep red color, though in context this doesn't seem like a particularly happy conversation.

"I can explain it to you some other time, just uh.. Let me get dressed.." Boyfriend took note of the somewhat disappointed expression on Whitty's face, but he of course nodded, not wanting to impose on his little buddy. He was starting to feel bad about this too.. Maybe he should talk to Gigi and see how she would handle it.

________________________________________________________________________________

He had called the auburn haired girl to meet up at the little local café, and brought Whitty with him this time so he wouldn't be home alone. Besides he and Girlfriend were friends now, so it wouldn't make sense to hide him from her still.

"Whitty! Bee!" Girlfriend ran over to the two as she saw them approach the building down the sidewalk. "Hi Gigi.." Whitty muttered shyly as she tackled his leg in a hug, which he greatly appreciated. She had such a warm, happy aura, it would be impossible not to feel comfortable around her. She pulled away and looked to Boyfriend, who simply gave her a weak smile. It was worse than she thought. "Come on, I reserved one of the rooms back in the building so we could be alone." She hummed, gently rubbing Boyfriend's hand with her thumb to comfort him. He nodded, then followed her, along with Whitty, into the café.

The room wasn't huge, enough for maybe a group of people. Whitty would need all the room he could get. "So, you two been alright since this weekend?" Girlfriend smiled, grabbing the menus from the center of the circular table. "Yeah, I guess.. Whitty's getting more comfortable around the house, considering every morning I wake up to him staring at me." Boyfriend shot Whitty a look, though the taller just seemed confused. "I just like to make sure you're okay.." He pouted a little, causing Gigi to giggle. "You two are so cute." She sighed happily, then remembered what Boyfriend had called her for in the first place.

"Are you doing any better since.. yesterday?" She started, cautiously of course as to not trigger any water works the blue haired male might still have pent up. "Eh.. He still hasn't texted me back. I'm gonna have to go see him sooner or later, but I feel so guilty." Boyfriend dropped his head onto the table in despair, and Whitty leaned down a bit to where his head connected with the smooth surface.

"I mean bailing after sex is kinda.. it's kinda shitty, I'll give him that." Girlfriend nodded her head, only for Bee's head to shoot up. "Aw what!"

"What, do you want me to lie?"

"A little bit yes!" Boyfriend pouted at her. It only made her laugh more. "Sweetie, you know Pico is a sensitive man. He may not show it but he notices every little thing you do, and he takes it all into consideration. He knows you're pretty stupid, and he doesn't even know Whitty yet so you can't expect him to understand why you would leave for him like that." Gigi had moved so she was on the other side of Boyfriend, gently pressing against him in a hug.

Whitty was hella confused as to what they were even talking about right now, but decided to join in the hug anyway. Anything to make his little buddy happy. "Yeah.. You're right.. I don't have the energy to confront that today though.." Bee sighed softly into her shoulder, and she gently cupped his cheek. "Well you're in luck. There's a carnival in town, and I'm taking both of you with me. To get your mind off things. I don't like it when you're mopey." Boyfriend perked a bit at the mention of "carnival", and Whitty made a sound of discomfort. "What's a carnival?" He asked the two softly, and Boyfriend gasped.

He hopped onto the bomb man's lap, squeezing his face in his hands, the excitement showing in his dark eyes. "Oh my god Whitty! you don't know what a carnival is?!" He cried out, bouncing a bit on him. "It's an event where you go to play games and win prizes and ride rides! It's absolutely amazing!" Whitty grunted a bit as Bee began to shake his head a little, and Girlfriend tugged on his pants leg. "Now now, be gentle on the big guy."

"Oh right.. ha, sorry.. I just haven't been in so long." Boyfriend let him go, and plopped back down in his seat. "I used to go all the time with my parents when we were little, but honestly, the events were always really shitty. Like.. the budget was a thousand dollars shitty." He laughed lightly in memory. That town in itself was just.. shitty. No wonder he moved.

"Well I can assure you the ones here are frankly not as bad." Girlfriend smiled, gently giving his arm a squeeze. He was glad he came to talk to her. He would talk to Whitty, but he would have to explain every little thing to him. Plus he didn't want him to worry. "Now order up boys, we have a big day ahead of us." She opened up her menu, and the other two followed suit.

______________________________________________________________________________

The event took place on the far east of the city on the beach. Of course they hadn't walked, Girlfriend simply called a chauffer. Whitty found it very, very hard to sit in that limo. He ended up having to lie on the floor, resting his head and feet parallel on the seats. He looked like a wooden plank with a crook in it. Boyfriend teased him about it for a couple minutes. The guy was unbearable sometimes.

Whitty didn't know how he felt about the carnival at first. There were a lot of people around, a lot of noises, and the sand was hard to walk on. Thank goodness most of it was on solid land. The only major part on the sand were bouncy castles and a few random booths for games he didn't recognize. "Whitty!" Boyfriend's voice cut through his thoughts, forcing him to glance down at the shorty. "Look at the giant wheel up there." He pointed to the Ferris wheel standing tall quite a bit away from them, so he couldn't see the whole thing. Just looking at it made Whitty a little queasy.

"What is that? What.. What is it for?" Whitty asked him, feeling the smaller slip their hands together, intertwining their fingers. "It's one of the rides! You get on and it takes you high up into the air. If we're lucky they'll stop it when we're at the top." Whitty didn't know how he felt about being so high up. "Is it safe?" He looked to Boyfriend with an anxious expression, and the smaller simply nodded. "Of course. It wouldn't be legal if it was unsafe." Whitty hummed in acknowledgement.

"Do you wanna try it?" Boyfriend beamed up at him, and Whitty couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Not.. at the moment.." Boyfriend nodded understandably. "We can play some carnival games while Gigi goes to get our tickets for the fireworks tonight." Boyfriend then informed, beginning to pull his big roommate down onto the boardwalk.

"Fireworks?" Whitty echoed in curiosity. Boyfriend seemed bewildered with how many things Whitty didn't know. He was pretty much born yesterday. "Yeah they're like.. They're lights that shoot up in the sky and go BOOM!" Boyfriend threw up his free hand to exaggerate the explosion. "That sounds scary.." Whitty muttered softly, and Boyfriend laughed at his timid nature. "It's pretty loud yeah, but it won't hurt you. It's like gunpowder and fire and that makes it explode.. I think.. In the air. I'll ask Gigi how it works later." Whitty flashed him an unamused look. He knew just as much as the bomb did.

They decided to try a ring toss booth first. Boyfriend handed the man two dollars for four tries. "Here, I'll do two, and you do two. Watch me." Whitty stood to the side of him, and watched as he held up a red, plastic ring. Boyfriend studied the jars in front of him for a moment, then tossed the ring. Of course, it bounced off the glass in between the jars, falling to the floor under the stand the jars were on. Boyfriend didn't give up. He paused another moment, then threw the second ring, only to have the same result. "Aw man! This game is rigged!" The blue haired male pouted, but Whitty only seemed confused.

"Tough luck bucko." The concession owner shrugged his shoulders, a devious smirk on his face. Boyfriend only glared at him. "Wait, so what's the objective?" Whitty asked softly, awkwardly moving in place of Boyfriend to give his try. "You have to get the ring around one of the bottles. If you get it on the one on top, you can get the best prize!" Boyfriend pointed at some stuffed animals hanging above them. There was a large alien plushie, and one that particularly caught Whitty's eye.

It was a little bomb with little orange feet and cute white eyes. Boyfriend recognized it as the little bomba from the Mario games. "I want that one.." Whitty pointed at it. Boyfriend couldn't help but grin and put a hand on his mouth. Whitty was so cute sometimes, it was ridiculous. Of course he would want the bomb one.

"You gotta get the ring around the jar for it." Boyfriend nudged Whitty's hip in encouragement. It wouldn't hurt to try. He really wanted that little bomb thing. With a new found determination, Whitty focused on the glass jars ahead of him. He tossed the ring, and it bounced off the glass. He whined a little, and looked down to Boyfriend, who gently patted his back. "You got one more try buddy." He hummed softly. Whitty looked back to the jars, huffing lightly under his breath.

He stared for a good thirty seconds, then tossed the ring. He whined again, louder this time as it seemed like it wouldn't hit, but he and Boyfriend gasped in unison as the plastic successfully clinked and dinged against the glass, settling around the top one. "Holy shit Whitty!!" Boyfriend cried out happily, and concession owner seemed surprised. "Well I'll be! That's a different type of luck." He stood, going over to the back of the booth and grabbing the long stick to retrieve Whitty's beloved little bomb plushie. Whitty thankfully took it from him, holding it in front of him and. His eyes stared wide into the smaller white pellets of the soft thing in front of him. "It's.. it's so soft.." The bomb man muttered, wonder in his voice.

"You two have a lovely date na'!" The owner shot a finger gun at them as they began to walk away, making Boyfriend's cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "That was... fun.." Whitty mumbled. He didn't use the word often. He could barely put into words what this emotion was other than, what was it earlier, happiness? Whitty hugged the plushie tight to his chest, a tiny smile on his face.

The two walked around for a bit, looking at all the colorful attractions around, there was even a stage down on the beach, there was a band playing music, rock music of course. It fit the atmosphere of the little fun house down by the pier though. "Oh oh!" Boyfriend suddenly popped up upon smelling a sweet smell. "The carnival has all types of food around! The most popular one is cotton candy!"

"Cotton candy?" Whitty looked down, Boyfriend squeezing his hand in confirmation. "Yeah! Come on I'll show you!" Boyfriend had Whitty sold when he said the word "food". They walked up to another concession stand, one of the little cotton candy machines. Strewn around were different colors of cotton candy on the frame of the stand. Blue, pink, yellow, red, white.

"This is cotton candy. It's made out of uh.. It's not made out of cotton, it's.. sugar or something." Boyfriend made a face in thought. The line was short, thankfully. He and Whitty got to the front in no time. The owner of this stand was a woman, and she smiled at the two men, but seemed to focus on Boyfriend. "Hey, you're that blue haired kid that featured with Mommy must Murder!' She pointed out, and Boyfriend blushed, but tried his best to stand tall. "Yeah that's me! I try my best!" He put a hand on his chest, a confident smile on his face.

"You got quite the voice on you. I wouldn't be surprised if you became as big as some of these mainstream artists. What can I get for ya, darlin?" She gave him a warm smile. Boyfriend cleared his throat, hoping she couldn't see how flustered this was actually making him. "Well, uh.. Whitty, what color do you want?" He turned to his buddy, and Whitty stared at the options available.

"Uh.. red." Whitty hummed softly. "Alright, it'll be ready in just a moment." She grabbed a bottle sitting on a table behind her, pouring an opaque substance into the spinning device in front of her. "How big would you like it?" She asked, and Whitty thought for a moment. He tucked his plushie under his arm and held his hands apart scarily wide. Boyfriend and the woman both laughed awkwardly. "How big can twenty dollars get me?" The blue haired male asked awkwardly. "Twenty is just fine for that amount." She winked at him. Boyfriend smiled sheepishly. People were so nice..

The cotton candy was the size of the giant alien plushie they saw earlier. Whitty happily took it, and Boyfriend paid up. "Good luck on your trip to fame, little guy." She smiled, and held up a fist. He grinned back, and fist bumped her. "Thanks miss!" He walked off on Whitty's side, ducking to avoid the ridiculous amount of cotton candy on that stick.

________________________________________________________________________________

"Whitty! Bf! I've been looking for you guys!" Girlfriend's voice sounded from behind the two. The sun had set a few minutes ago, and the two guys were sitting on a bench down near the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore. They turned around, noticing she was approaching someone else. Wait.. No way.

"NENE?!!" Boyfriend shot up from the bench, damn there sprinting full speed to the girl in pink beside Girlfriend. "Wh- Bee-" She squealed as their bodies collided, and Boyfriend tackled her into the grass below. "Oh, you know each other?" Girlfriend laughed a little as Boyfriend stuffed his face into Nene's neck, squeezing her torso tightly.

"Ow! That hurt! Get off me dumbass!" Nene laughed out, gently pushing against the man. He was starting to suffocate her. They eventually got up, but Boyfriend didn't want to let her go. "I haven't seen you in fucken years how DARE you ghost me!!" He finally let her go, putting his fists against his hips. "I never got your number! I'm sorry! Everything got super busy ever since you moved out!" She smiled and held his hand with both her own.

Whitty stared at the interaction from the bench, not knowing how to feel from the new face. And how much Boyfriend was paying attention to her. Why? Why did he feel that way? He likes Boyfriend's hugs yes, but enough to the point where he felt weird watching him hug someone else? He squeezed onto his plushie again, deciding not to move from his spot as the three interacted, Boyfriend of course being the loudest one. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Oh yeah! I want you to meet someone!"

Whitty's head perked back up, now seeing them begin to walk over to him. He grew a little tense, pressing his knees together. "Whitty, I know you wanna take it slow, but this is the perfect opportunity! This is Nene, a friend of mine!" He grinned at the bomb man as he sat beside him. "Nice to meet you Whitty!" She smiled and waved, and Whitty nervously looked at her. "He's very shy, it'll take him a while to open up." Boyfriend then informed her. "Oh no worries! No pressure." Nene hummed, and Girlfriend laughed at her.

"Hey bb.." Whitty then mumbled out of no where. "I think the Ferris wheel is a good option now." He told him. Boyfriend beamed happily, hopping up from his seat once more. "Hell yeah! Come on let's go!" Whitty didn't really want to get on it. He just wanted to escape this situation. Four people is a lot of people, and one of them he doesn't know well. It was pretty abrupt. Boyfriend didn't seem to notice his discomfort, which was good for Whitty. He didn't want to inconvenience him.

The small man led him to the Ferris wheel, which looked absolutely fucking massive up close. People ride this for fun?? Yeah, a fun torture method. He swallowed nervously as they stood in line, Boyfriend gently bouncing on his toes and humming cheerfully. It helped Whitty to see Boyfriend be so happy. "Woohoo!" Boyfriend threw his fists in the air and exclaimed excitedly, running onto the loading dock when it was their turn. they got booth number twenty four. "Hey Whitty, you know what's funnier than twenty four?" He asked the tall bomb as he strapped himself in his seat. Whitty had to get one of the staff to do it for him. It was confusing. "Funnier? What?" He asked him. "Twenty five." Boyfriend giggled into his hand like a little school girl, and Whitty stared at him, confused.

"What's so funny about numbers?" He mumbled in confusion. they sat there for a couple minutes, Whitty allowing Boyfriend to rant to him about, who the hell knows. He was doing a thing with his hands where he would bounce them up and down, like shaking some maracas. Whitty found that image funny. The queasy feeling in Whitty's stomach returned when he felt the booth begin to move. He held onto his plushy tight, unable to hold Boyfriend due to them being seated across from each other.

"Hey, you nervous?" Boyfriend tilted his head, and Whitty opened his eyes. He hadn't realized he closed them. No wonder he couldn't see anything. Whitty nodded, deciding to be honest. no point in lying to him. "You can come sit by me if you want." He patted the leather seat beside him. It was comfortable, funnily enough. Whitty hesitated for a moment, nervous to even stand up in the moving car, but he eventually unbuckled his belt, doing the opposite of what he saw the ride operator do earlier.

He stood up slowly, swaying a little, which made the booth sway a little. He made a nervous sound, but managed to shuffle toward the blue haired male, taking a stiff seat next to him. "Oh look at the ocean Whitty!" Boyfriend locked arms with the bomb, and that seemed to comfort him to an extent. He hesitantly looked up from the floor, through the clear glass surrounding them.

They weren't too high up yet, but man did everyone look like ants. More so than usual. He wasn't as scared as he thought he would be, though. In fact, he was intrigued. "Woah.." He muttered under his breath, watching as their view slowly ascended above the entire carnival. There was something with fire going on at the stage, and all the lights and colors popped against the darkness of the evening. The ocean stretched out wide, and Whitty watched the sunlight slowly disappear over the horizon. It was at the moment Whitty realized just how.. big the world was.

He looked down at Boyfriend, who had his face pressed against the glass beside him. "Aw man the fire dancers already started.." He pouted a little, but his smile quickly returned as he continued to look out over the sea. He then turned around to look at Whitty, noticing the look on his face.

"What's wrong?" The small rapper blinked, though Whitty couldn't answer right away. He stared at Boyfriend for another moment, the eye contact causing butterflies to explode in the taller's stomach. God he was so.. pretty. Pretty was the word right? He'd have to expand on his vocabulary.

"Thank you, Boyfriend.." Was all he said, and the man in question blushed heavily, looking away and tugging on his collar. "Aw come on Whits, you don't need to thank me.." He uttered out. Whitty enjoyed his company. A lot. He appreciated him. A lot.

He likes him. A lot.

#whitty x boyfriend #fnfwhitmore #fnf whitty #fnf #friday night funkin #fnf girlfriend #whitty x bf

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

It’s A Wonderful Life

Part One & Part Two

Have a great night everyone!

There’s smoke hissing its ascension to the sky. Thick and black near the hood of the car but as it goes up he finds he can’t track it much further than a few feet. It wisps off, sweltering to nothing. The world has sunken into this pitter-patter of noises. The soft tink, tink, tink of cooling metal and engines filling the air.

Letting his eyes slide shut, Aaron falls.

Haley.

a cold hand brushes down his cheek

she looks down at him, her kind smile

she says something to him… he loses it

He blinks his eyes open, blood-caked to the corners. It’s sticky, thickly hardening all over his face. He can taste it on his tongue, down the back of his throat. Which aches from the smoke burning his airway. He coughs hard, jostling his sore body, and for a moment he finds himself hovering. Unable to breathe in as his body tenses. His vision dancing black dots as the pain threatens to pull him back under.

Gasping he wraps his right arm around his torso, crying out when his trembling fingers hit raw, split skin. He closes his eyes, trying to force himself to calm down. Breathe. He just needs to breathe and the rest will come along. Though it hurts to expand his chest and his throat tries to close around itself he forces steady breaths.

Holding it in each lungful… and releasing it as slowly as he can. Steady.

Something rustles behind him and he remembers Jack-- if his heart is racing, fear nearly overcoming every tactical and first-aide training rule he’s ever been taught then Jack has to be terrified. It hits him, that the severity of his own wounds can not be the priority. No matter what happens has to stay awake. Has to be present so that someone can explain to Jack what’s going on. So that he gets out of here.

“Jack?” The crack of his own voice startles him and he knows Jack doesn’t like it either. Jack whimpers softly behind Hotch, kicking his little foot out in protest. Great, he thinks, solid one, Aaron. Rasping and slurring his son’s name is not the best way to connect. He clears his throat, needing a moment to recover as he puts all of his energy into steadying himself. To sound confident, of a sound body. “Buddy? You okay?”

He’s not sure what exactly it is that he’s expecting. There’s no way Jack’s going to use sign language, he doesn’t even know the sign for okay and if he did Hotch wouldn’t be able to see it.

The realization of what he has to do… is too much.

He pulls in a shaking breath, frustrated with himself. He can feel himself slipping, losing his facilities. The strain produces sharp pain in his chest but he ignores it. Forcing his right hand off of his side he tries to wipe the blood off of it, rubbing his palm into his dress pants. Then, despite how deeply his chest aches, he forces his arm back. Slipping it back until he comes in contact with one of those light-up sketchers.

Jack giggles and taps his foot against Hotch’s fingers.

To think he’d thought those shoes were impractical…

He winces, holding his breath as a wave of intense pain spreads across his chest. A stabbing pain that leaves him lightheaded. “Jack…” he tries to lift his head. To force himself to stay awake but with a muffled grunt his eyes roll into the back of his head. Body limply leaning to the right.

aaron?

haley draws lazy patterns into his bare hip, smiling at him

he opens his mouth-- a question on the tip of his tongue

she smiles and leans close, silencing him with a gentle kiss

her fingers slip up the back of his head

“stay here,” she whispers, “just a moment longer”

self-preservation has never been his finest skill

The windshield is a spiderwebbed mess.

This isn’t the first time that he has been trapped between a steering wheel and a splintering windshield. His history with Bureau lent SUV’s and using them like federal grade battering rams is well known-- something either gets him a little heat or a strangely approving nod.

Through the windshield, he sees an accumulation of red. Not the splatter of his blood on the glass but the cars. A firetruck pulling up just feet away with a mighty puff of exertion and the great low hum of the engine.

His ears, never having healed properly after the bombing in New York, a ring with a sharp ache. Crying, strained borderline screaming shakes the car. His chest aches with the intensity of it. Stomach twisting sickly with each miserably, pitched, nearly choked inhale.

Jack.

Jack is kicking at his hand, blindly lost to isolation. Unable to communicate, probably overstimulated. Everything just keeps so loud and Hotch can’t stand that he can’t do anything to help. He doesn’t have anything, actually. Not those ear muffs Garcia spent so long researching, that muffle out all the sound. They’d had a bit of trouble trying to find the right size.

He-- He always about the things that Jack needs. Extra socks and pants and one of those knit hats that he likes to wear regardless of the season. Hotch thinks he likes to feel the pressure against his ears. Jack likes to crawl into his lap and place one of Hotch’s hands over each of his ears. He feels immense understanding for his son in these moments. Rocking back and forth and making the happiest little noises...

He needs to do something. Find it within himself to get out. He can calm Jack down, he just needs to get back there.

All he manages is a choked inhale, Jack’s poor little sobs breaking as makes himself breathless. Gagging, weakly trying to spit the copper taste in his mouth, Hotch chokes on the thick warm blood sliding down his throat.

“you’re scaring me, aaron.”

he looks at her…

trying to make every detail of her face a permanent fixture in his mind

the blonde hair that he was so glad that Jack got

better that he look like her

Haley is everything sweet; the only good thing he ever had

and Jack is so much like her gentle and loving

“aaron?”

he leans into her touch, “I’m okay”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Two hands brace both sides of his neck, at the base. Hands padded by thick gloves. “Brown-eyed boy!” the other man greets. “How’s your head feeling, big fella?”

Hotch opens his mouth, lips twisting into a pained grimace as he grunts. Pale, half-lidded eyes rolling back. Writhes, sucking in small rasped breathes.

“Easy,” the man soothes. Hotch is moving too much, jostling his spine dangerously. Given the state of his side-- flesh torn open by his door having caved in. The whole thing buckling in. Carl, the man currently using his own hands to hold Hotch’s neck, is providing as a brace, a point guard. He sits wedged right there with him, ready to help the guys on the other side.

“Just hold still,” Carl whispers. “You’re okay.”

Having George Foyet stand overtop him, the blade of his knife dragging down his flesh. Taunting, playing… he’d known then what was coming. Expected the blinding pain and known that no matter what he did, no matter what he felt he could not show fear. Could not submit to showing his pain.

Here, the vague chill of numbness spreading down his toes. Knowing that he can’t feel his feet, that he isn’t moving them either. Nothing-- not the prospect of dying here in this car-- is as harrowing as the realization that he can’t see or hear Jack.

He swallows thickly, draining his body of its resources as he struggles to bring himself to full consciousness. His lips part but he hasn’t got enough air.

“Alright, alright.” Carl tries to keep him calm but he sees the blood. Watching the blood bubble, foamy and pale as it slides down Aaron’s chin. “Don’t speak,” he rushes. Carl leans his head out the car’s window, shouting down to the other worker’s slowly working out how to get the door open. “He’s got busted lung guys, you’re gonna have to be quicker.”

“How bad?”

Carl looks back to Aaron, wincing in sympathy. “Just hurry, he’s not going to be able to take much more of this.”

“J,,,” Aaron can’t breathe. Each breath a little thinner, the taste of blood heavy on his tongue. “Jack,” he mouths, voice catching on just enough of the sounds that Carl understands.

The other man nods, smiling as he motions with his head to their left. “Jack? Is that your boy’s name?” Carl laughs, easy, light. “He’s sitting out there with my partner. Kid’s got so many rocks in his pockets, I don’t know if we’ll be able to pick the poor fella up.”

Hotch looks as far to the left as he can. Eyes burning with the strain. He can see out the door, vision blurring just enough to obscure the asphalt. To Jack. His happy little hands dancing up at his head as he rocks back on forth on his feet. Unaware of the wreckage just behind him.

Shutting his eyes he smiles too. For Jack and his little clicks, above all else, he just wants to hear those little clicks.

“Stay with me, pal. We promised Jack you’d be alright. Come on--”

But Aaron knows that’s not true. He’s worked these scenes a thousand times. Knows what to say to the children when they ask too many questions-- “Where’s mommy?” “Is my daddy gonna die?”-- and how far to move them from the scene. How to point out clouds shaped like castles so that they don’t hear the pained cries of their mothers. Drawing their attention to the grasshopper in the tall grass so that when the EMTs shout with fear, their fathers bleeding out on the asphalt with nothing but rough gravel beneath them… they never suspect a thing.

This day, this moment will be remembered by the person who took the time to talk to them. Who sat with them in the grass. Not the blood.

Jack will not ask where his father is.

And Aaron finds a great bit of relief knowing Jack won’t be lied to.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #haley hotchner #hotch whump #hurt hotch

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anboringday · 4 years ago

Text

Tracey x Franklin: Just Friends

Summary: Tracey De Santa, a college freshman, has a crush on the most popular boy on campus, Chad Dillington. Determined to win his heart, she turns to her best friend Franklin Clinton for help. However, she never expected to start developing feelings for her best friend instead...

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Fluff!! And more fluff!! Slow burn. Friends to Lovers. (Post Ending-C)

Read on Ao3

Franklin barreled through the door of my room.

Carefully applying my eyeliner in the mirror, I glanced at him. Chiseled jaw clenched and hands balled into fists, a frown marred the space between his arrogantly shaped brows. His strong, muscled arms wired tight beneath his white T-shirt, he stood at the ready for battle.

His cognac-brown eyes searched my room from top to bottom for unknown threats. “Tracey? You good?”

“Um, duh. I’m always fine.” I returned my attention to my makeup. “I’m gonna need you to tone down some of that masculinity. It’s totally uncalled for, super distracting, and it’s ruining my good vibes—”

His warm hand came down on my shoulder. I stiffened, his eyes shrewd and accessing as they bored into me. “You sent me a text saying that you were dying, that you needed my help. You sure you good?”

His voice was soft, filled with concern. My gut kicked. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that overly dramatic text, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I needed help. Badly. Dad was always busy doing movie director stuff, Mom was too preoccupied with shopping and yoga, and Jimmy was a complete idiot, so Franklin was the only person I could rely on.

It’s been that way for months. He picked me up from school, assisted with my homework, helped me take selfies for Bleeter, talked me through every one of my frequent mental breakdowns—he was a life saver, literally. Because he was so selflessly awesome, I decided to keep him around. Mostly because he did stuff for me, but he also had a nice personality to boot.

And we looked hella good together. Whenever we were out and about in the city, people would stop and turn their heads to gawk at our beauty. I was a celebrity after all, the sexiest girl in Los Santos according to my Bleeter stalkers. And Franklin was powerfully built, dark-haired with stunningly amber eyes. He was a man who looked absolutely gorgeous just about every day of his life. It seemed effortless for him, and I would’ve resented that if weren’t besties.

I confessed, “I lied to get you here, okay?”

“Tracey…” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You scared the shit outta me, girl. What were you thinking—”

“Don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” I hugged him.

The tension in his muscles relaxed beneath my touch. I took his hand and flopped down on my bed. He sat beside me, our fingers intertwined. “A’ight, Trace. I’m here now, so what’s going on with you?”

“I have news,” I smiled. “The best news. You’re not gonna believe this, but Chad Dillington asked me on a date!”

He stared at me, his expression blank.

“Well?” I tapped his shoulder. “Say something! Aren’t you excited for me?”

“Who the fuck is Chad Dillington?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Energy thrumming through me, I jumped to my feet. “He’s like the hottest, most popular guy at my university! He’s a quarterback for the football team, a committed member of the Alpha Omega Theta Pi—”

“The Alpha Omega what?”

“It’s a fraternity, Frank! Chad Dillington is a big effing deal, literally every chick on campus wants to bone him. He has the prettiest blue eyes and the cutest smile ever.” I twirled on my heels. “I can’t believe he chose me of all people to go on a date with. This is so, like, amazing!”

“That’s cool, I guess.” He shrugged. “You called me over here just to tell me that?”

“No! If there’s any hope in winning Chad Dillington’s heart, I’ll need support. Your support and guidance, in particular.”

His brows furrowed. “Uh…why?”

“Because you can help me understand him! Guys know what other guys are thinking, right? You and Chad have so much in common too. You’re both around the same age, you both like getting sweaty at the gym, you both like getting high—”

“No offense, Trace, but me and that preppy ass frat boy ain’t got shit in common. I’m sorry, but I’m finna pass on this one. Maybe one of yo’ friends at school can help you.” He stood and took off for the door.

“Wait!” I swerved in front of him, blocking the exit with outstretched arms. “You’re right, there are some stuff you and Chad don’t have in common. Like, for example, he’s way smarter than you and his parents are filthy rich.”

Franklin glared a hole into me, a muscle in his jaw twitched. Yikes. Probably shouldn’t have said that.

“But you’re sane,” I complimented. “Sensible, wise beyond your years, and levelheaded. You’re playing with a full deck, Frank. That’s a rarity in Los Santos, you know? Everyone here is crazy.”

“Including you,” he snapped.

“But you love me.” I hugged his muscled arm. “You’re like the ping to my pong, the yin to my yang, the butter to my bread, the chocolate to my milkshake…”

“That was cute until you mentioned the part about chocolate. Now it’s weird.”

“Frank, you have to help me!” I pleaded desperately; my mouth set in a pout. “I’m your best friend, you can’t abandon me when I need you most. It’s not fair! I’ll hate you forever if you do—”

He smothered my mouth with his palm, silencing me. “Fine, I’ll help you on one condition. No more whining and crying like a damn baby, it’s embarrassing. Makes my ears bleed, it’s horrible.”

I smacked his hand away. “Deal. Now shut up and listen.” Standing on the tip of my toes, I spoke quietly into his ear. “Chad invited me to a masquerade ball. It’s a top secret, invitation only party the fraternity is hosting at some old, underground speakeasy—”

“Girl, why you whispering?”

“Because it’s a secret. Mom and Dad can’t know about this, they’ll freak out. Promise me you won’t tell them. You know how overprotective they are, they never let me have any fun.”

“It’s all good, relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Swear on it.” I rose my pinky.

“I promise.” His finger curled around mine. “So the most popular douche bag motherfucker in school invites you to an invitation only masquerade ball…”

“Could you refrain from calling him a ‘douche bag motherfucker’, please?” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, all the cool kids are gonna be there. The party is happening this weekend. Friday night. I only have two days to prepare. This is so short notice, I haven’t even picked out a dress.”

“Hey, you could always cancel.”

“No! A date with Chad Dillington is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can’t back out now. I have to do this.” My stomach grew queasy and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I paced the room, my fingers laced taut until my knuckles turned white. “What if I screw everything up? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Franklin appeared in front of me. I jerked to a halt, riveted to the spot as his searching gaze burned into me, glimmering with golden flecks. Lost in the intensity of his eyes, something shifted in the air between us.

As he stared back, he changed…as if the impalpable wall he kept between us began to chip and splinter. His tough, guarded demeanor crumbled before me, revealing a soft vulnerability in his eyes. A tenderness I had no clue he was capable of.

He patted my shoulder and squeezed lightly, affectionately. My skin tingled from the warm, steady pressure of his touch. “Of course the frat boy is feelin’ you,” he said softly. “He’d be crazy not to.”

My cheeks heated. Since when did he become so flattering? “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” I mumbled.

“Nah. I mean it.” He reached into his pocket for his phone and started tapping away at the keyboard.

I peeked at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“If you’re going to a ball, you gotta know how to dance.” He pulled up a Bleeter video of dancers clad in silk doing the Waltz. “Think you can do that?”

“Uh, I dunno. Last time I tried to slow dance with a guy was at high school prom. I slipped and twisted my ankle in front of everyone. Super embarrassing.”

“Let’s make sure you don’t trip this Friday, a’ight? We can practice together.” He propped his phone on my desk and took my hand in his, the other rested on the small of my back. “You ready?”

Our eyes locked, I nodded weakly, my breath coming in short and fast. The contact was electric, I could feel the edgy energy radiating from him—like a magnetic pull that grew harder to reject by the second. He started moving, his strapping body gliding across the carpeted floor with confidence and easy rhythm. Jeez, when did he get so good at this? He was a natural! My knees wobbly, I followed his lead to the best of my ability.

I felt so small and insignificant in comparison to him, my movement stiff and awkward. And it didn’t help that I was petite, barely over five feet, and he was huge—a tall, deep brown slab of solid muscle and well-exercised strength. The force of his presence was difficult to ignore in a crowded room, and doubly so in an enclosed place like this, so close to me…

After a few beats, the heat of his direct, prolonged gaze became overwhelming. I lowered my head shyly.

“Chin up,” he instructed, tipping my head upward with a gentle push of his thumb under my chin.

Sucking in a harsh breath from the mind-boggling intimacy, I lost my footing and tripped over my own feet. He caught me in his arms just before I collided with the floor, his strong-featured face hovered over mine. Hit with all that striking masculinity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned. His beard was well-groomed, complimenting the hard lines of his square cut jaw, and his lips were like the icing on the cake…the fullness gave his rugged good looks the perfect touch of sensuality.

He helped me to my feet. “That wasn’t part of the dance, Trace.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Pinching my lips together, I kicked a tube of old nail polish across the floor. “I’m never going to get this right. I’m so screwed.”

“It ain’t the end of the world. You still got time. Don’t give up, girl.”

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you are.” I sighed. “I’m sorry for being a bitch. There’s a lot of pressure on me and I’m taking it out on you.”

“It’s all good. I’m used to you being bitchy. I’m used to the screaming temper tantrums—when you beat yo’ fists against the floor and your legs start flailing like a fish outta water …” He grinned.

My stomach dropped. “It’s not funny.”

His laughter quickly faded. “My bad.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Twisting a finger around the hem of my blouse, I broke the quiet. “I’ve been working on my temperament with Doctor Friedlander. Do you think I’m getting any better?”

He leaned against the wall, his hands tucked casually into his jean pockets. “You haven’t had any episodes recently.”

“Because you calm me down right before I snap. Every time.”

“So why are wasting stacks on therapy, then? You’ve been seeing a therapist for what? Years? And you were still having panic attacks until…”

“Until you came along,” I completed his sentence. “I don’t want to become so dependent on you, Frank. It’s like, totally unfair to you.”

“Shit, I don’t mind. I ain’t going nowhere, unless you want me to—”

“No!” My heart lurched at the thought of losing him. Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I took a careful step away from him. “You wouldn’t leave me. You’d miss me too much.”

He stared at me for a moment, silent and thoughtful, his brow quirked.

I tensed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Uh, no reason.” He lifted the brim of his black Los Santos snapback to scratch his head. “I should probably bounce. It’s getting late, and you got class in the morning.”

“Wait.” I passed him his phone and gave him a brief good-bye hug. “Do you think you could give me some guitar lessons after school tomorrow? Music class is kinda kicking my ass. I could use the extra help.”

“Yeah. Of course. No problem.” He chuckled, seemingly nervous for some reason. “I ain’t the best with the guitar, but uh, I know a few things so…”

“Are you kidding? You’re way better at it than me.”

“Slightly better.” His teeth gleamed in a smile. “A’ight. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

I was a little bummed about him leaving, but he was right. I needed the rest so I could wake up bright and early tomorrow. I returned a smile. “Bye, Frank.”

“Bye, Trace.” He turned to leave but stopped at the door, his gaze shifted to me. “By the way, you don’t have to lie to get me here. You ain’t gotta send no dramatic texts or nothin’ crazy like that. If you need to see me, whatever the reason, just…call. I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

A pang struck my heart. I swallowed deep, fumbling for words. Before I managed to find my words, he was gone.

With a heavy sigh, I collapsed on my bed. What was the matter with me? Why were my brain cells starting to fry around Franklin? I had a huge date planned with Chad Dillington, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about my best friend.

My phone vibrated on my nightstand. I grabbed it and found two new texts from Franklin.

Still thinking bout how tripped over your own damn feet earlier.

Girl, you clumsy.

Oh my god. With an embarrassed grin, I texted him back; Wow. You sure know just what to say to boost a girl’s confidence :P

He responded a minute later. What if I told you that I like when you’re clumsy? I get to pick you up whenever you fall.

I read the message with wide eyes and then powered down my phone, my nerves danced wildly in my stomach. There was an ache in my chest, and I rubbed at it. Jeez. Pull yourself together, Tracey…

Read more on Ao3

#franklin clinton #tracey de santa #grand theft auto #gta #gta v #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #gta fanart #gta fanfiction #trevor philips #michael de santa #writers on tumblr

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shattered-quartz · 4 years ago

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Tag: Why did the good times have to end? (Champion Verse/Good end verse)

This verse takes place after Cliff loses to Cynthia the first time when he’s younger and is aptly disowned by his parents due to his failure. But doesn’t go down the path of team rocket

- He travels through many different regions as just as a passerby, Not a trainer (His parents took his first team of pokemon away from him, though he did still catch pokemon as companions) trying to find a place for himself away from the region of sinnoh, But he found while many of the regions were interesting. He simply couldn’t find it within’ himself to call any of them home. Although he spent a few years in unova to learn how to become a pokemon nurse (Essentially a nurse joy)

- It was also around this time that he found a itch to return back to sinnoh, to Try again (he’d been travelling for around four years at this point-) so with the pokemon he’d caught over his years of travelling, he returns to sinnoh and starts training them for battle. Starting small and working himself and his pokemon up to bigger challenges, This eventually led to his once again going through the gym challenge and powering through it with the same furiosity as when he was younger though with more confidence that this was indeed what he wanted for himself.

- He soon found himself in front of Cynthia once more, She recognized him as the same child who’d once walked through doors with anger in his heart, Their battle was a long one and with it. it was neck and neck though in the end, Cynthia’s reign as sinnoh’s champion came to end as her garchomp finally fell and cliff was granted the title as the new champion.

- Verse wise, He’s held the position for almost two years now and he’s known as strong, confident but soft hearted individual who tries to instill a sense of pride in any that come to challenge him, He still travels though less frequently and cares a lot for his home region.

- he still has a bond with Diancie, it happened when he was visiting Kalos and managed to stumble across the pokemon when she was weak and He nursed her back to health over the course of a few months, She’s still on the weaker side even now as such relying on her bond partner for assistance and offering what she can while he tries to figure out in his free time what ails her.

POKEMON TEAM: under readmore due to length

Species: Aerodactyl Types: Rock/Flying Name: Splinter Gender: Male Nature: Jolly Ability: Unnerve Moves: Agility, Iron head, Stone edge, Ice fang Personality/History: A snippy pokemon that acts more like a really ancient cockatoo then a fierce stone age creature, he was revived after cliff found his old amber in kanto, He’s really just grumpy and must scream, EXACTLY. at 4:00am every morning Extra info: Capable of Mega evolution

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Species: Shuckle Types: Bug/Rock Name: Berry Gender: Male Nature: Calm Ability: Sturdy Moves: Sticky web, Stealth rock, Encore, Toxic Personality/History: He is very shy usually and will hide in his shell at the slightest hint of a unwanted provocation, He was drawn out by cliffs offer of berries and now makes berry juice for him! Extra info: He is used entirely defensively and is a son of a bitch in battle

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Species: Aggron Types: Steel/Rock Name: Mirror Gender: Female Nature: Careful Ability: Sturdy Moves: Stealth rock, Heavy slam, Fire punch, Earthquake Personality/History: A gentle giant, Cliff found her in a terrible slump after poachers had stolen her babies, He caught her and while he tried to find where her babies were, he couldn’t. Though she’s practically adopted diancie as a daughter. Extra info: Capable of Mega evolution

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Species: Rhyperior Types: Ground/Rock Name: Exoterra Gender: Female Nature: Adamant Ability: Solid Rock Moves: Stealth rock, Earthquake, Megahorn, Swords dance Personality/History: A large pokemon with a few anger issues, Exoterra or Terra has a decent reign on it after help from cliff, Though they still have a few iffy moments and usually work off their anger by sparring with Mirror Extra info: They nearly killed cliff after he got drilled in the gut and ended up spending quite a bit of time in the hospital

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Species: Gigalith ✨ Types: Rock Name: Geyser Gender: Male Nature: Lax Ability: Sand force Moves: Sandstorm, Solar beam, Stone edge, Gravity Personality/History: A solitary pokemon that cliff raised up from a egg of which he received from a daycare, saying it had been abandoned, Geyser was named for it’s bluish green crystals, He’s decently friendly though prefers sleeping to socializing Extra info: he’s shiny!

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Species: Diancie Types: Rock/Fairy Name: Alexandrite Gender: Female Nature: Gentle Ability: Clear body Moves: Stealth rock, Moonblast, Diamond storm, Rest Personality/History: A utter sweetheart, Diancie is prim, proper and hesitant in doing most things herself if solely because she doesn’t know how. She was found by cliff near the side of a lonely route few people travelled, Weak and exhausted, She suffers from a undiagnosed illness that leaves her tired most days. if not very ill others, She went with cliff who insisted that going back into the wild would not bode well for her, He is her bonded human and lives in his house, She does have a pokeball but this is only for precautionary reasons and does not use it unless required. Extra info: She can’t mega evolve due to her fragility but hopes to one day. But she’s not used in battle by cliff

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Species: Lycanroc Types: Rock Name: Peaches Gender: Female Nature: Jolly Ability: Steadfast Moves: Swords dance, Brick break, Fire fang, Accelerock Personality/History: Mischievous and full of energy as if she was still just a puppy, Peaches was a pokemon cliff sought out when he was in alola when she was a little rockruff, Partially because he couldn’t believe there was a tiny rock type puppy and spent MANY hours playing with her when she was still wild before finally catching her. Yes he cried Extra info: She’s really excitable and can jump over a six foot tall fence, so cliff had to get a bigger one around his yard to stop her, the little escape artist

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Species: Drednaw Types: Water/Rock Name: Snaps Gender: Male Nature: Adamant Ability: Strong Jaw Moves: Crunch, Counter, Razor shell, Ice fang Personality/History: He’s very set in his ways once he gets in his mind he wants to do something, in fact that’s how he met cliff, He decided he’d wanted to bite him so he did and refused to let go when he was just a chewtle (Thankfully) and now he’s a big ol’ drednaw. Cliff warns people about his biting habits Extra info: He will eat a small child if you aren’t watching him, big beefy baby.

#Why did the good times have to end? (Champion Verse/Good end verse)#I will not fail. This is all i have left. (Headcannons)#//AND HERE IS THE VERY GOOD BEAN

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warcraftedtardis · 4 years ago

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Trying to do things on mobile is fun. I’ll try to get updated thumbnails for the light sides if my power is back on soon.

Taglist: @vindicatedvirgil @5-falsehoods-phonated @theo-lord-of-love-and-rage + anyone else interested

THE GIFT OF CHARITY - Patton’s backstory under the cut

Patton was from a big city. And in a big city people can get lost, especially if they’re a little halfling like him. BUT getting lost is half the fun, isn’t it? Patton was prone to wandering. He’d be young for the standards of his race, but knowing and living beside so many humans had a way of putting long lifespans into perspective. Not the least of which was that human kiddos got so grown up so fast! Patton had still been a minor into his early twenties but by that point, many humans were adults and trying to live on their own or picking up the family business. By now he was, oh, seventy-something? Just hitting his mid-life stride. Patton sighed to himself, momentarily distracted from humming an old folk tune by the steps of an abandoned church.

Now he wasn’t one for deserted buildings--especially on account of the spiders potentially living in them--but this was an important place. This is where he came to have his daily chat with Charity. She was a big, feathery-wing-having lady in a flowing golden dress made of light and definitely not someone to keep waiting. By her own account she used to be an important goddess, but the people of the city stopped praying to her as much; then, over the years, she kind of faded into a dream-like death of sorts until he stumbled across her temple and woke her up with his prayers. Patton took it on his duty to keep her company at the very least. He brought her tea and cakes when he could and they’d talk for hours about how big the world is and how much Patton wanted to see it.

But...he had the orphanage to run....and the school....and the food kitchen...and the homeless shelter. It was...a lot and he didn’t have much time for anything leisurely. Patton said he didn’t mind because he was spending his time well, and he had so much more of it than the humans by a good few decades, but Charity saw how it had begun to wear on him.

When he shuffled into the building with a bit more drag in his step, she noticed. Her statue animated and sat down upon the dias where her nearly ten foot self could more easily talk with his nearly three and a half foot self. He was tall for his kind, but still fairly short for any human standards and perhaps a bit on the stout side. Charity said she found his appearance charming and soothing after being asleep for as long as she had been. Today, her brow creased with worry when she looked at him. Her voice was just as warm, however, when she whispered, “You’ve got bags under your eyes, Patton.”

“Oh, y’know how it is sometimes.” He flashed her his brightest smile and tried to crack a joke but the punchline never came to him.

Charity sighed, scooping him up in her hands to look him in the eyes. “Patton. I’m a god; please don’t try to fool me into thinking you’re alright when clearly you aren’t.” She shook her head when he took on the manner of a chastised child. For all his paternal affection, he could easily take a childish demeanor with her. “Patton, I think you’ve been suffering from a lack of charity.”

“I--I’m not sure how?” His voice cracked a little at the daunting thought of what else he could do to be charitable. It was really starting to become something he dreaded when it used to make him feel good--not that that was the reason he did it. Patton put good into the world because it was the right thing to do...right? “Maybe I could do with a meal or two less and give that away to someone who needs it more...”

The goddess gave him a patient frown and pulled him closer to her face. “That is not what I meant, small one. Look at yourself; you’re falling apart and giving away too much. You’re not being charitable to yourself, Patton. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

He blinked at her with his baby blue eyes going round in shock. “But I have so much and they have so little.” His protest rang hollow in his ears as the thing he knew he should do but the desire was failing to meet his words. Patton didn’t sound passionate anymore. He knew it. Charity knew it.

“How about this: I’ll send you on a mission, Patton. It’s a very important job that I can’t trust to anyone else, and I’ll lend you some power while you undertake it...so that you know you aren’t alone.” Her left pointer finger came to rest on his head in a gentle pat and the statue’s solid eyes glowed a bright rainbow hue. “There are fragments scattered in the world, Patton. Shards of power yet unclaimed--pieces of a broken god who walked in dreams and inspired many. These fragments rest in mortal hearts. You must find the Fragments, the mortals they dwell within, and awaken them.” She blinked and the prophetic glow faded from her eyes, a soft smile adorning her lips. “Of course, while you roam the world, do not forget to spread the light of Charity as you go...and do take care of yourself.”

Patton shook in his boots, overwhelmed by a warm feeling from that radiance which showered down on him from her eyes just a moment ago. He sniffled and nodded quickly, trying to keep himself from hiccuping as the realization he’d have to leave the city and all the humans in it behind. “I need time...to say goodbye and make sure they’re going to be okay without me.”

“Of course, Patton. When you’re ready say my name three times and I’ll bestow my gift upon you. Then you must search. That is the caveat of your powers--should you abandon my quest, the power will abandon you.” Her voice was sad as she intoned the warning, setting him back onto firm ground and returning to the position of her statue form. “Remember that I am watching and you will never be alone.” And then, her light faded from the stone and it became just another relic worn by time.

He sobbed, whipping at his eyes and letting it all out now so the kids wouldn’t see. They’d refuse to let him leave if they knew how devastated he’d be. Patton had a lot of preparations to make, giving over all the charitable ventures he’d started to people he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could trust with them. Letting go of the kiddos was the hardest part. Not a dry eye in that whole house as he packed and told them--promised them--that he’d be back before they knew it. He’d taught all the kids about Charity by now, so they knew why he had to go. “Be sure to visit her every day and give as much good as you can back into the world.”

One of the oldest kids came up to hug him one last time. She was almost an adult and he’d been watching over her since diapers. “Good bye, dad. I’ll take of them.” Her voice cracked and she hugged him tighter. “I’ll take care of everyone.”

Patton patted her on the back of the head, speaking softly and with an immense swell of pride and guilt. “I know, Lila. You take care now.” He took his belongings out to the shed and had a few of the youngin’s help saddle up his donkey, Frog, with his meager worldly possessions. Patton led Frog out to the city gates, followed all the way by the children. He waved and waved as he walked, looking over his shoulder to see them waving and calling out to him all the way down the road until the city was just a speck on the horizon. He heaved a sigh and patted the neck of his donkey kindly. “Well, there’s no going back now. Charity. Charity. Charity.” On the third repetition of her name, Patton was struck with a divine energy that filled his body with vigor and brought a heart-felt smile to his face. He could do this! Charity was with him! It didn’t matter if he didn’t know where he was going, he’d get there eventually. He can do this!!

#ts patton #sander sides au #The Friends We Made Along the Way #patton’s backstory #fanficiton #my art

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

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Recovery

I was several prompts behind in @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

So I, uh, I did all of them.

8,500+ words hurt/comfort snowed in and there’s only one bed tenderness bonding pining bedsharing walking arm-in-arm protective crowley hurt aziraphale makeovers Greek poetry genuine affection and then I BREAK YOUR HEART.

This is your only warning.

15 - Laughter 16 - Ice Storm 17 - Ornament 20 - Reindeer 21 - Gift

Aziraphale woke, which was itself unusual, because he didn’t remember falling asleep.

He didn’t like sleeping. It was strange, it was pointless, and downright disorienting. His mind was filled with patent nonsense about…trees? Swimming? Something about the Garden of Eden. And a lengthy diatribe on different cloak materials given by…Gabriel, he thought.

All of that faded away into a sense of being comfortably buried in a pile of soft, dark feathers, an earthy smell, mixed with smoke and pine, and warmth.

This was the point where he woke up.

He was still trying to sort out what was dream and what was reality. The scents seemed real, the soft pile seemed to be furs (some of them dark), not feathers. He tried to sit up, but his limbs still felt all soft and heavy…

“Are you finally awake, then?” demanded a very familiar voice.

Suddenly, Aziraphale had all the energy he needed to sit upright. There, not ten feet away, stood a certain demon in black breeches and belted tunic. A certain demon, he realized in a rush of heat, who had made a small but rather memorable appearance in his dream.

“C – Crawley! What are you doing here?”

Golden eyes stared at him for a moment. “Well, I live here, for a start.”

Aziraphale looked around – as his eyes adjusted, he could see that they were in a small, round hut, with a tall conical roof. The fire in the center illuminated Crawley, but mostly just created darker shadows. Just enough light to see that the walls were stone filled in with mud and straw, the roof a thick thatch of some form. In the darkness on the other side of the hearth, a rectangle of light marked the entryway, covered by some kind of mat.

“Ah. Right. And…where is here, exactly?”

“Probably the fourth most miserable island I’ve had the misfortune to be assigned to. The locals call it Pritani, though this far north it’s Alba.”

“That sounds familiar.” The fog of sleep had mostly cleared, and he could now remember Gabriel, rather rudely interrupting his lunch in Halicarnassos to tell Aziraphale he’d been reassigned. A quick message to deliver to one of the tribal leaders, teleport in and out, back before you know it. “I thought it was in the Celtic lands.”

“Oh, it is. This is definitely Celtic land.”

“Then wh –” Aziraphale very abruptly realized that the pile of furs he was lying among was almost certainly Crawley’s bed. He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but he needed to get out of it. Immediately.

He tossed aside the layers covering him, jumping to his feet – and instantly regretted it.

Despite the fire, the hut was frigid. Aziraphale’s feet froze on contact with the bare earth, and a cold wind seemed to twist around him, cutting through the light linen of his knee-length wrap. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickled, standing up, and he felt the shivers begin somewhere between his shoulder blades and ripple out through his entire body.

Aziraphale had never, ever been so cold.

He snapped his fingers, trying to increase the heat of the fire.

Nothing.

He tried again, attempting to manifest warmer clothes.

Nothing.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers over and over, trying to summon his cloak, a bowl of soup, even one of the furs off the bed behind him.

Nothing worked.

“What…” he demanded faintly, suddenly unable to focus. “What did you do…?”

“I didn’t do anything, except drag you in here out of an ice storm. Get back in that bed before you discorporate on me.” Despite his harsh tone, Crawley’s hands were gentle as he shoved Aziraphale back onto the fur-covered bench, pulling the thickest back over him. “Stay here, or I swear I’ll sit on you.”

“This is absurd, why am I – why can’t I –” He sneezed.

They both stared in shock for a moment. Angels sneezed even less often than they slept.

“If you’ve got some wretched virus,” Crawley growled warningly, “you’re on your own. I’m not making you soup or…whatever it is humans do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an angel. I don’t get sick.” Or cold. Or tired. Or lose my ability to perform miracles. He finally relented, curling up in the bed on his side. “Do you…do you know what happened?”

Crawley shrugged, stepping back to tend to the fire again. “I was sitting here, getting ready for another bloody winter of ice and ten-foot snow drifts when suddenly I sensed a lot of power somewhere in the area. I figured either a small angelic army was about to appear on my threshold, or some idiot had just teleported himself across the entire continent without preparing properly. So, I went to check it out.” He glared across the fire, eyes catching the light like golden embers. “One idiot, frozen almost solid.”

“But I did prepare myself,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’ve been to the Celtic lands before, and I’ve never burned out my powers doing it.” He shivered, huddling deeper under the furs. “And it certainly wasn’t so cold, either.”

“Really? Which tribes have you visited, then?”

“Many! Thracians, Illyrians, Dacians. Not to mention the tribes north of the Latin cities.”

Crawley hmm’d over that rather longer than he needed to. “Sounds like you haven’t really been outside the Greek-speaking sphere, then.”

“I went to Iberia once,” he admitted. That could explain things, if he’d teleported himself from the eastern end of the Mediterranean to the western. “The Lusitani, then?”

“Getting closer. Go north.”

“Gauls?”

“More north.”

Aziraphale had to wrack his brains. He’d never even heard of people living beyond the Gauls. “Belgae?” he ventured.

Crawley sighed and pointed towards the entryway. “We’re about eight miles northwest of the nearest Votadini settlement; go north about a day and you get into Pictish lands. Right here, though, is just about the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ve…never heard of any of that. Are we…far from Halicarnassos?”

“Oh, Angel. You just teleported yourself about twenty-five hundred miles. You’ll be lucky to get your power back before spring.”

It had taken over an hour of searching the woods to find Aziraphale, his sense so dim it might as well have not existed.

An ice storm isn’t as dramatic as the name sounds. It looks, from the safety of a warm shelter, like a gentle rain. Except that each drop burned with cold where it found bare skin, except that the ground froze into layer after layer of slick white ice, except that the wind cut through everything, biting, tearing away every bit of warmth.

Even with his full power, creating a bubble of warmth under his furs, Crawley had been miserable every second he’d been outside. How much worse, then, for Aziraphale?

Crawley had found him, unconscious and barely shivering, under a fir tree, useless linen cloak soaked through, ice already forming in his hair. There’d been a scroll clutched in his hand, but the ink had run, the message ruined.

A few quick miracles had stabilized the now-all-too-mortal angel; now he just needed time to recover his strength. He’d slept through most of the day, pale white face nestled among the dark furs of Crawley’s bed. He snored. Not very angelic, a snore like that.

Now that he was awake – now that he was aware of how badly he’d burned himself out – Crawley let Aziraphale sulk, hiding under the covers, for a bit longer. Then he dropped a pile of clothes on the end of the sleeping bench. “You’ll want to get changed. Fine linen won’t do you much good up here.”

The angel sat up, tugging at the tunic Crawley had manifested for him. It wasn’t easy, manifesting clothes for someone else, since Crawley generally just made them appear on his own body. Nothing his size would fit, so he’d probably erred on the side of making them too big. Leggings. Tunic. Wool cloak. All in undyed white, since Aziraphale probably wouldn’t appreciate black and red.

“You, ah, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Yes, I did. Once you’re ready I can walk you to whichever settlement you’re supposed to be at and you can spend the winter with them. But if you try and step out dressed like that, you’ll probably be discorporated in less than an hour.”

“Well. I suppose you have a point.” Aziraphale pulled his arms out from under the fur and quickly unhooked one of the pins holding his wrap together. It parted at the neck, revealing quite a lot of bicep and chest.

Crawley spun away, startled at how hot his face felt. It was just a body, for Satan’s sake. Not even his real body, just a false one he wore to look human. There was no reason to feel embarrassed or…whatever this other emotion was.

“I’ll just. Get some more firewood while you do that.” He hurried out, pushing aside the willow mat to step into the frigid air once again.

Most of the firewood had already been moved inside; realistically he wouldn’t need to replenish from the woodpile for at least a month. But the slap of the wind in his face, the splash of rain down the back of his neck, was exactly what he needed just now.

The ground was treacherous, even more than it had been this morning. He waved his fingers, manifesting a clear path, but even as he walked it began to freeze up again, and where the water stayed liquid it leaked into his shoes, freezing his toes.

It took ten minutes to get enough dry wood free from the pile to make the trip worth it. That should be more than enough time for the angel to figure out breeches. But walking back with his armload of wood only reminded him of the other burden he’d carried in earlier.

He hadn’t wanted to carry Aziraphale in his arms. Oh, he could miracle himself strong enough for the task, for a short while at least. But it had seemed almost a violation of trust, an intimacy that he should have asked permission for. To have his arms around the shoulders and legs, to feel the soft curve of the belly pressed into his, to have Aziraphale’s face rest on his shoulder, so close…

To hear that breath get more and more shallow, to feel the heat slip away…

With a shudder, he pushed back through the mat into the dark roundhouse. Aziraphale was sitting on the side of the bed, fiddling with the brooch that held his cloak shut.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Crawley tossed aside the wood. He could stack it later. He sat down on the bed, and found that Aziraphale was trying to clasp his cloak with one of the long, straight fibulae that had held together his linen outfit. “This isn’t going to work. Use one of mine.” He snapped his fingers and summoned – oops.

“How interesting.” Aziraphale picked up the nearly circular piece of iron. The metal was twisted, as if coiled, and the two ends where they parted had the shape of snake heads. “I suppose serpents are quite fashionable, aren’t they?” His tone suggested he was teasing, but Crawley couldn’t see any hint of it in his eyes.

“I can…I can make a new one. What do you want? Just plain? Maybe some feathers?”

“No, this is fine. I want to blend in, don’t I?”

Crawley shrugged, and quickly jabbed the penannular brooch through the wool of the cloak, fastening it over his left shoulder. “When you want to take it off, just pull it over your head. Don’t mess around with the pin again.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale stood up. “I suppose, yes, this outfit is fine. If you could see your way to giving me some shoes, I can be out of your hair.”

“So soon?”

“I was under the impression that my presence was making things difficult for you.”

Crawley gulped, tracing the toe of his shoe through the earthen floor. “Not difficult, really. I just…I thought you were really sick for a bit. I don’t know how to take care of someone who’s sick. Kind of useless like that.”

“It would appear you have taken care of me…more than adequately.”

Crawley nodded. “Well, if you go out now, you will get sick. And then I’m stuck with you making all kinds of weird body fluids. Let’s wait until the storm is over.”

By the time night fell, the rain still hadn’t stopped. Crawley manifested some hot food – roasted meat, berries and nuts, a bit of bread.

“I’m not very good at it yet,” he grumbled, taking a drink of something from a mug. He had stockpiled several large jars of alcoholic-smelling liquid, but very little actual food. “I only eat occasionally, so I don’t practice.”

“Well, it tastes very…authentic,” Aziraphale encouraged. It did taste exactly like real food, or at least he couldn’t tell it wasn’t. He didn’t know what these particular berries were supposed to taste like. “And it’s quite filling,” he added, breaking off another piece of bread.

“Nh. I can make you more of the same, but that’s about it. You’re going to need to eat and sleep every day until your powers return.”

“I’m sure I can manage on this for as long as I need to.” He hesitated, hand halfway to his mouth. “Sleep, too?”

Crawley shrugged. “Maybe every two days. I don’t know how it works with angels. Are you feeling tired yet?”

“No.” Aziraphale struggled to stay sitting up. “I’m just… My mind feels a little slow. And my head is heavy. And my legs feel…strange…”

Crawley laughed a little. “Yes, that’s the exhaustion. Lay down for a bit.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, certainly not. I slept enough today.” Perhaps a quick walk would clear his head, if only there was somewhere to go.

“Doesn’t matter, Angel. You’ve been sick and, healing or no, you need rest.”

“I’m not tired, Crawley. It’s probably just all the smoke. Why do you have the fire in the middle of your living chamber? It can’t be good for the lungs.”

“It keeps the walls from freezing. And I can see you’re tired, it’s all over your face.”

“You’re lying.” Aziraphale caught himself rubbing his hand against his eye and slapped it down on the ground.

“Aziraphale. Do I have to force you back into the bed?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Crawley considered this. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Seems like a strange thing to do. Sleep on the floor if you like, it’s what I plan to do.”

“Now you’re just being silly. You take the bed, I’m not planning to sleep.”

Crawley just rolled his eyes and drained his cup. Then he stretched out next to the banked fire, as if he hadn’t even heard the suggestion. “Night.”

“Don’t be absurd, I know you can’t fall asleep that quickly.” No response except for the gentle flicker of the cooling coals. Aziraphale stared at them, hoping the light and heat would give him something to focus on. And he could recite.

“Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber’d, heavenly goddess sing! That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain…”

He tried to focus on the words, to ignore the way his voice started to slur them almost immediately, the way he kept faltering through the familiar lines. It was like being drunk, but not being able to sober up. And there was the yawning. Just losing control over his jaw, his breathing. How do humans live like this?

“…’Instab…Insatiate king,’ this man relied, ‘Fond of power…ah…fonder…something…prize! Would’st thou the Greeks…their something something prey… The…spoils? No reward, oh blast, of…field…should yield!’”

“So, is everyone in this poem an ass?”

“Beg your pardon?” Aziraphale didn’t even have the energy to be indignant. His whole brain felt stuffed full of cotton.

“All the men fighting over who gets to torment which women. Do the women kill them all in the end?”

“Mmmmh, no, mostly they kill each other.” He struggled to remember. “Agamemnon gets killed by his wife, though.”

“Nice.” A pair of gold eyes appeared in the darkness beyond the hearth. “Just lay down and go to sleep. You need it.”

“No. I hate it.” Aziraphale rubbed his face again. “I hate sleeping. It’s a waste of time, doesn’t make sense, and gets all…dreamlike,” he found he couldn’t even make a sentence. “And it feels like dying.”

“What?”

“Falling asleep. Mind slipping away. Everything goes dim. Like dying.” He dug both hands into his eyes. “Don’t know if I’ll wake up.”

“Of course you’ll wake up. There’s nothing wrong with you, Aziraphale, and your body is fine, just a little worn out. Even if something did go wrong, you’d wake up back in Heaven.”

He shook his head. Then he shook it again, hoping the movement might help. It didn’t.

Suddenly, Crawley was standing next to him. “Get in the bed.”

“Mmmh?”

“You’re about to fall over on the floor. It’s going to be undignified, and you’ll be embarrassed in the morning. Just get into the bed.”

Aziraphale was too tired to protest. The soft furs embraced him, and once more were piled on top, it was all he could do from slipping into complete insensibility.

Crawley knelt beside the bed. “I’ll be right here. Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re asleep.” He placed his hand on the furs next to Aziraphale, and he found his own fingers curling around the demon’s warm palm.

“You need to sleep,” Aziraphale reminded him, voice now thick and slow.

“Nah. I only sleep cuz I like it. You’re the one who needs to sleep.” Crawley’s thumb traced across the back of his hand. “Just close your eyes. You’re almost there.”

Aziraphale didn’t remember falling asleep.

He did remember that this dream featured more than just a brief appearance of red hair and golden eyes.

When he finally awoke, it was to find Crawley still beside him, still holding his hand, and fast asleep.

The demon’s head rested on one of the furs, red hair spilling around it. It was shorter than he usually wore it – a little more than shoulder length – and bits of it were woven into braids, while other parts were loose and free.

Feeling strangely emboldened – maybe from the sleep, maybe from the dream – Aziraphale reached over and shifted one braid where it hung across Crawley’s face, tucking it back behind his ear. The demon’s face was so relaxed, none of his usual sour expression. So peaceful.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Aziraphale got out of the bed and set about building the fire. When Crawley finally woke, Aziraphale didn’t tell him how they’d slept, fingers entwined, faces so close. How could he explain it?

What if it made Crawley angry?

What if it didn’t?

“We should try going for a walk,” Crawley said as Aziraphale picked at some food by the fire. “The nearest settlement is a little less than a day in either direction. I want to make sure you have your strength back before we try that.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I’m fine, Crawley. There’s no need to worry.”

“You only slept the entire day yesterday. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” He squinted at Aziraphale’s face, which had been bright pink all morning. “And you look a bit flushed. Maybe we should stay in after all, you might be getting worse.”

“Stop fussing. I’m probably just…sitting too close to the fire.” Aziraphale climbed to his feet. “If walking will prove I’m fine, then we walk. I will need some form of foot covering, of course.”

Crawley manifested a pair of leather shoes, then another when the first didn’t fit. He added extra woolen leg wraps, a felted hat, and finally a large, heavy fur. Again and again, Aziraphale told him not to fret – but he put on each new addition.

Crawley still didn’t like how pale he looked, in between the moments of pink flush. Of course, wearing so much white was bound to make anyone look sallow; but the only other color Crawley knew how to make was black.

“Are you satisfied?” Aziraphale asked. “I look like a ball of cotton.”

“One more.” He snapped his fingers and produced a long wool scarf.

“Really, my dear fellow, I don’t think I’m going to need a sweat cloth out there.”

“What? No, up here they wear them for warmth.” He showed the angel how to wrap it around his neck, cover his mouth, and tuck the rest under his furs.

“There really is no need to worry,” Aziraphale started again in a slightly muffled voice.

“Maybe a pair of mittens?”

“I’m walking outside now.”

The storm had covered the world in beautiful devastation. Every twig on every tree was coated with almost half an inch of perfectly clear ice, sparkling in the sunlight. Several smaller ones had been pulled double, bent to the ground under the weight of frozen water. Enormous icicles hung from the eaves of the roundhouse.

“It’s incredible,” Aziraphale breathed, a hiss of white vapor working its way out from under the scarf. “I assume your home isn’t usually in the middle of a lake.”

“Nope.” He rammed his heel into the ground, planning to break off a piece, but instead nearly fell over. Aziraphale laughed as he skidded, grabbing at the roundhouse for balance. “Never mind that. But it’s not even two inches thick.” He waved a finger at the path ahead, parting the ice enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side.

The angel looked around appreciatively as their path brought them deeper into the white forest. “It’s very quiet, though,” he said suddenly. “No birds or anything.”

“I don’t know about down in the Greek lands, but most birds and animals don’t stick around once it starts getting cold. They either sleep through it or head further south.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Winters in Ephesus or Neapolis are definitely warmer. Where would you rather be?”

“Ah, I’m not much for migration. Normally I sleep through the winter, but someone’s been using my bed.”

When Crawley realized what he’d said, he wished he could encase himself in ice. No chance Aziraphale missed it, either, he was looking right at Crawley, and with everything else buried in warm layers it was very obvious how wide his eyes were, how high his eyebrows.

“But, you know, some animals are very stupid. Some birds from even further north like to spend the winter here. Probably moved on ahead of this storm, but if you’re lucky there might be some ducks at the lake. Would you like to see the ducks?”

He was babbling, but he needed something, anything to get Aziraphale to stop staring at him like that. He walked off, as fast as he could, leaving the angel to hurry in his wake.

“Crawley! Slow down!”

He turned to walk backwards, planning to say something clever, but realized Aziraphale was genuinely struggling. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” He bent over, hands planted on his knees, gasping for breath. “I don’t seem to have any, you know, stamina today.”

Crawley rushed back over, pulling down the scarf to get a good look at Aziraphale’s face, studying his eyes especially. “I don’t like how you look. We’re going back.”

“Oh, not yet.” Aziraphale took another breath. “I’m not that weak. Can we walk to the lake? I would like to see the ducks.”

“It’s pretty far. I’m not sure you can make it.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just can’t go too fast.” Aziraphale smiled, but Crawley wasn’t convinced.

“Fine. But hold onto my arm.”

“Crawley, I’m not an invalid.”

“Take my arm or we’re going back.” He held out his right elbow, and after a moment Aziraphale slipped his arms through. “Alright. This way.”

It was a rather long way to the lake, and more than once Aziraphale was glad to have Crawley’s arm to lean on. Not that he would say that.

“I haven’t seen any other houses.”

“And you won’t. No one lives on this strip of land except me.”

“Whyever not? It’s quite lovely and peaceful here.”

“Only because everyone’s bundled up inside for the winter. There’s at least four different tribes in easy walking distance from here, and they’re constantly fighting, stealing each other’s cattle, and generally making nuisances of themselves.”

“That’s a pity. Why…” Aziraphale glared at him. “Crawley.”

“What? I’m a demon. Did you think I was up here getting in touch with nature for my health? For some reason, Hell constantly wants to see them fighting each other, so every week I’m Tempting one clan leader or another tribal elder. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” He shrugged. “They are loud, though, so I usually take the winter off.”

“Still. I can’t believe you’ve been up here for – how many years now? Just making sure a few hundred people are constantly at war?”

“They do most of the work themselves, honestly. They were fighting long before I showed up, and they’ll be fighting long after I’m reassigned to some other unnamed pile of rock in the middle of nowhere. Which is just about every decade. I’ve been here for seven years now.”

“Seems rather pointless, when you put it like that,” Aziraphale murmured, looking again around the silent glass forest.

“I mean, it’s better than being Gabriel’s messenger boy. Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped as Aziraphale turned his glare back at Crawley. “You told me yourself he’s been sending you to deliver messages all around the Mediterranean. Are they really that important? Is what you came up here to say worth risking your life for?”

“Not my life, just my corporation,” Aziraphale insisted, then sighed. “But, no, I memorized the message before I came over, and I don’t think it was worth the journey.”

“Really? What did it say?”

The angel tried to look stern. “I’m to tell one of the tribal leaders to stop fighting with his neighbors.” Crawley’s eyes went wide with shock, and suddenly Aziraphale couldn’t hold back the smile. “There were several very elaborate pleas and arguments I was supposed to make, you know. Very convincing material.”

Crawley threw back his head and laughed. “Well. I’m sure whatever Gabriel wrote for you to say is more than enough to counteract my influence.”

“Oh, it was a very compelling argument. All about the many advantages of joining civilization.”

“Really? Advantages?” Aziraphale didn’t like the grin Crawley was giving him now. “Name one.”

“Name one? It’s civilization, it’s all advantages.” Aziraphale huffed. “Fine. Roads.”

“Already have them. Nice and broad and connecting most of the settlements.”

“Trade networks.”

“Have those, too. It’s a bit slow, but the metals get where they need to be.”

“Literature.”

“No one needs your misogynistic war poem. Next.”

“Fine, how about writing? Do they even have record keeping?”

“Nope. But talk to some Druids, they have this oral tradition thing down to a science.”

“Bath houses.”

“Natural hot springs.”

“Stone working.”

“Did you see my house?”

“Monumental architecture.”

“Make sure you visit some of the stone circles on your way out. Might not be Khufu’s pyramid, but it’s not nothing.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You sound almost proud of them.”

Crawley didn’t even bother to hide his smile. “Look, they might be a bunch of cattle-stealing shit heads, but they don’t need an emperor or a king or a senate or some other collection of assholes sitting in a fancy building to tell them how to do things. They do fine on their own.”

“It’s not about the leader, it’s about a structured society. It’s the only way to get things accomplished!”

“Is it though?”

Aziraphale concentrated on walking, and fuming in silence. How much further was this stupid lake anyway?

Suddenly, Crawley stopped short. “Look!” he pointed ahead.

Between the trees, Aziraphale saw – not a lake, but a herd of enormous deer, half with antlers, covered in thick fur coats in brown and grey and white. They stomped at the ice, shuffling it aside to browse at dried grass, leaves, and even rocks. One scraped its fuzzy antlers at a tree trunk, cracking the ice, nibbling on the bark underneath.

“Those aren’t ducks,” Aziraphale said cleverly, watching the herd slowly move across their path.

“Obviously not. Reindeer. They don’t usually come this far from the mountains.”

They watched for a long time. There was something majestic, peaceful about the enormous creatures, nosing their way through the forest. Where a deer might have panicked and run, these hardly even spared a glance toward the angel and demon.

When they finally passed out of sight, Aziraphale realized he was leaning quite heavily on Crawley. “I suppose we should head back,” he said softly. “That’s more than enough for today.”

Another meal, another few hours by the fire, and Crawley was pleased to see Aziraphale’s color was turning back to something almost normal, by his standards. Not that he was watching.

At least, not obviously watching. He was holding the wool cloak he’d manifested the day before, trying to add a bit of color.

“It’s probably fine, Crawley,” Aziraphale said, watching him struggle. “I don’t mind wearing white.”

“Well, the people you’re supposed to visit will. Bright colors, fancy borders, lots of ornamentation. If you want to get their leader to listen to you, you’ll have to look the part.”

“I thought you didn’t like my message.”

“Just because you’re obviously doomed to failure doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get a chance to try.” He glanced up, then took a longer look. Aziraphale’s face had fallen, though he was trying not to show it. “What? What did I say?”

“No, it’s…you didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, I obviously did.” Crawley stood up and moved to sit beside the angel. “What is it now?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just.” He fiddled with his tunic, as if trying to figure out how it worked. “Whenever I have an original idea, Gabriel tells me I’m welcome to try, but it’s obviously doomed to failure. He’s usually right, too.”

“No he isn’t.” He focused on the cloak again, trying to imagine a pattern with simple stripes. “I’ve known you a long time. The ideas you come up with on your own are much better than whatever orders you’re given, and you know it. Have you actually ever successfully thwarted me by following what Gabriel told you to do?”

“Well, usually when I manage to thwart you, it’s because I convinced you that getting drunk was better than whatever you had planned.”

“And it works!” Crawley smiled at him. “I’m sure if you come up with your own argument for the leaders, it’ll work much better than the original message. Just don’t tell them to get drunk, they do that enough as it is.” He turned back to the cloak, which was now covered by a pattern of vertical and horizontal lines in beige, dark grey, and red. “Oh, what even is this?”

Aziraphale pulled it out of his hands. “I don’t know. It looks rather stylish to me.”

“You’re going to look ridiculous. No one dresses like that.”

“No one dresses like you either, dear. Maybe I should take a lesson from you.” He settled the cloak back around his shoulders, serpent pin under one ear, strange crossed line pattern falling down his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It’s a start.” Crawley glanced at the willow mat; already all trace of sunlight was gone. Days were generally less than six hours this time of year. “But take it back off, you’ll just throttle yourself in your sleep.”

“Crawley, I’m not tired,” Aziraphale said, immediately betrayed by an enormous yawn.

“Yes, you are, because I’m also tired. Anyway, at least get under the furs so I can bank the fire. Then you can tell me more awful stories of horrible Greek men.”

Surprisingly, Aziraphale didn’t object this time. Crawley turned to the fire. With a flick of fingers, he lowered the flames to nothing, then carefully separated out the glowing coals, and piled ash on top of the remaining wood to keep it hot and ready to burn in the morning.

He turned back to find Aziraphale was in the bed, but the covering furs were still thrown open, and he’d left room enough for…

“No, Aziraphale. That’s. We’re not…No.”

“You said yourself that you prefer to sleep through the cold weather, and someone stole your bed. This is the obvious solution.”

“The obvious solution is for you to throw me one of the furs so the ground is more comfortable. Not…that.” Why was his face so hot?

“I really must insist,” Aziraphale said softly. “I saw…how you fell asleep last night. That angle could not have been comfortable. And if I’m worrying about you, I’ll never be able to sleep.”

It really wasn’t anything to worry about. Nothing was going to happen. They were only going to sleep. It even made sense because of body heat or something, which Crawley seemed to have more than enough of at the moment. They were two supernatural beings who just happened to be inhabiting human-shaped bodies that were both in need of sleep and warmth and really, wasn’t this the optimal storage solution?

Crawley wasn’t buying any of it.

“Look. Angel. Um.” What was he supposed to say? I can’t share a bed with you because I keep feeling things I’m fairly certain I’m not supposed to feel? He could never admit to that.

He carefully climbed onto the sleeping platform, taking care not to brush against Aziraphale in any way, pulling the furs up to cover them both.

Crawley was very…aware. Aware of every inch between them, where the distance was greater, where it was not. Aware of the brush of Aziraphale’s breath on his cheek and shoulder as they lay facing each other. Aware of how loudly his heart was beating. As his sight adjusted to the dark, aware of Aziraphale’s eyes, wide and very alert.

“You, um. You need to sleep, Angel.” As if either of them could sleep. No, don’t be stupid. Aziraphale’s awake because he doesn’t like sleep. He isn’t going to be feeling any of this, he’s an angel.

“But I mean it, Crawley, I’m not tired. Maybe I won’t sleep at all tonight.”

And now Crawley was aware of Aziraphale trembling, and not from the cold.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m here. Where’s –?” He found Aziraphale’s hand again, as he had last night, holding it loosely so the angel could pull away whenever he wanted. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Just fall asleep, dream a little, and when you wake up, it’s morning. Easy.”

“No, that’s all exactly what I don’t like. How can you stand it?”

“I don’t know. Makes a nice break from reality, I guess. And I like that part when you first wake up, and everything’s still slow and heavy. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I hate it. I hate all of it.”

“The more sleep you get, the sooner you’ll have your strength back.” He ran his thumb across Aziraphale’s fingers. “Go on. Tell me more of your poem. Was it almost over?”

“Oh. Ah. The works of Homer are…quite extensive, actually.”

“Nh.” Crawley closed his eyes. “Alright. Hit me with it. We were arguing over who got to keep women captured in battle, I think.”

The soft voice out of the darkness began to recite: “’Insatiate king,’ Achilles thus replies, ‘Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize! Would’st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field…?’”

Eventually, the drone of dactylic hexameter lulled them both to sleep, and when Crawley awoke, he was alone in bed, and Aziraphale was lighting the fire.

Each day, they walked a little further. It was frustratingly slow.

Aziraphale felt an urgent need to leave, almost as strong as his desire to stay.

“I mean, these bloody leaders fight over everything!” Crawley complained as they followed the same path towards the lake, still arm in arm, this time startling out a few white-feathered ptarmigans.

“Isn’t it your job to make them fight?”

“Yes, but – so last fall, I was trying to convince one of the leaders she should duel one of the others. There was this whole code of honor thing I was supposed to be setting up, real generational vendetta stuff. And instead, they start arguing over who has the best cheese!”

Aziraphale laughed until he had to lean his full weight against Crawley.

“That’s not even the worst of it! Instead of a battle, they’re going to settle this by rolling their cheese down a hill.”

“They –” Aziraphale gasped between laughs. “They haven’t done it yet?”

“No, apparently they need all winter to create special rolling cheeses!”

This so completely diverted the angel’s attention that his foot found a patch of ice and he nearly lost his balance, clutching tightly at Crawley to keep from falling entirely.

And they stood there, echoes of the laughter still faintly bouncing among the trees, Aziraphale clutching tightly to Crawley’s shoulders, Crawley’s hands holding Aziraphale’s waist, for far too long.

It wasn’t illness that had the angel’s face so hot, his heart hammering ready to burst. He was looking at the angle of Crawley’s cheek, the slope of his jaw, his golden eyes, the braids mixed with the loose curls of his hair – there was so much to see, and he just kept drinking it in.

“We, ah.” Crawley cleared his throat. “We should go back.”

“I’m not tired,” Aziraphale insisted. “It’s just the ice.”

“We’re going back,” Crawley said more firmly.

Aziraphale nodded, and carefully stood up to take his arm again.

Every night, Crawley worked on another piece of Aziraphale’s clothing. The blue embroidery on his tunic came out much better than whatever had happened to the cloak. Red for the hat, which was a relief. He was good with red. The fur could stay white, but he carefully manipulated it, changing it from a generic piece of manifested pelt to something that looked like an actual white wolf. That would get the Celts talking.

“You’ll need more jewelry, too. They’re big on ornamentation.”

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?” Aziraphale was picking at his food. It couldn’t be comfortable, eating exactly the same thing every day. Crawley had tried mixing it up once, but the fish had been a disaster. He would need more practice. Still, the angel never complained.

“To start with, if you want to look important, you need a torc.”

“I have no idea what that might be.”

“It’s like a collar. A gold collar, no, silver. You look good in silver.”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until Aziraphale had been blinking at him for quite some time.

“Arg. Look, it doesn’t matter what I think, right?” Crawley looked at his hands, trying to picture the piece of jewelry. “But you want to look good for these chieftains and everything, and I’ve been working with them. I know what they like.” A long, solid circle of silver-white metal appeared in Crawley’s hands, slightly twisted and covered in a feather-like pattern. “They’ll all be wearing gold, so this will make you stand out.”

“You’ve been saying I want to blend in.”

Crawley shrugged. “Mostly blend in. But you still need something to differentiate you. So they know you’re someone to pay attention to.”

“It’s lovely.” Aziraphale took the ring of metal and started fastening it around his neck. “I’ve seen these before, in the southern Celtic lands. It goes like this?”

The widest part of the ring hung at the hollow of his throat; the feathery twists of the white metal perfectly matched the platinum in his curls.

Crawley reached over to adjust it, even though it didn’t need it, just for an excuse to brush his fingers across the soft skin. “Perfect.”

The next night it was a long, twisted arm band that ran from wrist to elbow. The night after that a collection of rings. More and more trinkets, carefully crafted to fit him exactly.

Every night, they lay in bed together, Crawley trying desperately not to notice the heat of another body even as their hands twined together between them. Every night, more of the same endless poem; it wasn’t about the story. The droning of it seemed the only thing that occupied Aziraphale’s mind, let him slide into sleep without fear.

Every morning, Crawley woke up alone. He worried a little that the angel always woke up first, but Aziraphale insisted that he wasn’t having nightmares or waking before dawn. That he rose early simply because he didn’t like to linger in bed doing nothing, even though most of their day was spent doing nothing.

After a month, they finally made it to the lake. There were no ducks after all, but the shining plate of pure ice was impressive nonetheless. Crawley ran out onto it, skidding and slipping and sliding across the surface, while Aziraphale stood on solid ground and cheered him on.

Something was changing between them. Aziraphale had tried to deny it, but he could see it now. Crawley laughed more. He smiled more. He was almost completely at ease when Aziraphale took his arm or held his hand.

The angel almost wished it wasn’t true. It would make leaving so much harder.

That night they sat back against the sleeping bench in the dying firelight. “What we need to ornament now is…you,” Crawley explained.

“Hasn’t that been the entire point?”

“I mean tattoos.”

“Oh, no. No, I couldn’t.”

“Look, obviously not real. I don’t have a needle and a supply of woad. But…watch.” Crawley rolled up his own sleeve and traced a finger across his forearm. Where it went, a trail of blue followed behind, curling and curving across his skin, creating a triskele.

“I can’t go around branding myself with pagan symbols.” Aziraphale thought it was a rather weak argument, all things considered.

“It’ll come off. As soon as your power is returned, just like this.” He brushed his hand across the tattoo, and it vanished. “The Picts are absolutely mad for them, and the others are almost as bad. They won’t believe you’re anyone of importance if you don’t have a few.”

Aziraphale rubbed his hands on his knees, trying to think of an objection. Any objection. Finally he thrust up his sleeves.

“Spirals, lines, knotwork. Only abstract shapes. And absolutely no serpents.”

Crawley smiled, and began to trace his finger up Aziraphale’s arm.

The heat that raced through him had nothing to do with the manifestation.

Aziraphale had been afraid Crawley would go overboard, but just as with the jewelry, he seemed to know exactly what was appropriate. A spiral on one arm, a long cartouche filled with elaborately crossed knotwork on the other. Thick lines on his neck, an arch above one eyebrow. All the time Crawley was working on that one, so close, so very close, Aziraphale had to fight the urge to put his hands around Crawley’s waist. It seemed so natural now, and it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t.

After some debate, they settled on a twisted line pattern, similar to the torc, across one bicep. It was unlikely to be seen, but would be impressive if revealed.

It meant Aziraphale had to take his tunic off while Crawley worked.

A month ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. It was just a body, not even his body, just one that he wore to fit in. He shouldn’t be self-conscious about it.

No, it wasn’t self-consciousness. He saw the way Crawley glanced away from his work to take in everything. And he welcomed it.

He really, really shouldn’t be trying to think of reasons to add more tattoos, to have Crawley touch every bit of skin just to feel the gentle tingle of those fingers…

“Alright,” Crawley sat back, clenching his fist. “Is that all? Do you want another?”

Not the question he wanted to be asked right now.

“I think I’m ready to sleep.” He wasn’t.

Aziraphale climbed into the bed, sliding over, making room as he had every night.

Crawley stood beside it, staring. “You. Um. You forgot to put your tunic back on.”

“I’m feeling a little warm.” That was true, in a way. “Does it bother you?”

Crawley stood there for a long time. Aziraphale knew that expression. It was one they’d both worn many times in the last month, when each desperately tried, and failed, to come up with an objection. Crawley failed tonight, and climbed into bed without comment.

When he took Aziraphale’s hand, the angel was almost certain they were both trembling.

“Right.” Crawley swallowed. “Right. More of that blasted poem. Are we done listing all the ships yet?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Shimmering-throned immortal Aphrodite, Daughter of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee, Spare me, O queen, this agony and anguish, Crush not my spirit.”

“That,” Crawley’s voice was hesitant. “That sounds different.”

“It’s a different poet. I thought we could use a change.”

“Whatever helps you.”

“Whenever before thou has hearkened to me - To my voice calling to thee in the distance, And heeding, thou has come, leaving thy father’s Golden dominions,

“With chariot yoked to thy fleet-winged coursers, Fluttering swift pinions over earth’s darkness, And bringing thee through the infinite, gliding Downwards from heaven,

“Then, soon they arrived and thou, blessed goddess, With divine countenance smiling, didst ask me What new woe had befallen me now and why, Thus I had called thee.

“What in my mad heart was my greatest desire, Who was it now that must feel my allurements, Who was the fair one that must be persuaded, Who wronged thee, Sappho?

“For if now she flees, quickly she shall follow And if she spurns gifts, soon shall she offer them Yea, if she knows not love, soon shall she feel it Even reluctant.

“Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow, Drive away care, I beseech thee, O goddess Fulfill for me what I yearn to accomplish, Be thou my ally.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“That was…certainly different,” Crawley said.

“Did you like it?”

Pressure on the hand between them. “Maybe…I should hear it again?”

Aziraphale nodded, and recited the poem over and over until he drifted to sleep.

When Crawley awoke the next morning, Aziraphale was not tending the fire.

He was still in bed. And very much not where Crawley had left him.

Crawley opened his eyes to find two soft, muscular arms wrapped around him, pressing him back into the curves of belly and chest that he had dreamt of all night. Aziraphale’s hot breath was right on his shoulder, just by the nape of his neck.

He tried very much not to move, not to wake the angel. How was he ever going to explain –

“Are you finally awake, then?”

“Aziraphale. What. What are you doing?”

“I’m not moving. I’m not getting up. As you’ve suggested.” The arms were very, very still. “Crawley. This is how I’ve woken up every morning since we started sharing this bed. I don’t…I assume we move in the night. In our sleep. And we end up like this. Every time.”

Crawley didn’t say anything. Just listened to that shaky breath behind him.

“At first I thought you would be angry. So I would get up without waking you. But lately…I haven’t been so sure. And I think you deserve to know. To know that I reach out for you in the night, even when I don’t mean to. To know that I dream about you every time. To know that…I’ve probably been well enough to leave, powers or no, for at least a week, and I’ve only been leaning on your arm as we walk because…because I like how it feels.” The arms around Crawley’s waist tightened, just for a second. “To know that…if I don’t leave today…I don’t think I ever will.”

At that, Crawley turned to face him. The arms loosened enough to allow the movement, but didn’t let go. He lay there, Aziraphale’s hands on his hips, his own clutching the angel’s shoulders. “What…what do you want?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He could hardly think of what to say. His breath stuck in his throat as he stared at that beautiful face.

“Don’t ask me that. I’m an angel. I don’t get to want things.” He shivered, his blue eyes closing. But when they opened, they were full of tears. “But right now, I don’t feel like an angel. I feel very, very human, and so very weak. So I need you to do something for me, Crawley.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale’s voice was nearly breaking. “Because…I need you to throw me out. I need you to send me away, Crawley, I’m not strong enough to leave on my own.”

“Ang–”

“Please, Crawley.”

Crawley looked down at his own hands, resting on Aziraphale’s shoulders and chest, trying to steady his breathing. He closed his eyes, and moved his hand down the fur that covered them.

And pulled it aside.

“Get out of my bed,” he ordered, in as angry a tone as he could muster.

The arms vanished from around him, and a moment later, all the glorious heat he had grown so accustomed to was dissipating into the cold air.

He huddled down into the furs, trying to hold onto it, to keep some sense of Aziraphale, even as he heard the angel behind him, gathering his things – his clothing and jewelry that Crawley had made for him, all his gifts. He couldn’t turn. He couldn’t watch, or else he’d lose his resolve.

“Take the food,” Crawley snapped, not looking away from the stone wall. “I don’t need it.” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice from softening. “Go to the lake, and follow the river south until you reach a settlement. Give them the name of the leader you’re supposed to meet. They’ll tell you where to go.”

“Of course.” No more noise. He must be ready to leave.

“And don’t be there when I come down in the spring. Don’t be anywhere near here when the frost melts, do you hear me?”

“I won’t say ‘thank you,’” Aziraphale said, from someplace far too close. He should be leaving. “But I would like to give you a gift.”

“Well, you don’t own anything but the gifts I gave you.” Crawley bit his tongue, not trusting another word.

“All the same.” Something was placed on the bed by his feet. “I always thought this was a little too much. Goodbye, Crawley.”

The rustle of the willow mat. And then silence.

Crawley turned just enough to see the bright white scarf, folded carefully beside him.

He snatched it up, burrowing deeper into the furs. The scarf was still filled with of the wonderful, indescribable, pure scent of Aziraphale.

And soon, with Crawley’s tears.

As Aziraphale walked away from the roundhouse, dressed in the rich outfit Crawley had given him, he felt stronger – and weaker – than he ever had before.

His tears fell on the ground, freezing to ice.

(For those who lost track: Aziraphale started in modern-day Turkey (Halicarnassos) but the story takes place in Scotland, roughly where Edinburgh is today, though I kept the geography vague. Also the time period, but it’s at least the fifth or sixth century BC. There’s a lot we don’t know about Celtic cultures that far back (including whether the Picts should be considered Celtic or Celtic-adjacent) so I have almost certainly incorporated details from later time periods.

The main poem Aziraphale recites is Alexander Pope’s translation of the Iliad, which I’m not a huge fan of, but it was on hand. The longer one from the end is the Hymn to Aphrodite by Sappho, the only complete work of Sappho we have.

All of Aziraphale’s Celtic outfit and ornamentation are as accurate as I could manage, but tartan didn’t become a thing in Scotland until the 16th century, so he’s being VERY fashion-forward there.

I swear I didn’t mean to end two stories in a row like this. I also didn’t mean to go over 8,500 words. Holy cow.)

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #hurt comfort #sleepy cuddles #bed sharing #there's only one bed #snowed in #technically ice stormed in #mutual pining #longing #protective crowley #hurt aziraphale #love story #you know i wrote a parody of these tropes #then i go and play it straight #what's wrong with me #oops its sad

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven Is a City We’ve Been Priced Out Of (Ch 2)

AO3 Link

Warnings: Possible triggers revolving around the idea of death and dying.

The knife in his lap was heavy but the man next to him was sweet.

Bucky passed him a burger and fries, adjusted as he drove one handed out of the drive thru. The heat radiated through the wrapper, piping hot in a way only mom and pop burger joints ever seemed to achieve. Drool was pooling in his mouth as he carefully unwrapped the palm sized gift. Bucky stopped the car in the parking lot briefly to situated his own burger, foot still on the break, suggesting that he planned to eat while they drove.

Peter was nervous but hid it as his teeth sunk into the burger. The paper crinkled and the bun greased his lips shiny. Juice squeezed out the sides, bubbling but contained as the bread soaked it up. The beef was tender but still maintained enough body to pull its own weight. The sour spiked note of the pickle and the slightly sweet harmony of the ketchup had a sigh slipping past his lips. As he pulled away, strands of cheese followed, keeping him connected. Licking his lips, he wiped away the mess but immediately dove in for more. Eyes slipping shut, he hummed as his first warm meal in months settled like a soft ember in his stomach, warmed up from the inside out. In his blissed out state, the eyes watching him went unnoticed, their normal daggers softened by the scene, allowing them to slip by.

The burger disappeared quickly, the rest of the meal quick to follow suit. As Peter leaned back he took a deep breath. Food had been too scarce for too long, his stomach pushed at his lungs from the volume of the meal. It ached but he’d take it over the familiar knaw of hunger. The car had started moving once more at some point in his meal. He watched as the city bled to suburbs then farmland. Didn’t take more than a half an hour on the freeway to reach rural stretches. Was strange to think about all those bodies jammed into the tent city when so much land lay just outside.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the radio tuned to a 40s channel filled the cab. Peter rolled the closed knife between his palms, mindless and simply needing to fidget. Nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky spoke.

“Almost home.”

“Oh,” The sound quiet and just before he turned to look at Bucky.

Bucky was handsome, it was hard not to stare and Peter was certainly doing so. The short beard, the long hair peeking out from under his cap. Strong jaw and a frame so large he made Peter look like a child in comparison. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch him, assure himself that Bucky was real, that this wasn’t a cruel dream.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the road.

Peter wished he could sink into the seat, snapped his head forward and pretended he hadn’t been blatantly looking up the man next to him. “Yeah… just making sure you aren’t gonna vanish into thin air.” Bit his tongue, hard.

Bucky was silent. Peter jumped when a hand gently touched his elbow. “I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

Peter ignored the safety of that phrase, the way it pulled at his ribs. It was too intimate, too much of a promise from someone he’d just met. He wanted to trust Bucky so badly. Knew that this drive could well be his last. At some point though… why not just let it happen? He was dying. He could feel it. His body moments away from vanishing into dust. At least here, if Bucky killed him he would have a full belly. He would have lived the last hours of his life with some shreds of tenderness. Easier to die fighting than to roll over and let his body waste away.

Even with the knife, Bucky could still hurt him. The man was a mountain and Peter a finch. Still, the knife was a promise. An oath. Maybe Peter was naïve for buying into it but he’d lived his life on faith too long to jump ship now.

They pulled up to a farmhouse. Startlingly rustic and was hard to put with Bucky’s city attire and accent. It was dark, but he could make out soft russet siding, a roof traditional of the housing style in brown. It was charming, didn’t read as a murder den but then he doubted most of them did.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Bucky stepped out of the car.

“Need help gettin’ out?” Bucky leaned in through the open door way of the driver’s side.

“I think I can manage.” It was harder for him to lower himself with the way his hip had been injured, it locked at a fairly shallow angle and sitting was more often a semi controlled fall unless he was on his knees first and then turned. Standing on the other hand was easier. There were still hiccups, his joints would creak and pop in protest but he would make it. Did make it as he braced himself on the door frame once he’d swung it open. The sound of Bucky’s door closing behind him and the crunch of gravel suggested Bucky was coming around.

It was a moment he was left completely open. The knife was resting in his pocket so he could stand and his slowed rise left him vulnerable. Yet, Bucky came around and leaned on the door frame next to him, letting him take the time he needed. Didn’t touch him or pressure him in any form, and fuck, if it wasn’t just another point in Bucky’s favor. Too many times others would ignore his need for some level of independence. The things he could do, no matter how hard, were important to him. He may have needed Bucky’s help sitting but Bucky refraining from forcing his assistance on Peter was more than most would give him.

Bucky walked behind Peter as they started towards the house, a nearby field of mint spicing the air. The house loomed, tall and dark. It promised something, whether it was good or something which would spell his end was uncertain. He stuck his hands in his pockets, ran his left one over the handle of the folded blade, had to take the right side railing in order to keep holding on to the knife. Bucky rounded in front of him once they were on the porch, unlocked the door and flipped on the lights as he went in. The honey toned lights made the door just welcoming enough to encourage Peter through.

The interior of Bucky’s home gave off an energy that could only be described as sturdy. Everything from the armchair to the coffee table was made of solid oak and dark twisted iron. It made each piece look capable, like the mountain that used them was no more a burden than a feather. The walls were covered in a cream colored wallpaper, their edges not quite laid correctly and overlapping. It was endearing, suggested that it had been done by an occupant rather than a professional, a personal touch.

“The shower is down that hallway, second door on the left. I’ll bring you some fresh clothes just leave yours outside the door.” Bucky pointed to a hallway that ran off to the right towards the middle of the room, separated the living room and what appeared to be a small dining room.

“Okay,” A hint of uncertainty leaking into his tone as he turned down the dark hall, almost jumped when the light turned on. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Bucky’s arm disappearing behind the wall, presumably having turned on the light for him. Peter caught himself smiling at the detail.

The bathroom was painted a rich chocolate brown, it felt homely and warm and Peter honestly loved it. The clawfoot tub called his name, he could see himself spending a lazy fall night in it. Was quick to shunt that idea out of his head, reminded himself that this was temporary and only for the night. He was only supposed to shower, not dirty the white porcelain. He ignored the tub and went about figuring out the shower. The two knobs were unlabeled, worn away by time and use. It took nearly burning himself to figure out which was which.

Peter stripped himself bare, stared at the ratty jeans and the band t-shirt so faded that the design was nothing more than a shadow. Most embarrassing was his underwear. Plain blue boxer briefs with holes ripped below the elastic, so stretched out that it barely stayed on his hips. There was a large stain on the front, an old blood patch from when a man had been beaten and Peter’s desperate attempts to help ended with him covered in blood and most of his clothes taken as evidence by the police. His outfit was pitiful, no wonder Bucky had suggested a shower. Between the clothes and the layer of grime he must have looked like an orphan child from a Charles Dickens novel.

Being naked in a stranger’s house was nothing short of strange, even for something as innocent as a shower. That was until the shower washed away everything but positive, floaty thoughts and feelings. The stall had glass that had been fogged in such a way that it almost looked like a wall of opalescent stones, all carefully pieces together until no gaps remained. The tile was a shade of pink so light that Peter wasn’t quite sure it wasn’t merely a trick of the light. He felt near boneless under the spray and started to wonder if this is what a shower in heaven would look like. The hot water seemed to pull all the impurities, physical or not, from his body. Ushered them down the drain as black, torrid ink.

The knock on the door was unwelcome but expected. Bucky let himself in. Peter watched as a black shadow moved just behind the door. Like an evil spirit, a demon, just beyond the gates of heaven. Or an angel arriving home.

“I got you a pair of shorts and a tshirt. The shorts are too small for me. They’ll still probably be a bit big for you but at least you won’t drown in these. Plus the shirt will cover anything the shorts don’t catch,” Bucky broke the silence, shuffling around. “I’ll-“ Bucky fell quiet, something in the air… shifted.

“What were you saying?” Peter pulled himself under the spray, trying to ward off the chilling aura.

“Peter,” The way Bucky said his name, it was painfully gentle. “Why is there blood on your clothes?” A barely contained bite to the edge of the comment, still sharp but not cutting.

Peter feared Bucky believed him to be harming others, didn’t know how to explain that body fluids, blood and urine especially, were common on the streets. “The big one on my underwear is from trying to help someone who was injured. It happened about a year ago.” Hoped that was enough, didn’t want to relive that moment.

It was as if the very house itself sighed. As quickly as the tension came it fled. Ran to opposite corners of the house and out windows, through walls. Peter didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

“That's fine then. I was worried you’d gotten hurt. I’ll get you some boxers.”

“Oh you don’t have to-“ Bucky was already gone. Left Peter to shower a minute more before he returned and left the boxers without much fanfare. Once again Peter was left to his own devices. He finished off by scrubbing out his hair, used a small amount no bigger than a quarter of the shampoo and conditioner. Wondered if his curls would come in full force now that they weren’t weighed down by dirt and oil.

He turned the water off and toweled down as best he could. He picked up the boxers, just a simple black pair that was certainly too big for him but the elastic had a shot of at least holding onto his bony hips. He’d worn other people’s clothes before but not their underwear. It was clearly clean, but some part of his brain kept pinging that detail. It was either this or going commando though and Peter was far more opposed to the latter. He put them on along with the shorts and shirt. The shorts reached down to his calves and needed to be tied up snug to stay on but they worked. The shirt was a plain black and fell just above his knees. It forced Peter once again to acknowledge the vast size difference between them. Peter was having a hard time believing just how big Bucky was. He could see it clearly with his own two eyes and it still didn’t seem like it was possible for someone to be as tall and densely muscled as Bucky. Bucky’s body wasn’t for show, it was built for strength. His muscles weren’t disproportionate and veiny like a body builder’s. Instead, he came off more as a wall, sturdy and capable.

His old clothes were gone, swept away and likely beyond salvaging. He hoped Bucky sent him off with something to cover up with tomorrow before taking him back to the city. He was about to leave the bathroom when he noticed the obsidian knife resting on the counter. Bucky had removed it from his pants and set it back out for him. Peter picked it up, amazed by the dedication to trying to make Peter feel safe. His only defense could have easily been swept away without him noticing or thinking about it until it was too late. He almost wanted to leave it behind, show Bucky he trusted hi-

A knock at the door. “Peter, I’m making hot cocoa, want some?” Slightly muffled by the slab of wood between them.

Peter opened the door wide. Taken aback by the tender look Bucky gives him. Watched it fall back to something more neutral, friendly. Stuttered as he spoke. “I-uh yea-, sure.” God, he hoped he could sink into the floor.

Bucky smiled, affection already having found a home in the looks he gave Peter. “Alright sweetheart, follow me and we’ll whip something up.”

Peter obeyed, the knife forgotten as he was drawn away by Bucky’s gentle demeanor. The kitchen Bucky took him to was new. All the appliances were up to date, cabinets still holding the sheen of new paint, new tile and countertops. It was modern compared to the usual set up for the style of house. A rack hung above an island that copper pots and pans hung from, chained to the ceiling by black iron hooks. The kitchen island was topped with wood, making it into a giant cutting board if one wished to use it that way. Two wooden stools were tucked under it. Bucky pulled one of them out for Peter to sit on as he went to the stove, a pot of steaming milk already resting there. There were two mugs set out filled with mix. One cup was bigger than the other, meant for hands much larger than Peter’s. Bucky poured the steaming milk into each, stuck a spoon in both and stirred. Just as Peter thought, Bucky took the larger mug. It looked normal in his hands, just another coffee mug.

“Here you go, doll.” Bucky set the other one in front of him.

“Thank you,” Peter took a sip, was surprised by how rich it was. Drank more, doing his best not to burn his mouth in the process. The whole cup gone in under a minute.

Bucky chuckled, still nursing his own cup and pulling up the stool next to Peter. “Good?”

Peter let out a small gasp as he came up for air. Set the now empty cup on the island. “Really good. What brand was that?”

Bucky hummed, sipped from his cup before answering. “I made the blend myself. Found most places didn’t make it the way I wanted it so I took matters into my own hands.”

“Wow, well you did a really good job. It was delicious.”

He practically beamed. “Thank you, Peter.”

Peter nearly choked on his own spit, gave a few hardy coughs as Bucky reached over and thumped on his back. Felt dumb for it. Choked just because Bucky had said his name.

“Don’t die on me now,” Teasing but concerned. “Like you alive a little too much for that.”

“I’m-” A round of coughs. “-okay.” He croaked out.

“Mhm.” Bucky set his cup down and stood up. He took Peter’s mug to the sink, rinsed it, and filled it with water before handing it back to Peter. “Here.”

Peter took the water, sipped until the tingling passed and powered through the coughs that came in between. He was tired, didn’t know if it was the coughing or something else but he felt it now. Maybe it had been there for awhile, something he was just now noticing.

“You look a bit tired.”

He nodded, rubbed one eye and shook his head out like a dog, trying to ward off the sensation.

“Why don’t we get you set up in the guest bedroom.” Bucky stood up. “Follow me.” Bucky abandoned his cup as he started walking. Peter slipped off the stool and followed behind.

The rest of the house felt… cool. Like a house with it’s blinds closed on a hot summer day. It was an opposite comfort to the way a warm house felt. The crisp chill made him feel comfortable in his skin, like it wasn’t drawn tight by heat and anxiety.

Bucky led him up the stairs, was patient as Peter took his time getting up. It didn’t hurt but it was something he needed to take his time on. Once at the top he was guided down the stretch of hall. It was only four doors. All were closed except the bathroom, which Bucky pointed out as they went. At the end of the hallway were two doors next to each other, the small line of wall between them indented and creating a sort of ‘Y’ look. Bucky pointed to the door on the left.

“That one is my room,” He switched to the door on the right. “That one is yours.” Reached out and opened the door to reveal a room painted a mid-toned blue. Deep blue curtains covered the windows and that same coolness was present in this room. The bed was a full size, had a cozy looking quilt all laid out across it. The quilt was a deep maroon, contrasting the color theme of the room. There was a nightstand with a lamp and a dresser off next to the window. The walls had pictures of the ocean on them. Peter was sensing a theme.

“If you need anything just come get me. If you can’t get out of bed for some reason knock on the wall. I’ll be able to hear you since the rooms share the one the bed is against.”

“Okay, thank you Bucky.” Peter looked at him, tried to convey just how important, how meaningful this was through his gaze and simple words.

“Of course, Peter.” One of those massive hands reached out towards him and cupped his cheek gently. Peter nearly crumbled into pieces. “Anything you need, anytime. Just say the word.”

Peter refused to tear up, gave one firm nod before Bucky pulled away to let him lay down. He wanted to follow, didn’t want Bucky to go but stayed where he was. Watched as Bucky disappeared, closing the door with a click!

He crawled into bed without much fanfare. Curled up under the covers and sighed as the long forgotten feeling of clean sheets slid across his skin, drawing him down into the lazy waves of sleep. Dreamed of grey eyes and trust and warm chocolate and longing. Got to experience more of those precious human comforts.

In the end, it was nothing more than a precursory apology for what was to come as Peter woke up in a sea of his own unending vomit.

#winterspider #siliqua writes #peter parker x bucky barnes #fic #marvel #bucky barnes #peter parker

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mitchellsbeca · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/? Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Summary: A collection of prompts/tumblr requests. Bechloe for now but may change later.

prompt 18. “I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

In all honesty, it was the last person Beca expected to turn up, her arrival always catching Beca off guard and tilting her center of gravity.

It had been about six months since she’d officially signed with Khaled, six months since the Bellas had split and gone their own ways and Beca had moved to Florida. But she’d still invited them all to the release party for her first album, something she’d worked tirelessly on to get it completed as soon as possible (and she already had a repertoire of songs and beats saved on her computer so there hadn’t been a great deal of work to do, just plenty of fine-tuning).

Understandably some couldn’t make it; Jessica and Ashley were busy at a different event in California doing... something (she should really ask them what they’re doing now), Cynthia Rose was in military training and couldn’t get the leave, Lilly or Ester or whatever her name was now was off somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, Fat Amy had flown herself over since she had the money now, along with a Aubrey, Emily, Flo and Stacie (who had actually brought Bella with her and made motherhood look cool and easy at the same time). But Chloe had reluctantly declined, her studies taking up most of her time now that she was at vet school with an unavoidable exam taking place the same Friday. And she was the one Beca had been most looking forward to seeing.

It was a red carpet event so everyone was dressed particularly nicely. Beca had been assigned a blazer slash play suit piece, dark red with cut-off shorts in matching fabric and heels. Hair and make up had been done - maybe even over done for Beca’s liking - but done nonetheless. And she did look killer, she wouldn’t disagree. Beca was actually feeling good.

But even in the sea of people at the venue, alongside influencers, other artists and photographers, Beca pulling attention from all corners, her focus wasn’t with anyone else but who’d just walked in.

It was like a parting of the ocean, Beca’s direct line of sight guided by a line of emptiness with people either side and all sound plunging to mute.

A blue gilded dress with a deep neckline held the woman tight, hair braided like a halo around her head with strands falling to frame her face. And the sky. The endless gorgeous sky that Beca always saw in her eyes, even from halfway across the room it was like daylight and the height of summer and the endless possibilities that could be. Could have been.

Beca excused herself from the group she was surrounded by, one of them a journalist who was halfway done with asking Beca questions about the album and attempting to pry into her personal life.

Chloe looked lost, eyes wandering across the vast, dark room in sight of any face she might find familiar with clutch caught in front as her body turned. Beca wove through bodies on the approach, smile growing ever so slightly larger as she neared.

And Chloe beamed, spotting the brunette head towards her and she moved forward, arms outstretched and ready to embrace her best friend. Laughter escaped them both when they hugged, Chloe’s warmth seeping into Beca, dissolving her stress and settling some of the underlying anxiety she’d been suffering from all day.

“I thought you couldn’t make it?” Beca asked.

“Amy flew me over from New York. You know she has her own private jet now, right?”

“I do.”

“Well, she didn’t take no for an answer, so she got her pilot to fly back and pick me up after my exam and I got ready on the plane.”

“Yeah, you look like you got ready on a plane,” Beca jested with a playful smirk.

“Please. This is Mile High Couture, thank you very much,” she said, splaying her arms out as she showed off her out and stroke a pose, “And I was going to say I look better than you but that would be an outright lie. You look... stunning, Beca, honestly.”

“This? It’s just people doing their job to make me look good. Turns out you can only do so much with an actual potato. But yours is all natural, you don’t even need to try; you always look incredible.”

“You’re not a potato. But we’ll leave the ‘all natural’ comment out for discussion.” “Dude, I’m not kidding.”

The grin on her face faltered, like a sudden thought had popped to the forefront of Chloe’s mind and escaped to her expression. She eyed someone next to them before she leaned in, pulling at Beca’s wrist and asking in a hushed voice, “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a bit more... private?”

Beca turned to who Chloe had been eyeing; a tall guy with heavy duty camera equipment that was beginning to snap pictures, flash almost blinding. A small group of people lingered behind him too, so Beca nodded in response and grasped the wrist of the hand holding her own, pulling Chloe behind her. She knew where to go. There was a secret balcony down a corridor next to the restrooms that she had scouted earlier that day. So Beca lead them there, out into the Floridian air that was more humid than inside but fair quieter.

“Sorry about that,” Beca apologized.

Chloe shook it off, “You’re a big celebrity now. People want to know you.” “I’m just making music, like I’ve always been doing. Just... more people are listening to it now.”

A silence fell. The thumping bass of the music inside was the only thing that could be heard but the air was still around them. They were both leaning against the edge of the balcony, solid stone wall cool on their skin.

Beca was about to speak when Chloe jumped in before her, “I listened to it. The album, I mean. As soon as you sent it over I listened to it in one sitting. I’m not going to lie to you when I tell you I cried a little bit.”

“You cry at videos of dogs.”

Chloe chuckled, “So it wasn’t necessarily a hard task, okay? But still... it really moved me, Beca.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“Especially the hidden track.”

The brunette’s posture went rigid. She doesn’t know how, but Beca had been hoping Chloe had missed it, that dumb song she’d unknowingly recorded on her down time (thanks to Theo, once again), stripped back and acoustic. “Yeah?” she asked.

“I don’t know why, but when I first heard it I was kind of... I don’t know. I had to listen to it again. But when I did, I was just... crying and I couldn’t work out why, but I felt like it was a piece of a puzzle that I didn’t even know I had that I’d been missing. And I asked Amy if she’d heard it and what she thought of it and she told me. She told me it was about us. And how you felt about me.”

“Feel,” Beca corrected, staring at the street below them.

A beat, too long too be promising, “...what?”

And it was now or never, Beca decided. Because if she owed Chloe anything, it was the truth. She didn’t have the energy to keep tip-toeing anymore. Chloe had her life sorted now so it wouldn’t make a difference, but she deserved to know, “How I feel about you. Because I love you. And I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be in love with you because it’s not my place to be in love with you—”

“Beca...”

“The truth is, Chloe, I’ve loved you since Freshman year; starting from when you broke into my shower and invited me to audition for the Bellas. When we sang together for the first time?” Beca asked like she thought Chloe wouldn’t remember. “It just took me too long to realize, and when I did... it was too late. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too slow and gave too little. I didn’t just break up with Jesse because of the long distance. He wanted me to move with him to LA and I said no, but as soon as you said you were going to New York the thought of not seeing you on the daily made me feel like I was going to drop off the planet. So I agreed to move with you and make it work. I knew I couldn’t ask you to be with me the same way as I was with Jesse, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because I was still saw you every day. And even on the USO tour I didn’t say anything because... because I already knew I was too late...” she looked up at Chloe with a sad, gentle smile, but blue eyes were covered by eyelids pressed shut, cheeks glistening in the dark, “and that was okay. I made my peace with that even before we moved. I just wanted you to be happy, and Chicago made you happy, so I didn’t interfere. And all the Bellas wanted me to take this opportunity so I did. And it was a perfect way to move onto the next chapter.”

“We’re not... together anymore. Chicago and I.”

It was Beca’s time to be taken aback, “What?”

“I didn’t really work out. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he would have been working away from home a lot and I barely know him already so that’s... not what I want.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.”

The redhead moved to Beca, clutch left behind resting on the flat of the ledge so she had two delicate hands free. And they reached for the hands across from her, pulling them closer and making Beca turn to face her, “What I’m trying to say is... that chapter? It didn’t start for me when we left Spain, but it ended on a cliffhanger when I heard your song. And I don’t know what the next one is going to be.”

And they were both so close. As close as Chloe had pulled her on hood night all those years ago, but this time Chloe’s eyes were red and puffy and there was a million things swimming within them that Beca had only dreamt about seeing half of. And just when she thought she was used to all the ways Chloe could make her feel...

Clear music erupted from the door behind them. Chloe pulled away, turning away from whoever it was that interrupted them and regaining her composure.

“Beca! We’ve been looking everywhere for you; we need you for the speech,” Theo said, his British accent grating Beca’s neck moreso than usual, “Come on, you’re already late.”

“Two seconds. Just two, I’ll be with you soon. Just... tell them I’m coming.” “We can’t, Beca, we’re already running late,” he replied, holding the door open. “Dude, I was having a moment!” she near yelled and she heard a chuckle from the side of her. She turned to Chloe.

“You should go. I’ll be fine. Don’t want to keep them waiting any more, Miss Hotshot Artist,” the redhead said, eyes twinkling still but the smile she offered not quite reaching them.

“I don’t care. They can wait, but you can’t. I won’t make you,” Beca whispered, even over the music, so that only they could hear. And she cupped the bottom of Chloe’s jaw, thumbs stroking damp cheeks before pulling her close and pressing lips together. And Chloe? Chloe was everything Beca had imagined her to be. Soft, gentle, perfect. Her perfume smelled divine. She could smell the sweet scent of her hair as it danced into her senses and enveloped her completely.

And before she knew it, Chloe’s arms were wrapped across her shoulders, the crook of her elbow pulling her body closer by the neck. They were pressed so close. So close like when they sleep but this time they were both so awake and vibrant and alive.

Chloe pulled away and Beca craved to follow but the redhead pressed delicate fingers against her lips, “You’ve done enough. I can wait ten more minutes. Go and knock ‘em dead, Becs.”

The brunette couldn’t be beaming brighter if she tried. She pressed a gentle kiss against Chloe’s fingers and pulled away, making her way to the door. She didn’t escape without a pat on the ass from the redhead, though.

And whatever the rest of this chapter had, Beca thought, it was going to even more brilliant.

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fanfiction #pitch perfect #prompt #this is kind of old but im like #super happy with it #writing #my writing #our little universes

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amillionsmiles · 7 years ago

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quantum mechanics, smirks, and other complications of the universe (Pidge/Lance)

Summary: It’s the littlest things that are hardest to measure. Pidge tries anyways. A/N: birthday fic for @flusteredkeith !!! you know how much I love you and basically every other fic I write ends up dedicated to you anyways but here’s a lil something short and sweet set in the canon universe <3 have a beautiful day~~ A/N2: partially inspired by this art by @shiros-sugar !

[Read and review on Ao3] or continue under the cut.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle says this: the more you know about the position of a particle, the less you can know about its momentum, and vice versa.

Pidge’s Field Guide to Her Friends (Version 2.0, after extensive beta testing) says this: in precisely ten ticks, Lance will approach the tall, four-eyed, four-armed alien with a wink and a pick-up line.

Sure enough, the experiment begins right on time. Lance saunters over, all long limbs and diamond-edged smile, leaning casually against the pillar to deliver his pièce de résistance: “Are you from space? Because your body’s out of this world.”

Based on Pidge’s calculations (after all, a scientist is only as good as the notes she keeps), this line has a 67% success rate.

The alien looks at Lance, all four eyes staring at him blankly, before excusing itself from the conversation. Pidge turns around to hide her snicker, taking out her palm pad so that she can update her data. The column keeping track of “overtures made” goes up from 27 to 28.

“What are you doing?” Hunk appears at her shoulder.

“Testing a hypothesis. Have you ever thought about how Lance is kind of like Schrodinger’s Cat?”

Hunk strokes his chin. “Not really. Explain.”

“The cat is both dead and alive until you open the box. Lance is both charming and not until he opens his mouth, and then he’s just… not.”

“Hey!” This comes from over her left shoulder; Pidge nearly jumps out of her skin upon realizing that the topic of their conversation has… decided to join the conversation.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you talking about me behind my back,” Lance pouts. “Not cool, Pidge. I thought we had something.”

“Sorry, I’m taken by science.”

Lance snorts and rolls his eyes, bumping her on the shoulder before his attention gets caught by the arrival of a new prospect. In no time, he’s jumped right back in, and Pidge wonders, briefly, what that must feel like. To throw yourself into something without any idea of where the chips will fall.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Hunk smirking at her.

“What?”

The grin widens. “You think he’s charming.”

“Psst, Pidge!” Lance accosts her on the couch, draping himself over the back of it to speak right in her ear. “I need your help.”

At this point, Pidge is proud to say that she’s gotten better at managing her reactions to Lance sneaking up at her. Coolly, she closes her laptop, turning over her shoulder to ask: “With what?”

Lance shoots her a cryptic smile, shoving his hands in his pockets as he moves around the couch to stand in front of her. “Come with me and you’ll see.”

Several scenarios flash through her mind. 1) Prank—a bucket rigged to spill on her head. 2) Surprise—Lance is a generous person, after all, and he did joke once that he was going to knit her a sweater. 3) Lance actually needs help.

Statistically speaking, it’s probably option three.

Sighing, Pidge gets to her feet and follows him out of the room. Lance whistles, hands braced behind his head and elbows jutting out in the air as he leads them, cheerfully, through the halls. They come to a stop in front of a set of doors, the scent of manure hitting her as they slide open, a low moo echoing from inside.

“Kaltenecker,” Pidge gasps, feeling immediately guilty. “I forgot.”

Lance has already crossed the room in a few quick, easy strides, bringing a hand to Kaltenecker’s flank. She moos again, turning toward him slightly; Lance raises an eyebrow at Pidge, gesturing her over with a slight tilt of his head.

So Pidge goes. It makes her feel bad, wondering if Lance has been checking up on Kaltenecker all this time without her. Cautiously, she reaches toward the cow; Kaltenecker nudges against her palm gently, nostrils puffing warm air, nose slightly wet.

“There, see?” Lance is saying, stroking Kaltenecker’s side. “Mom didn’t forget about you, she was just busy.”

It takes a beat for the words to hit. “Mom?”

Lance scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I mean, it felt weird to refer to myself as just the owner—that’s so cold, you know? I figured we’re basically like Kaltenecker’s parents, so you’re Mom and I’m Dad—” Halfway through, Lance breaks off. “Okay, now that I’m saying that out loud and to your face, it sounds pretty weird.”

“A little.”

“I mean, if you have an alternative…”

Pidge purses her lips. “Why am I the mom, anyways? Why can’t you be the mom and I be the dad?”

“Fine, I’m the mom,” Lance says, not missing a beat. They hold each other’s gaze for a solid ten seconds before a laugh bubbles up Pidge’s throat, and then she’s snorting into the back of her hand while Lance snickers.

“Who gets custody if we fight?” she asks.

“Hunk.”

“That’s actually what I was thinking, too.”

“Good to know we’re on the same wavelength.” Lance grins.

Kaltenecker snuffles against her hand again, and Pidge says: “Lance?”

He pauses his motions, tilting his head. “Hm?”

“We should do this more often.”

Lance’s brow furrows. “The accidentally adopting a cow part, or the taking care of Kaltenecker?”

“Just—hanging out,” Pidge says, and she doesn’t know why those two words summon a burst of heat to her face, but she turns away slightly to hide it, not wanting Lance to get the wrong idea.

“Yeah,” Lance says, maybe a touch too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Lance. Laaaaance.”

“What—dammit, Pidge!” says Lance, scowling as he turns his face straight into the finger Pidge has poised by his cheek. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

In the aftermath of their bout of Killbot Phantasm 1, Pidge sets her controller down and sprawls out on her back, the metal flooring cool against the base of her head. There are a host of things to attend to: checking up on Green, helping Hunk in the kitchen, trying to advance another level in the Altean language training program. But, for whatever reason, she wants to prolong this moment.

“You’re just a sucker,” she teases, folding her hands on her stomach.

Lance joins her after a beat. The hair on her scalp prickles at his nearness. “Enjoying the view?”

There’s nothing much to look at, just the cavernous arches of the ceiling. Pidge traces a beam with her eyes, wondering briefly about what the rest of Altea’s architecture must have looked like, before she asks: “Lance, were you any good at spotting constellations?”

Matt had been good at it. She remembers lying on a picnic blanket, sandwiched between him and her dad. The stars glimmering to life one by one, the strength of their light growing as the night wore on, deepening. Making a game of who could find Orion or Perseus first.

“Not really,” Lance admits. “I could basically just find the Big Dipper and…that one swan one.”

“Cygnus?”

“Yeah.” Lance is quiet for a beat, and then he adds: “It makes sense that you’d be good at them.”

Pidge frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“I was just thinking of what you did with your Galra finder—”

“Technically, it wasn’t made to find them, just to predict their most likely locations—”

“Okay, predictor, whatever,” Lance says, nudging her slightly with his elbow. “But that’s the point, right? You find patterns. You connect the dots.”

This last part is said…differently, somehow, and Pidge turns her head, startled to find Lance already looking at her instead of the ceiling. His face is frighteningly close, lashes dark against the smooth, tan skin of his cheek. For the first time, Pidge notices the gentle slope of his nose, how it would only take a few inches for her to bump against it, to touch foreheads. A small adjustment.

Lance’s lips part slightly. To take a breath, or say something else. Something that’ll ruin this between them, whatever this is, and Pidge can’t take it, would rather not have her hypothesis confirmed. (I think of you like—)

She jolts away. Sits up. Something flashes across Lance’s face, too quick to catch.

“I forgot—I promised Hunk I’d help try to translate some of the Altean ingredients in the kitchen today.”

“Yeah.” Lance doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you should go.”

At the doorway, Pidge pauses.

A theory: it will hurt if she looks back.

It’ll hurt more if she doesn’t.

She risks a glance over her shoulder. Lance is still lying on the floor, hands braced behind his head, now, staring up at the ceiling. His cowlick is more evident from this angle, like a little sprout. She imagines squashing it flat with her hand, then squashes that desire, too.

The quandary of quantum mechanics: when you get down to the tiniest level, the very act of measurement affects what you’re trying to measure. Hence the inability to know for certain both things at once—momentum and position, for instance.

Memory is a little like that, too. Pidge has read about it—how every act of recollection alters it, slightly. And with the number of times she’s replayed certain moments—a joke made over their communications line, but just for her ears; a brush of fingers; the upward tick of Lance’s eyebrow; a razor-thin smirk shot across the dinner table—well, her data’s skewed now, isn’t it?

Some things don’t make any more sense under a microscope. You can spend all night turning them over in your head, and the harder you look, the more they seem to shift, made inscrutable. It’s the difference between observing things and actually living them, maybe. The risk of getting too close.

Pidge excuses herself from the celebration after a few rounds of mingling. She’ll dive back in later, but it’s looking to be a long night and she needs to recharge. Some people draw their energy from others; Pidge, on the other hand, has always preferred programming to people.

Jespora’s two moons are bright, the stars scattered between them like tiny jewels on black velvet. There aren’t any constellations that Pidge can recognize, here, so she entertains herself with drawing some of her own. The quiet reminds her of sneaking out onto the roof of the Garrison, tuning in to the chatter of the universe. Ears straining for answers, Matt and Dad somewhere out there, still. Send me a sign.

“So, you come out here to rock out?”

The voice is right in her ear. Pidge flails, and it really is like they’re back on the Garrison roof—Lance crouched over her, a single eyebrow raised. The only difference is that they’re both wearing formal wear, this time, and the collar of her suit suddenly feels too constricting.

“Something on your mind, Pidge?” Lance presses, settling down next to her. He stretches his legs out, leaning back on his hands. No hesitant “Can I sit here?” Lance just slots himself into place, buoyed by an easy self-assurance that Pidge envies, sometimes.

Pidge eyes him warily, reorganizing her body into her earlier cross-legged position. Careful not to accidentally brush against him with her knee. She’s not used to being this aware of her limbs around Lance; yet another thing that snuck up on her, before she knew what to do with it.

“I just needed some space,” she admits. “Sometimes it feels like…like there are too many people to keep up with.”

Lance reaches over, gently fixing the tassel of one of her epaulettes. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You’re good at this stuff, though,” Pidge says, forcing herself to be still under his attention. “Talking to people, making them laugh…” She trails off, hugging her knees to her chest. “Why’d you come out here, anyways?”

At her shoulder, Lance’s fingers pause. “Honestly? There’s this girl I wanted to hang out with, but she bailed.”

Pidge snorts. “Typical,” she says, proud that her voice comes out with its usual blend of sarcasm and annoyance. Green with envy. Never have her paladin colors been more apt. But Lance is never going to get a read on her, not if she can help it.

She can still feel his attention on her face, though, which is all wrong. Pidge is the one who keeps track of everyone, categorizes strengths and weaknesses, takes notes. Lance’s job is to crack jokes and come up with dumb team slogans and—

Lance sighs. It’s the heavy, long-suffering sound of someone giving up. Giving in.

“You have no idea who I’m talking about.”

“Um, no, was I supposed to be keeping track?” Pidge retorts. Rhetorical question, since she does. Keep track. Not that Lance has to know. Pidge pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering if it was the tall alien lady with the pink eyes and blue hair buns. Probably.

“It’s you, Pidge.”

The ground tilts, just a fraction, beneath her. This isn’t part of any mathematical model she could fit to their interactions, not something she could have predicted.

“What?” she says, a little shrill.

“It’s you,” Lance repeats, blue eyes boring into her, and she wants to ask him about what that means. If he has some sort of plan in his head for where to go from here. If it’s just a spur of the moment thing, a whim that’ll fall, unspoken, through the cracks, forgotten by morning. Pidge thinks all this but doesn’t have the right words to formulate around them. Just sits.

It’s such a Lance thing to do. Offer up vulnerability without any meditation on what it might cost him. Say something simple and leave her spinning, still caught up in the uncertainty of it all.

In the end, though, it comes down to a simple truth. Like wave-particle duality or the law of universal gravitation, this is what Pidge knows: Lance will do his best to catch her as she falls.

“So what do you say, Pidge?” Lance gets to his feet, offers a hand. “It takes two to tango.”

“You’re so weird,” she finally manages, wrinkling her nose, but she lets him pull her up, lets him spin her out with a flourish, connected by their hands, until somehow they end up pressed close in the moonlight, her head resting against his chest.

She can hear his heartbeat, thumping just a tick too fast. Unexpected, but right, somehow. She swallows.

“Interesting.”

“Good interesting?” asks Lance, vulnerable beneath his teasing. Both smug and uncertain, as only Lance can be.

“Unclear,” Pidge considers, tilting her head to blink up at him. “Needs more data.”

Lance chuckles and hugs her tighter, her chin digging into the knobby bone of his sternum, and Pidge smiles, too, a particle firing in the dark—unsure of when this feeling started or how fast she’s been barreling into it but knowing, down to the electron, that her heart is exactly where it should be.

#plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #pidge #lance #voltron #my writing #ff: voltron #fanfiction #otp: teenage dream meme team

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unashamed-shipper · 7 years ago

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Living With You

read on ff.net and ao3

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / eighteen / nineteen / twenty / twenty one

rating: t+ for sexual joking, swear words, and violence

pairings in this chapter: nalu, gajevy, and gruvia

characters in this chapter: natsu, lucy, gray, juvia, gajeel, levy

Natsu woke up with a grumble, realizing it was still early. His alarm had yet to go off, but he needed to wake up at this time for a reason. Today he had to be at work early because he had taken time off at the end of the day to go on a date with Lucy.

It was a surprise for her, after all, and it was a big date that he planned. He had been planning this for a while, and everything was about to fall into place. He was just excited to see everything happen and to hear Lucy’s reaction.

Stretching for a moment before throwing the covers off himself and getting out of bed, Natsu headed to the shower with renewed energy and excitement for his date with his girlfriend. It felt weird to call her that, but that’s what she was now. They had only been dating a week, but it felt as if they had gone through life together as an old married couple. Helping Lucy with her anxiety had made him feel closer to her than he had ever felt for another person, and such a thing could possibly become dangerous. He did not want to hurt her or make her feel like he was going too fast...but he also wouldn’t mind kissing her more and spending time with her physically.

Reminding himself that he wanted to go slow, he showered quickly and changed into his work clothes with a bounce in his step. “Morning,” he greeted Gajeel, who was still up watching TV reruns. The man had to watch his cooking shows, and apparently the only time they were on was in the wee hours of the morning when Natsu awoke for work.

Gajeel shushed Natsu violently and pointed toward his lap. Natsu peeked around the couch and find that Levy was asleep with her head on Gajeel’s thighs. Natsu smirked, turning around and beginning to make his breakfast. He didn’t want to tease the man further, as he would most likely become grumpy and start yelling, causing his girlfriend to wake up. And when Levy didn’t get her solid eight hours of shut eye, she became a monster that scared even her own boyfriend.

Tiptoeing out the door after preparing a lunch, Natsu saluted his roommate before leaving the apartment and making his way to his car. Now all he had to do was schedule an alarm so he could text Lucy good morning and then drive to work. He always had wanted to text the girl of his dreams good morning when she woke up, but since Lucy worked in retail she had a rather interesting schedule. She would work four days in a row then not for another two, then for six days and then she would be off for three. It made their date times quite rough for scheduling, but Natsu had her work agenda in his phone so he could message her at any time whenever she had to wake up for the day.

Planning the alarm to go off at 8:59 sharp so he had time to text her a sweet message, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and grimaced as he realized he hadn’t made coffee. Oh well, guess he’d fall asleep on the ride there. Or at work, which was even worse. His boss was great, but a bit of a hardass when it came to people sleeping on the job. She enjoyed putting on a fairy outfit and tapping people on the head with her wand, making an ugly face before they awakened. It would scare them awake, and she would chuckle and whip her red hair while walking away and going to work on a computer or wake up another unfortunate soul.

But it didn’t matter if he fell asleep, or if he didn’t make coffee this morning. He had a date with Lucy tonight, and that was what mattered for today.

Now, if he could only get through work without messing up on a computer because of tiredness…

Lucy’s alarm blared, playing Ke$ha’s new song at a level that scared even Lucy out of her slumber. She was like Levy--wake her up during her sleep, and she was a zombie for the rest of the day. Though, Levy was a little ruder than Lucy. The woman was positively sweet most of the time, but if the two had a sleepover, their boyfriends would be confused as hell to see them in their tired state.

Searching around for her phone groggily, Lucy sucked in a breath when she turned her phone to check her messages. The brightness of the screen was blinding in the dark room, and she had to push her phone closer to read her emails. Ever since she had gotten contacts, she had to take them out every night before falling asleep. The nightly ones were too expensive, and she was worried that if she got the ones she could sleep with on that it would get lost in her eye and never come out. It was an irrational fear, yes, but it was still a fear.

When her emails finally loaded, Lucy was excited to discover that her package of books she had ordered a week back would arrive today. It was almost too tempting to fall asleep and wait for the doorbell to ring. But, she resolved, she needed the money from work to pay for more books, bills, her portion of the rent, and helping out the boys with their eating habits. If it weren’t for her being one of the primary cooks of the house, she swore the boys would eat fast food almost every night.

Lucy noticed that a text was sent to her phone, which was confusing. Usually the entire group of the six of them used a messenger app to communicate, making texts rare. Clicking on the text notification, she saw that Natsu had sent her a message.

‘Good morning, Luce!’ it read, and a smile curled around her face as she scanned the words. ‘Hope ya have a good day at work. Check the note on the kitchen table to find your next clue!’

“Clue?” Lucy wondered aloud, “Clue for what?”

Scurrying out of bed and taking the blanket with her, she waddled over to the kitchen table and searched around it with her eyes squinted. She didn’t have her contacts in, and her glasses lay forgotten on the nightstand in her bedroom. Finding the piece of paper with the note on it was going to be rough. And she had just woken up, too!

Grasping her glasses and shoving them on her face when she made it to her room, she exited her bedroom once more and began to read the note. It told her that there was to be a package for her outside with her name on it. Lucy’s mind was rather addled with all of these new things arising, but she was determined to figure everything out.

Lucy opened the door and let the chilly autumn air in for a moment; the cold aided in awakening her tired eyes and body. Her eyes searched across the stoop on their apartment until they caught on a package that said her name in big letters. Natsu’s handwriting was unmistakable, and Lucy ripped it open after going inside without a moment’s notice.

Inside the box was a gorgeous olive green dress that Lucy had been fawning over last time she and Natsu had gone inside a store together. The neckline was very low, but it went down to her ankles and slit up to her knees on both sides of the dress. So Natsu did remember that she wanted that one! It had been weeks since she had been shopping, so she hugged the new dress to herself as if it was life-giving. Included were a pair of gold strappy sandals with mid height heels which would make her tall enough to see eye to eye with Natsu. Checking the shoe size, she found that they would even accommodate her high arches.

Snatching up the note, she studied the words Natsu had scrawled over the pink paper. It told her to go to work and then report to a store she had never heard of at five thirty sharp. Natsu was never one to tell her to be somewhere ‘sharp’ or buy her expensive clothes for that matter. Every piece of the ensemble had come from her favorite store and did Lucy ever know how expensive that store was. Each item was over $60 at least, and she loved drooling over every handbag, hat, top, shoe, and skirt the store had to offer.

With a smile, she hugged the items to her body and squealed, bouncing around the room until someone from the apartment below told yelled up at her to shut up. Even that did not quell her excitement, and Lucy bounded into her room and picked out her clothes for the day with a bounce in her step.

Nothing could ruin this day!

...Except customers. Lucy swore that they knew when she was having a good day because they would be in an exceptionally bad mood that particular moment when she walked into work. She had just stepped in the door when a woman with her chihuahua in her designer bag stormed up to her and began to complain.

“Miss, this hasn’t reduced my stress at all!” a woman said, shaking a lavender incense in the air in Lucy’s face, “I swear I have such bad anxiety that I should be admitted to a hospital!”

Lucy hardened for a moment. Did this woman even know the difference between stress and anxiety? She certainly did, and she was starting to feel it at this very moment. Her head began to hurt with a headache pulsing at the very back of her mind, and ice spindled up her stomach and clutched around her neck as if threatening to suffocate her. Lucy tried to speak, but she could barely breathe, much less talk to someone.

“What can Juvia help you with? Lucy needs to go put her apron on in the back, so please excuse her.” Juvia said from behind Lucy with a hand on her hip. The other hand shooed Lucy away in a firm but gentle way that reminded her that Juvia had her back. A small smile was shared between the two before Lucy hustled to the back, closing the door behind her with a relieved sigh.

Lucy breathed steadily in for eight seconds and out for five for a few minutes before her anxiety began to dwindle, and she cursed herself for working in such an environment that would give her such bad attacks such as this. But with her coworkers at her side, Lucy felt more empowered than ever. She had Juvia to thank for being such a lovely boss. She would figure out some way to repay Juvia for the kindness she had just given to her someday.

Tying her apron around her back twice, Lucy put her hand on her hip in a power pose that wouldn’t quit. She wanted to convey that she was confident to the customers even though her anxiety still prodded. No matter what would happen to Lucy today, she had a date with Natsu tonight, and that was all that mattered.

Now if she could only get those shelves to stop being so dusty every day she came in…

After work was over, Lucy dragged herself home and crashed on the couch. Her shoulders and arms ached from how long she had been dusting shelves, and she hated how messy her hair was. She had just taken a shower this morning and now her hair was full of dust and dirt. With a sigh, she flopped down on the sofa and let herself fall asleep for just a few minutes.

Peeking at her clock, she noticed it was five thirteen. Jumping off the couch with a shriek, she quickly searched on the internet how far the address was from the apartment. Ten minutes. If she hurried with getting dressed and brushing her hair, she could still make it in time!

Running a brush through her hair while practically ripping her clothes off, she shoved the dress on her body and applied a little mascara. She wiped underneath her tired, baggy eyes with a makeup wipe and reminded herself to put on a little lip gloss. With a turn to stare at her reflection in the mirror, Lucy sighed when she saw what she looked like.

It would just have to do. She knew Natsu would love her no matter what she looked like. But still...she wanted to look nice for him no matter where they were going.

Slumping over, Lucy frowned at her reflection in the mirror one last time before making her way to her car. She waved to her neighbor on her way out, who gave her a thumbs up. Well, at least someone liked how she looked today!

Her spirits a little higher, Lucy broke the laws of traffic to get to the address. But when she got there, it wasn’t a restaurant at all. It was a...salon?

Well. Maybe Natsu really did think of everything.

Stepping inside, she was greeted by the sweet brown-eyed, plum haired receptionist named Shana who told her to have a seat while she grabbed Lucy a mimosa. Eyes widening, Lucy took the stemmed glass with a meek thank you and a smile. Shana told her that her nail tech would be right with her.

‘Nail tech?’ Lucy wondered, looking at her nails. Grimacing, she noticed for the first time that day that there was dust on top of them and underneath them, and the mold she had scrubbed off the corners of the bathroom made them appear yellow underneath. Maybe Lucy really did need a manicure.

“Hello, Lucy! Nice to meet you. I’m Evie.” Lucy looked up from her glass and saw one of the most stunning women she had ever seen in her life. Her long brown hair was wavy at the bottom and rivaled Cana’s in terms of silkiness, and her eyes were a forest green not unlike Natsu’s. Lucy shook her hand with a soft flush on her face, cursing her bisexuality for being so obvious.

“Come on back here with me,” Evie said, motioning toward the nail table. Once Lucy sat down, she asked what color her dress was.

“Olive green,” Lucy replied, thankful for the mimosa for loosening her up a little. “What color nails would you suggest?”

“I think a french tip with gold tips would look stunning on you, Lucy. l will go get the polish right away! Do you want gel polish or gel with acrylic?” Evie stood, staring Lucy in the eyes for a moment.

“I--I don’t know what any of those words mean,” Lucy said with a blush, partially because she was embarrassed. She was a woman, she should know!

“It’s alright,” Evie laughed, “We’ll go with regular polish for now, and if you decide to come back to me, we’ll discuss afterward.”

Lucy looked at her nails as Evie shuffled to the back to pick the perfect color for her. Evie knew what she was doing, and if she did well enough with nails, she would definitely come back. Lucy would definitely have to thank Natsu for getting her pampered.

“What do you think of this gold?” Evie asked as she sat down across the table from Lucy, displaying a gorgeous gold with glitter that was sure to go well with Lucy’s coloring. Lucy nodded her head with a grin, and Evie’s lips curled up into a smile too.

After all the shaping, filing, massaging of the hands, and the base coat was finished, Evie began to paint and have a conversation with Lucy. Both women found out they were writers and shook their heads about the problems of being one on the internet. Evie asked a few questions about Natsu, and Lucy told her new friend about how Natsu romanced her and the entire story they had gone through.

“What do you think?” Evie asked, showing Lucy’s pinkie to her. It looked more polished and beautiful than her nails had looked in quite a long time. Nodding with a soft squeal, Lucy knew she was coming back now. She could afford it after paying all of her bills for the month--and it wouldn’t hurt to get pampered once in a while!

Evie finished up in around an hour, and Lucy sat with her hands underneath the blue light in order to harden them. As she turned to leave, Evie stopped her.

“You’re not done yet, Lucy! We still have hair and makeup to do!”

“H-Hair and makeup?!”

A little more than two hours later, Lucy walked out with soft highlights in her newly trimmed hair and a makeup look that was sure to stun Natsu. She barely wore makeup around him, but when she did he was shocked. Now she wore eyeliner, mascara, a bit of eyeshadow, and a highlight that was going to knock out everyone around her.

Shana handed Lucy another note from Natsu with another address on it--thankfully being one for an actual restaurant--and Lucy headed on her way to her actual date. Ruffling her hair up a bit to give it that sexy, lived in look, Lucy stepped out of the car and into one of the fanciest restaurants she had ever been to. If she had thought the salon was fancy, she should have looked at this place first. There was an honest to God chandelier in the entrance!

“Name?” the guy at the front desk asked, and Lucy gave him hers. Leading her to a table with Natsu at it, she was surprised to see a few other familiar faces at the table.

“Levy! Juvia! What are you two doing here?” Lucy said with a large grin as each woman got up to hug Lucy.

“We were just as surprised as you, Lu! Gajeel planned this for me too!” Levy smiled, twirling a tendril of curled blue hair. Her dress was a silver which Levy would have never picked out herself, but she looked gorgeous. The straps on her dress were thinner than Lucy’s, and the sweetheart neckline and mid length gave Levy height that she so desperately desired. On her feet were black heels that were higher than Lucy’s but slightly lower than Juvia’s.

Juvia wore a purple number that highlighted her legs and made them look long enough to go on for days. The neckline was high, but so was the length of the dress. Her heels were a darker color than her dress, but even they made her look taller than Lucy had ever seen her. Juvia wore a grin brighter than the lights in the room, and when Lucy looked at Gray he seemed content just gazing at his girlfriend.

“Gray-sama told Juvia to get off work early so she could go get her nails done. Juvia thought that was the only surprise, but Juvia was shocked even more to go to this place!” Juvia said, clutching Gray’s arm with a smile.

The six sat down from where they conversed, each couple across from each other. Natsu tapped his fork against his wine glass, and everyone turned to pay attention to him. Raising his glass in the air, he grinned as each person followed suit.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Natsu said as he stood once more, eyes focused on Lucy. “To Lucy Heartfilia, the world’s greatest girlfriend. She made me into the man I was supposed to be a hell of a long time ago, and she’s helped us all out a lot. To Lucy!”

“To Lucy!” everyone echoed with large grins, clinking glasses and taking drinks of their sparkling wine.

“Now,” Natsu replied, “Let’s eat!”

Hope you all enjoyed! If you could please leave a reblog/reply, that would mean the world to me. Thanks so much!

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years ago

Text

Bad Moon Rising (Part 3)

Summary: Jensen and the reader are doing some filming out in the Canadian wilderness when they decide to take a short hike during a break. The only problem is they don’t show up for their scene later that day…

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,400ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Hope you enjoy this final part!...

He’d finished talking a few minutes ago. You hadn’t said much, simply interjected a few times along the way to clarify some things. He was patient when you did that, when you tried to rebuttal away whatever words he was saying. You really were an idiot. But you weren’t supposed to call yourself that anymore. He was going to help you be nicer to yourself along with making those fears of needing to stay on the fringes disappear.

“Do we pinky promise or what?” you finally asked, turning your body around. You felt him move behind you, his face soft, barely any worry there. “I want you to believe me too.”

The hand he had kept around yours the entire time, however long that was, gave your own a gentle squeeze.

“Now that everyone is understanding of this whole thing...” he said with a soft smile. “There is that other elephant in the room.”

“Elephant in the forest, you mean,” you said, smiling when he rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“The elephant in the forest you little...let’s get out of here first and then we can figure out the if you want to try the dating thing,” he said. You shook your head and saw his face fall. “You don’t want to try dating?”

“I don’t want to wait to start doing it. No more pushing things down and not telling anyone, right?” you asked him. “Well, you know because of a certain loose lips Padalecki that I had some shoved down about you. You’ve been trying to coax it out of me the past week. You’re obliviously ready for it. What difference does it make?”

“I’m concerned it’s too much at once for you I guess,” he said. You laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously? I feel good, Jay. Forget the bumps and bruises and thirsty, hungry, lost as shit stuff. This cloud that’s always been hanging over my head is gone. I’m going to have to get the hang of this in terms of everyone else but as far as you go, it’s gone. Don’t make me wait any longer,” you said.

“Alright. You let me know though if things are too fast or you want to slow it down or whatever, promise?” he asked. You gave his hand a squeeze of your own and nodded. “I need to get more firewood.”

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you said, getting a ruffle on the top of your head as he stood.

“We’d still be freezing our asses off it weren’t for you. Partners right?” he asked.

“Partners.”

You were both hungry, grumbling stomachs filling the air. You hadn’t eaten in over a day at this point. The food thing you could handle. People could go awhile without food.

Water though, you really needed that. Neither one of you had tasted a sip of it since the night before. You knew you had more time before it became a really big problem but every swallow was a constant reminder that you were dehydrated and every moment you didn’t have it only made things worse.

“Can you climb a tree?” Jensen asked beside you. You looked him over as he stared at a tall pine not too far off. “You’re lighter than me. Less chance of branches breaking.”

“If you gave me a boost I could probably do it,” you said. How much different could it be than monkey bars on the playground? “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we need something to drink and soon. We got to find the river again,” he said. Oh. You were going to have to climb up high if you wanted a chance at looking over the tree line. Your concern must have been written all over your face because he was quickly shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous, forget about it.”

“I’ll do it,” you said, standing up. “If I fall, try to catch me?”

“Please don’t fall,” he said, getting to his feet reluctantly. You walked over to the base of the tree, Jensen shaking his head again. “I’ll do it. It’s-”

“You said it yourself. I’m lighter and smaller. I can get around better once I get to the top where it thins out,” you said. He was hesitant to help you up to where there were branches to get a hold of and you sighed. “I’m a badass remember?”

“Please don’t hurt yourself. Come down if you get scared or it’s too high,” he said.

“You got it boss. Come on,” you said. He stood with his back up against the tree, cupping his hands together in front of him. You had to do a scene once where your character had to climb up and over something with Dean’s help. Only you weren’t actually digging into Jensen’s shoulders with your feet when you had to do that.

You did your best not to hurt him as you got your second foot up on his shoulder, resting your hands against the bark of the tree. He didn’t speak as he put his hands under your heels and pushed upwards, giving you more height as he let out a huff.

“Shit you’re strong,” you said, reaching out for a branch when it came into grabbing distance. You could only get one hand on it though before you had to try and pull yourself up, Jensen moving away as you saw the ground already more than ten feet below.

You flew your other hand up and pulled, trying to get your body up and over. Your hands were sticky fast and pine needles scratched everything but somehow you pushed off the tree with your foot and swung a leg up and over. You twisted your body until it was on top of the branch, your back leaning up against the solid tree as you shook out your arms.

“I think you’re the strong one,” he said with a smile below. You got your breath back and looked up, trying to find the best path upwards. The branch you were on was sturdy and strong, one that could easily hold both you and Jensen together. Farther up you knew it’d get more treacherous. “If you can get your way over here I think you can zig zag up.”

You scooted over a few branches on your bottom until you were over him.

“Yeah,” you said looking up. “This looks better.”

“Be careful,” he said as you started to move. You never actually climbed a tree as a kid but you played on swing sets and most of it transferred over. Jensen kept telling you to take breaks so you didn’t tire yourself out. You listened for the most part until he told you to stop all together. “See anything yet?”

“A bunch of leaves,” you shouted back, moving to go higher.

“You’re already too high. Come back, we’ll figure out something else,” he said.

“There’s more branches, I’m going to keep going,” you said, pushing on as you heard him shout below. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

Actually, this was pretty stupid. You no longer felt safe and secure branches under you. Now it was constant shakes and creaks that made your heart race.

Finally when you were up so high you thought the top part of the tree would snap off, you could see over the tops of the ones below. At first all you saw was more trees which terrified you. You spun around carefully, checking out the other side when you saw a small break in them.

“That way!” you shouted down.

“Very helpful Columbus. Could you be more specific?” he yelled back.

“How’s this for specific?” you said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a rock you’d shoved in there for this exact purpose and tossing it in the direction of the river. “Watch your head!”

“That way?” you heard him yell back a moment later.

“No, the other way Sherlock. Yes that way!” you yelled back, hearing a laugh reach it’s way up to you.

“Okay but get your butt back down here now. That tree is shaking way too much,” he said. You were already going down, trying to use the same foot and handholds as on the way up. Until you stepped on one and it snapped, sending you barreling down.

You tried to catch something on the way down, the hits only slowing your fall so much. Then there were no more branches to separate you from a twenty foot drop straight down to hard ground below. You tucked up into a ball, just in time to hit something soft with a lot of force.

You felt the groan escape him as you rolled off and onto the ground. Jensen was on his back, grimacing as you had a similar expression on your own face.

“You alright?” you asked him, knowing all that weight hitting him that fast had to hurt.

“You’re never climbing a tree ever again,” he said, forcing himself to sit upright. “I’m alright. You?”

“Yeah. Next time, you climb the tree,” you said, trying to wipe away the sap and needles stuck to you and in you on your jeans. You winced when they wouldn’t fall away. Jensen slid over to help pluck them off as you saw he only had one shoe on. “Thanks for catching me.”

“I marked which way to go,” he said, holding up your palm, noticing the little cuts in them. “You can’t stand splinters.”

“You remember that?” you asked.

“You got one on one of the early episodes. Bitched about it the whole damn time until you finally got the medic to pull it out for you. I got you a box of kitty band aids for the next time it happened,” he said, making you smile.

“I still have those,” you said, spotting the dark spots in your skin you wouldn’t be able to get out, not without something better than a pair of fingers. “It was worth it.”

“No more risky stuff, agreed?” he asked. You shrugged, hoping there wouldn’t have to be one. Once your hands were cleaned up as good as they were going to get, you walked around until you found his shoe. “What about the fire?”

“We’ll make another one if it comes to it,” you said.

You took off in the direction you thought was the river. But as you went longer and longer without spotting it, you wondered if you’d been horribly wrong somehow.

“It-it should be this way,” you said. You were panicking some, hoping using up valuable energy like that hadn’t been for nothing.

“Hey, calm down. I’m sure we’ll find it,” he said, putting a hand around your shoulders. You let him relax you as you walked. “Better now?”

“I know I saw a break in the trees,” you said.

“I believe you. We ran pretty far last night. It’ll take longer on foot,” he said. You nodded and kept going, watching the sky darken. He didn’t have a hood and you really hoped it wouldn’t pour down on him. “Trees are thinning out up there. Maybe that’s it.”

You both picked up your pace some as you got closer. Until his arm around your shoulders jutted out in front of you, stopping you in place.

“Sh,” he said.

“Wha-” you got out before he threw his hand over your mouth. You tilted your head up to throw him a look but paused when you heard a pack of snarls again. He shook his head, the both of you backing out of there slowly and trying to walk farther down where the river should have been. Eventually the noises stopped and he pulled his hand away, keeping you close though.

You didn’t speak, only slightly nudging one another in the direction you wanted to go, over branches and then back towards the river. You saw the trees thin again as you approached, spotting fast moving rapids beyond it. Fresh water was right there but there was a big danger in leaning down to try and drink from it.

“One at a time,” he said, holding your hand tight. “If you slip I’ll get you.”

You leaned down, trying not to drown yourself as you pressed your lips to the cold water. Oh God that was amazing. You drank your fill before sitting back, letting him have a go.

He was on his way back up when you saw his boot slip in the mud along the river’s edge, sending his weight forward. You yanked back hard and dug your hand into the waist band of his jeans, pulling him so he fell back on you instead of forward.

“Heavy,” you breathed out, feeling a little crushed under his weight. He rolled off and pulled you back a few feet, giving you both some necessary space from the water.

“Thanks,” he said, a shake to his voice.

“What are friends for,” you said, twisting your arm around his, lacing your hands together. You sat for a while, knowing now you had a slightly safer source of water. There was still the issue of being on the wrong side of the river to deal with.

“You still want to come down to Austin this weekend?” he asked.

“Maybe we better make it next. Flights are probably all booked up ya know,” you said, offering a smile.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be making my 11 flight tonight,” he said. “We can hang out up here. Nice little relaxing weekend together.”

“Maybe go camping,” you joked.

“Build a fire,” he said, half-laughing along the way.

“Really rough it, ya know?” you said, looking down at yourselves. You weren’t sure there was a spot on you that wasn’t absolutely filthy.

“Austin next weekend for sure,” he said. You hummed and giggled to yourself. “What are you thinking giggly girl?”

“Were you trying to pull a Dean Winchester with inviting me to stay for the summer?” you asked. “You know, asking the girl you like to stay with you in the hope that you’ll get together?”

“I had no alternate motive when I asked you that. I asked you that before I found out you realize,” he said.

“And after you found out? You know, yesterday when you asked again?” you asked, catching him bite his bottom lip.

“Shut up,” he said, bumping his arm into yours.

“I’m sure it would have worked. You can be very convincing when you want to be,” you said.

“Hey, I got you, not exactly the way I planned to get us there but I think I made out okay,” he said. You bumped him back, earning a tickle on your ribs for just a second as he realized you were too close to the water for that.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

“That I’m starving and want to curl up in a blanket on something soft with you?” you asked.

“Yes that but...there might be a way across,” he said, holding out his free hand. “See that?”

“Hi, can I introduce you to Jensen from two hours ago who said we aren’t doing risky shit anymore?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“The water is fast enough where the animals aren’t going to bother you. You can get it on your own if you’re careful. You can make a fire. You can stay on your own and I’ll go-”

“No way in Hell am I letting you go do that,” you said. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you drown.”

“If I can get across, I’ll find the service road we took in. It ran parallel to the river. I can find it and get you help,” he said. “Trust me, leaving you here alone is the last thing I want but-”

“We’ll both go. We’re sticking together,” you said. He really didn’t like that. You already could tell how bad he felt about the tree thing and the idea of leaving you by yourself wasn’t exactly his first choice. He wanted you to be safe which you completely understood. You fully expected to have to argue this.

“Fine,” he said, watching the shock spread across your face. “I don’t have a right to try and protect you and not expect you to try and do it back. Plus I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Smart boy,” you said. “I’m glad you’re not some overprotective boyfriend and are still my best friend.”

“I never stopped being that. Only difference is now I can show you how much I have the hots for you once I find my way to some mouth wash,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

“I so knew that comment about me in my underwear didn’t come out of nowhere,” you said, following him over to the spot you both didn’t want to have to go.

“Bet you look even better out of them,” he said with a wink.

“Behave. We’re about to probably die,” you said.

“Better do this then,” he said. You were already leaning up, feeling him press a quick kiss to your lips. “Now I can die happy.”

“You die I’m going to murder you,” you said, eyes scanning the boulders jutting out in the river before you.

“I’ll do my best not to then,” he said, the teasing falling away. “I’ll go first.”

He let go of your hand and took a step up onto a rock and then another, slowly making his way off the river edge and starting to cross it. He stepped up to a big one, crouching on top it.

“It’s going to be slippery so be careful,” he said. You nodded and started going up yourself, the rocks here not so scary seeming as the ones in the middle you were dreading. “Okay?”

“Yeah, keep going,” you said once you got right up behind him. He took a big breath just in case and had to make a small jump, landing on a boulder on it’s own. There was another one he had to jump for again, this one smaller. He waved you to keep following and you took a breath yourself, jumping and hitting the rock on it’s own hard. This one was a lot wetter and you were surrounded by water now.

Jensen made another jump, making room for you to get up to the next one. It went slow and hard, slamming into them as you made your way about two thirds across. He took another leap and watched as his boot slipped and he fell back into the water.

You hopped forward to the rock he’d just been on and leaned down, grabbing his arm and hanging on tight. He managed to pull himself up with your help, both barely fitting on the rock as you stood up.

“Anyone ever tell you how good at saving my ass you are?” he said, catching his breath back, harder now that he was wet and cold.

“Make me some of that Ackles family sweet potato pie and we’re even,” you said.

“Alright, I’m making some pies on Sunday then,” he said, turning his body around. He jumped again, making it this time. There was only one more close call before he was safely on land again. “One more Y/N.”

This was the hard one and you both knew it. It was far for him and worse for you. There was no room to get a running start so you went for it, managing to get on and slide right off. You felt your head go under and be ripped back up by something rough grabbing your jacket collar. You shot your hands up and wrapped them around an arm that pulled you out of the water and onto the bank.

“How about you help with the pies?” he asked as you coughed into his chest.

“S’good,” you got out, the chill of the water as freezing as ever.

“I gotcha ya. Let’s warm up,” he said, getting you to your feet. You started to jog up the small hill, this one not as steep as the one you fell down, Jensen right on your tail. When you got to the top you were still wet but you felt a tiny bit warmer.

“Road,” you said, standing in one of two dirt trails. That got both your interest back as you headed right, jogging down the trail for a half mile or so before your aching body told you to stop. You walked in silence, trying your best to wring the water from your clothes, trying not to get too excited. You were glad for that when you realized the sun was going down, that you’d be spending another night out here.

“Hey, little Miss Bear Grylls, want to try and make us a fire?” asked Jensen. You slowed your pace, hoping you’d be able to make it happen twice.

“Only if-” you started, about to make some crack about him finding a worm for dinner. But there was a lot of commotion, someone speaking from a loudspeaker.

You both looked at each other before jogging down the road again. The road went up to a hill before dropping out below. When you got to the top you saw...well you saw what looked like a shit ton of people.

“Pick it back up at eight in the morning alright everyone?” whoever was speaking said.

“Don’t think you’ll need to!” shouted Jensen, unable to help himself as every head snapped in your direction. The two of you jogged down the rest of the road, slowing when you finally got there, everyone looking like they’d just seen a ghost.

“Anyone have any water? Or food?” you asked, instantly causing everyone to snap out of their haze and start helping you over to the back of a car.

“Ahh,” you both said, the heat from the vents making you smile. A bottle of water was placed in your hand, something warm tossed over you, an uneaten sandwich being handed over by another.

“This is great but-” said Jensen.

“Get your seat belts on. We’re taking you two to the hospital,” said Jared as he slid into the front seat of the car.

“Jare Bear, have we got a surprise for you.”

The next morning they’d released you and thankfully gotten all your splinters out. You were told to rest and there was nothing more that you wanted than to pass out in bed all day, which you did.

Only it wasn’t your bed you passed out in. It was easier to keep an eye on both of you if you were in the same apartment and Jensen had a bigger bed so that’s how you ended up asleep in it for the rest of the day, waking up only to have one of your friends watching you make sure you ate and drank.

By Sunday morning though you were feeling better and your caretakers were wondering exactly what happened out there that got you together.

“Gen, you broke the first rule of girls nights,” you said, nodding to Jensen as she slid a plate of pancakes in front of you after checking up on the kids having nap time.

“I would never! I will take those things with me to the grave,” she said. Jared rolled his eyes as Jensen bit down a laugh.

“Maybe you wouldn’t but tipsy Gen told him things I wasn’t ready to tell him,” you said.

“We got to figure out what the hell happens during girls night is what I’m learning,” said Jared. You shook your head. “Hey, you guys are finally together so I guess I can’t be any happier than that.”

“Y/N can make a fire,” said Jensen, a proud smile on his face. “She’s more amazing than we realized.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” you said, shifting your foot under the table to play with his beside you.

“I’m pretty much alive because of her,” said Jensen. You cocked your head and were about to protest when he leaned forward and kissed you.

“He did stuff too,” you said, a little breathless, a little hazy when he pulled away.

“We can tell,” said Gen and Jared in unison, setting the last of the plates down for themselves.

“I don’t understand,” you said, looking at Jensen. He smiled, seeing something you didn’t.

“You’re different. Good different. The old you would have ripped our heads off at trying to help you,” said Jared. “I think maybe you realize...”

“You dorks love me and I love you. Are we done with the sappy stuff now?” you asked.

“You still do smell a bit like a pine tree,” said Jensen, giving you a grin.

“Aw, she loves us,” said Jared.

“You guys can’t be this sappy or I won’t survive Austin for three months,” you said. You saw the surprised smiles on their faces and rolled your eyes. “Just give me a hug so I can eat my pancakes.”

“I call first dibs,” said Jensen, pulling you in tight, soon follower by two more paris of arms.

“Crushing me,” you squeaked out. They retreated back but you didn’t feel any less happy. “So, you said they re-wrote the scene we missed on the spot?”

“Yeah, we’re still on schedule somehow. You two have a kissing scene on Wednesday if I’m not mistaken,” said Jared.

“Only a few days to get in a whole lot of practice,” said Jensen, giving you a wink.

“It’s Sunday. You promised me a pie mister,” you said.

“Maybe one of our babysitters will go pick up the ingredients for us?” asked Jensen.

“He wants to make her a pie,” said Gen, before turning and smacking Jared on the arm. “Why don’t you offer to make pie?”

“I made you breakfast in bed last week! Go get lost in the woods and I’ll make you a pie too,” said Jared, relaxing when he saw her cracking up that he believed that. “You little...you owe me a pie now.”

“Why don’t we make it pie day?” you asked. “We can run down the hall and use my oven too.”

“Huh. Good thing Dean Winchester isn’t real or he’d steal her right out from under you bud,” said Jared.

“No, no. He wouldn’t stand a chance against me, not when it comes to Y/N,” said Jensen.

“None at all.”

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