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brownandblackpearls · 4 years ago

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🍞 ℋunger (Asra x EDReader, ED.MC)

Memories of your disorder slowly return and take over once again. You fight it but one bad day reveals everything that you wanted to hide the most.

─── Asra x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── no smut

─── TW: Eating disorders and explicit ED behaviors, hurt/comfort, past abandonment, body dysmorphia, body image, confrontation, if you know you have triggers with ED, skip this one.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

Some days are harder than others. You try your best.

But often, the best just isn’t enough to keep the spiraling at bay.

Asra knows your fondness for baked goods and chocolate well. Since you raved about that pumpkin bread a few months ago, he’s insisted on bringing you loaves every few weeks.

But as more your memories return to you, not all of them are pleasant. You begin to recall everything, including the unhealthy habits you used to have, and how people reacted to them before.

You remember what it was like when you were younger and larger than you are right now, you remember how you were treated by others who had so much to say about your body and how it fit into their thoughts, into this life. You remember things said in passing by family, friends, people who were supposed to care about you and love you.

Now? No matter how much you’ve tried to throw away those instances, those memories, the reawakened disorder clutches to the trauma like a lifeline, desperate to live through you. Desperate to starve and purge, and lessen and lessen you until there’s no more fear of fat.

But that’s just the thing. The fear is endless.

And worse, it’s a lie.

You know you’re not fat...And you know being fat means nothing on your inherent worth, your value, your beauty, your being. But it feels too difficult to put this beast down on your own.

As strong as you are, as strong as you’ve become, you wonder if some demons are stronger.

So you hide it.

You don’t want Asra to know what you’re thinking when he unwraps another chocolate truffle for you, you don’t want him to hear you try and fail to eliminate what you’ve eaten late in the night, you don’t want him to understand the things you tell yourself in the dark of your mind on your lowest days. You don’t want him to know that it took wiping your memory entirely for you to rid yourself of a condition that’s plagued you since before you knew him, that you’ve hidden since before you knew him.

Some days, you can eat.

Some days, you can’t.

Asra finally realizes on one of the days you weren’t careful enough.

He had brought more of that damned pumpkin bread and you’d already been silently agonizing over your physique that entire morning. Dress after dress, outfit after outfit, none of them seem to fit quite right enough to quell your inner critic.

“I’ve brought you some more from the market.” Asra is happy, holding his prize out to you.

You plaster a strained smile onto your face, thanking him, but you realize too late that it doesn’t shine through your eyes.

He sees.

“Are you...feeling alright?” He asks. “Is it the bread...? Do you not like it anymore?”

You grit your teeth behind your lips in anxiety, shaking your head a little too quickly.

“No! No, I love it. I’m just feeling a little...ill, that’s all!”

Asra frowns and lays the back of his hand to your head, brushing it down your temple and trailing his fingers down your tumbles of hair.

“You don’t feel warm…maybe it’s a chest cold? I’ll make you some tea, alright?”

You nod, feeling awful for lying to him.

Ashamed and embarrassed of yourself, you try to save the mood by plucking up the bread from his hands.

“I’ll save and eat this for later, when I’m feeling better!”

The statement does little to quell Asra’s concern over your ‘chest cold’, but he spares you a brief, appreciative smile before rushing to make the tea.

You climb the steps of the shop and head to your room to hide the bread away.

It’s almost tucked into your drawer when you smell the scent of it.

‘Not now...’

Your stomach gurgles, sick of fasting and excited to consume more carbs, more sugar, some kind of quick energy supply. All those days you hid not eating while Asra was away are beginning to catch up with you.

You grit your teeth and begin to count backwards, planning on drinking plenty of water to help kill the craving. But before you know it, the bread’s out of the drawer, in your hands, and being stuffed fervently into your mouth.

Without even really being present for the act, you ravenously chew the bread down. For a moment, the endorphins of finally getting fed surge through you and lift your spirits.

Halfway through the loaf, you feel the crash.

Hands full of bread, face covered in crumbs, your eyes well up and you begin to wail silently. Your body bends over under the weight of the grief, unchewed pastry falling out of your mouth and hitting the floor. You clutch your hands into tight fists of aggravation at yourself, crushing the pumpkin bread and trembling under the intense amount of anguish you feel right this second.

‘How could I have eaten that? Why did I eat that? What have I done?’

‘Now I’ll gain. I’ll be big again. No one will want me because I can’t control myself. They’ll make sure to let me know it, too.’

‘He won’t want me. Just like the rest of them. He’ll see how I really am.’

You cry and cry, unaware of Faust sliding out from under your bed. She tilts her head at you, swaying closer.

‘…!’

She cries your name.

Your mind is filled with fast thoughts that you can’t stop, and you don’t catch how Faust tries to reach you.

‘Sad? Hurt?’

When you don’t answer, Faust quickly slithers out the room, unseen.

Before long, fast footsteps ring out from the hall and you hear your door open.

‘Oh no...’

Asra calls your name and you hide further into yourself, clutching the floor.

He hates you, there is no doubt now, he is seeing the ugliness of your secret, the self-loathing, the ridiculousness of falling apart over blasted pumpkin bread, the lack of self-control, the fear, the shame, the shame, the shame—

Asra calls your name again, pulling you by the shoulders into him.

You try to keep your sobs in, your body wracking with the intensity of them. Your trembling grows to the point where it frightens even you.

As soft as water, Asra soothes a hand down your face, your neck, and calls to you as one would to an injured, trapped fawn.

“It’s alright. Let it out. Don’t hold on to all of that, let it out. I’ve got you, I’m here now.”

The sobs come then, long and loud and persistent. Years and years of pent up secrecy, of pain, of long body checks in mirrors and pools, of hidden and regurgitated food, of meanly whispered words and condemnations….all of it spills out of you.

When the waves of grief finally cease, Asra just holds you.

‘He is still here?’ you think. ‘Why?’

You wait for abandonment. You know how that feels. That is familiar. Judgement is familiar. Pain is familiar. And you just know it is coming.

Yet, nothing happens. Asra continues to hold you. No one says a word.

Long heavy silence rings in the air before he finally speaks.

“Faust said…that you…after you ate the bread…”

You nod stiffly into his chest, sniffling.

“I don’t eat.” You say plainly. “I never eat. At least, I try. But then I do and I ruin myself.”

Asra cradles your face, peering at you.

“Ruin yourself? From one piece of pumpkin bread?”

You tear up again, certain that you look and sound a complete mess.

“You don’t understand,” you insist, “it’s because of me…! Anyone else could have it…but not me, because if I have it…I’ll g-g-g-g-” you can’t even get the words out. “I just can’t.”

“Is this just about the bread? Or other foods...?”

Your face wilts and you look down in shame.

He knows, then.

“How long have you felt like this...?”

You trace the floor, shaking your head.

“...Years. I’m so sorry.”

“What...? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you. You know I would’ve—”

Your face twists and you close your eyes, tears spilling out.

“—It’s…it’s stupid…! It doesn’t even matter, I’ve been told so in the past…I’ve told others before, and nothing was done or I was criticized, or they left and I…I just was afraid that…you’d see how silly I was...how damaged I am….that you might leave…”

Asra pulls you so close to him that you can hear his heart thrum like a locomotive in his chest. He is worried sick over you, you suddenly realize.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice so serious that you can recall nothing like it from all the years of knowing him.

You obey, eyes wide and watery.

“I will never leave you,” Asra promises so solemnly, that he sounds as if he is swearing an oath on his very soul. “I love you, do you understand that? You could change in a thousand ways and I’d still love you. You could fall for another and I’d still love you, and watch over you until we were all dust in the wind. You are the most important thing in my life and it’s my job to protect you, to uplift you. I don’t ever want you to think I would leave you. Especially not over something like this.”

“I-I’m sorry!” You plead for forgiveness for doubting his love. You know that he is loyal to you, you do. It’s just...the disorder makes it so difficult to think sometimes, to remember the truth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you…I just…! I don’t know. I didn’t want to upset you...?”

“I am upset that I couldn’t have helped you with this sooner, that I didn’t realize. I should have realized...” Asra admits, frowning to himself. “But I can help you now. You’ve told me, and it’s alright now. We’ll face this together.”

You cling to Asra’s shirt like a lifeline, just breathing.

You know you have a long, difficult road to walk. You know it’s not as easy as finally getting the help and support you need, that there’s not a snap of fingers or a spell even that can speed this process for you. It can’t do the work for you.

You will have to learn how to eat without shame again. How to stop internalizing the pain and abandonment from the past. How to realize that pumpkin bread is just pumpkin bread, and that this was never about the food to begin with.

You will have to learn to look in a mirror and smile genuinely, even on the bad days. You will have to learn to eat food without calorie-counting, without crying.

You know there will be nights where you will fail, days where you stumble, and moments where you wish for nothing more but to be ill once again.

Asra can be there to hold your hand, to keep you steady, but he can’t do the work that you will have to do.

But you also know...

...you are worth it. A good life is worth it. A life with someone who cares for you, who loves you, is worth it. And deep down, you know that you care and love yourself, in a way, through all the pain.

You want to overcome. To heal.

Asra’s voice breaks you out of your trance.

“You’re not alone anymore. I’ll...I’ll write to Julian! And we’ll all come up with a plan, together. Okay? We can start today. Okay..?”

You keep your eyes locked on him, holding. Just holding.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work including this one. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

If any of you are interested in a short follow-up with Dr. Julian assisting you in overcoming ED, let me know.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

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Finding the Right Voice

Frankie Morales/Mute and chronically ill Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Warnings: Reader is both mute and has gastroparesis. Reader throws up once.

After much pestering from the boys, Frankie reluctantly signs up for a dating app, intending for it to be a joke. Until he falls in love. You and him text daily, getting to know each other so intimately despite never meeting. At least, never meeting until Frankie wants to take you on a date. So how the hell are you going to explain to him that you are constantly ill and will never speak again?

Frankie had always thought dating apps were a waste of time. Who the hell actually met the love of their life through the Internet?

Frankie Morales, that’s who.

Of course, he’d been hesitant to tell the boys he’d found someone, mostly because he knew they’d give him shit about it. And they did, of course. But now, months after meeting someone, they realized Frankie was genuinely happy and toned the teasing down.

“I’m just worried!” Frankie said, staring at his phone. “They haven’t responded in days.”

“Dude,” Benny said, gesturing with his beer bottle. “They’re probably just busy. Or out somewhere with shit cell service. I dated a girl like that. She went on vacation with her parents and didn’t call for like. Two weeks. Thought she’d died. But when she got back.” He leaned back, smiling drunkenly. “The apology sex was mind blowing.”

“Okay!” Santiago interjected, throwing an arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “You think they’re on vacay, Fish?”

Frankie shrugged, grabbing his own beer. “I dunno. They aren’t the vacationing type.”

William snorted from across the table. “Just like they aren’t the phone call or meet in person type?”

Immediately, Frankie knew where this was going. “Ironhead.”

“I’m just saying!” William pointed out. “How do we know that Catfish isn’t being, well, catfished.”

Frankie sighed into his bottle. “I don’t wanna talk about it Will.”

Santiago, who was somehow the voice of reason here, nudged Frankie. “You texted yet today?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you?” Santiago suggested. “Then leave it alone for a while. I doubt they’re meaning to leave you, they seem too nice.”

Frankie picked up his phone and opened his texts. Aside from the group chat he had with the boys, the aforementioned number was the last one he’d texted.

Frankie: Hey, haven’t heard from you in a bit. You doing okay?

Twenty miles away from the bar Frankie was in, you were leaned over the toilet in the hospital, hurling away what little applesauce you’d eaten for dinner.

Sitting back against the cold tile of the hospital bathroom wall, you sighed deeply upon hearing your phone ping. Who the hell wanted to talk to you right now?

Of course, it was Frankie.

Settling down in the bathroom, you unlocked your phone and texted him back.

You: I’m so sorry Fish. I’ve been a bit sick.

Fish: You don’t have to apologize for that. Are you feeling any better?

You snorted softly. As if.

You: Not really. It’s just gotten worse. Spent most of today throwing up.

Fish: You’re drinking water, right? Gotta stay hydrated.

You snapped a photo of your half full water bottle a nurse had brought you and sent it to Frankie.

You: Yep! Gotta finish this before I go to bed.

Fish: That’s good

Fish: Wait a second. Are you in the hospital?

You swore silently. How the fuck? Unless he frequented the same hospital as you, how the hell did he even know where you were from that blurry water bottle photo?

You: Yeah, I got here today. Nothing too serious, I was just too dehydrated

You felt bad lying to Frankie, but you really didn’t want to tell him the truth. The truth was too long, too complicated. Frankie would probably leave if he learned the truth.

Fish: I’m not too far away, if you’re at the hospital I think you’re at. Want me to drive you home when you leave?

You: Nah. I’m staying with family rn and it’s a haul to get out there

Another lie, another stab of pain through your heart.

Fish: Okay. I still wanna take you out though. We could get dinner and walk around the park.

You almost started sobbing.

You: Oh Frankie. I wish I could.

As soon as you typed the message, you deleted it. Best not to let him think anything was wrong. Instead, you took a minute and finally replied with,

You: That sounds lovely Fish.

Fish: But?

You: But I don’t think I can.

Back at the bar, Frankie was slumped over the table, staring at your tiny message of rejection.

“Dude, that’s hard,” Benny commented. “I’m starting to think Will might be right.”

“I’m sorry?” William said, coughing as he swallowed wrong. “Say that again?”

“No.” Benny leaned over the table and patted Frankie’s wrist. “I got nothing dude. Nothing.”

Santiago sighed. “Why don’t we stop giving Fish a hard time?” He said, seeing the hard lines in Frankie’s face appear. “They said they were in the hospital, so maybe it’s really bad.”

“You think?” Frankie asked, looking up with wide eyes.

“Maybe,” Santiago said. “They might not want you to worry about them.”

Frankie looked back at his phone, at the waiting message. He picked his phone up and typed one more message before shutting it off and pocketing it.

Frankie: I just wish I could get to know you. For real.

You stared at your phone, tears sliding down your face. Frankie would never know, if you could help it. He’d never know that you were so sick all the time. That you couldn’t eat anything without hurling it up hours later. That you hadn’t uttered a single word since you’d turned sixteen. That you’d never speak another word again.

Putting your phone away, you abandoned the water bottle and shakily crawled back into bed, sobbing silently into your pillow until you fell asleep.

The next morning, a team of nurses checked you over and deemed you okay to leave the next day. You nodded numbly, absently fiddling with a small stuffed toy as they started your laborious morning routine.

“This came for you last night,” a nurse said as everyone left your room. She placed a worn out baseball cap and a folded note on your bed. “From a very nice gentleman who seemed rather heartbroken.”

The nurse left, leaving you to grab the cap and the note.

The cap was worn out, the edges all frayed and the logo on the front nearly illegible. The note was in much better condition.

Hey.

So, I’m sorry about what I said last night, and I feel like a text wouldn’t have made it better. This is my favorite hat. It’s seen some shit, just like me. And just like you, I think.

Look, last night, I sounded like a dick. I want to make it up to you, I really do. But I don’t know how to take you on a date or anything. I sure hope it isn’t because of me that you don’t want to meet. I know my nickname is Catfish but I promise I’m who I say I am.

Tomorrow, I get off work early. If you’d let me, can I pick you up and take you out? Or at least take you back to my place for a movie or something? Please.

Love, your Frankie.

You ran your fingers over the lettering, memorizing how Frankie wrote every single word. Maybe, maybe it was time to open up. The worst that could happen was rejection.

Scooping your phone up, you texted Frankie back.

You: Tomorrow at 4, that’s when they discharge me. Get here early tho, I have some stuff to explain.

The next twenty four hours were hell for the both of you. You were both plagued by so much anxiety it was hard to do even the most basic of tasks, but you managed. Eventually, you received the text you’d been dreading all day.

Fish: I’m here. Visiting room B.

You took a deep breath. All your personal belongings were in a drawstring bag you put over your shoulder. You headed out of your room and slowly down the hall, towards the visiting room.

Opening the door was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

Once you’d opened the door, you stopped in the doorway, taking Frankie in.

He looked exactly the same as he did in his photos. Tall, handsome, kind. He smiled upon seeing you, and you swore your heart stopped.

“Hello,” Frankie said, moving towards you and holding out his hand.

Hello you signed, waiting for Frankie’s reaction.

He paused, his hand falling to his side. “Mute?”

You nodded.

Frankie simply smiled again. “So that’s why you don’t like phone calls,” he said. “It’s okay. I know some ASL.” He paused, taking you in. “Can I hug you?”

Yes please.

He wrapped you in a warm hug, allowing you to collapse into him. Months of text messages and listening to his voice mails were nothing compared to this.

Eventually, he pulled away, and you two sat on the uncomfortable couch.

“So what’s with the tube?” Frankie asked, gesturing to your face.

You pulled a whiteboard out of your bag and began to write, going slowly so you spelled everything right.

I have a condition called gastroparesis. My stomach is paralyzed and won’t move food to my intestines. I “eat” through a port in my side and this tube in my nose leads to my stomach, so whatever I drink can be drained out. I went mute before I got diagnosed with this.

��Oh.” Frankie blinked a few times. “So I guess dinner is off the table too.”

You snorted, laughing as best you could with no voice. No dinner. you signed happily. But a movie would be nice.

“A movie it is,” Frankie said, standing. “C’mon. I’ve got a bunch of movies at my place. And I think the boys are coming over tonight.”

You stood, following Frankie to his beat up old truck. He talked your ear off about all sorts of things while he drove home, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled into the driveway that you’d remembered his hat.

Close your eyes. You signed, digging around in your bag.

Frankie did, laughing when you snuggly placed his hat on his head.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hands. “I was really worried you’d catfished me at first. I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t want to call or meet. I dunno, I just thought you weren’t, y’know, you.”

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Frankie smiled. “I love you.”

I love you too Fish.

That night was the happiest you’d been in years. Frankie’s friends were all amazing people, and all three of them immediately overlooked your muteness and illness. You were happy and Frankie was happy. To them, that was all that mattered.

“So Fish,” Santiago said, leaning across the couch to nudge Frankie’s bicep. “Aren’t you glad we forced you to download that dating app?”

Frankie looked at you, curled up under his other arm, sipping water and waiting for the feed bag with your dinner in it to finish draining into your port. You looked up at him, smiling and nestling closer.

“Yeah. I am.”

#triple frontier #frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #my writing

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 4 years ago

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Spells and Sneezes

I needed to try some Fantasy sickfic, and also practice my “stuffy talk”, so have ~3700 words of a very sneezy, stuffed up sorcerer. This post was inspired by a prompt I saw from this site long ago about a tall, thin, sneezy warlock, but I can’t find that post again to link it to save my life. So generic thanks to whoever came up with the prompt!

“Hehhtt’SSCCHHEEEWW!!

The tickle he thought he’d stifled exploded out of him unexpectedly as a massive, wet sneeze. The tall, young sorcerer groaned and wiped his dripping nose wearily with an already sodden handkerchief. His entire workbench was now covered in the spray. He sighed dejectedly, glancing out the window, the weak afternoon sunlight offering little comfort.

He had been stuck on this spell for days now, and the deadline was fast approaching. And this wasn’t just any order, this was for the KING. He was preparing to wage war and was looking for chainmail woven with a defense spell for 3,000 of his top officers. The king had chosen him to fill this order because defense spells had been his specialty during his apprenticeship, but for some reason this powerful chain was toying with him. If he could get just one prototype together, making the rest would be the work of a day. But he had not been able to make even one yet.

He groaned again, wincing as he continued to wipe his raw, dripping nose. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His eyes hurt. His chest hurt from all the coughing he’d been doing. But he couldn’t rest until this was done.

He summoned the chair he had shoved aside a few minutes ago. Neither sitting nor standing seemed to help him concentrate better, so he kept going back and forth. He leaned his head in his hand and picked up his quill again, scratching sigils fruitlessly.

A merry knock startled him and he leapt to his feet, his lithe frame quivering. For a moment he imagined it was the king’s advisors coming to collect the spell a week early. Instead, his younger sister poked her head in, waving cheerily.

“Brother, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost! Did I startle you? I’m sorry. It has been some weeks since I’ve seen you, and I wanted to check on you.”

She bustled in, her cleaning cart clattering behind her and parking itself by the door. Elliamina was a kitchen witch, and renowned throughout the land for her cleaning abilities, especially for never having an apprenticeship of her own. She had helped her older brother with his studies, being the more studious of the two, and had picked up some knowledge of her own, enough to make her own way in the world without formal training.

She danced over, wrapping her arms around him warmly. She was almost a meter shorter than him, but otherwise they were nearly identical, though there was a 5 year span between them. The length of their hair was the only difference. Elmrador weakly returned her hug, his heart still pounding.

“Good to see you, Mina. I have missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you, but I’ve been quite busy with orders of late. I can’t visit long today though. I have much work to do.”

“Well, at least let me give your cottage a quick tidy while I’m here.” She stepped back and surveyed him, cocking her head. “You are ill, brother.” Her mouth immediately quirked down sadly.

It was a statement, not a question. He also frowned. “I am fine.”

As if only to betray him, a hoarse coughing fit snuck up on him, leaving him red and breathless. He rubbed his chest ruefully. “Or at any rate, I don’t need you fussing. I need to finish this order. It’s for the king.”

“Hm.” She looked at him skeptically. “I have the supplies to make a tonic for you. Let me give you that at least. You look miserable.”

He grunted his approval. “As long as you don’t mix it with a sleeping draught.”

“If that's what you want,” she said, rolling her eyes. She flitted back to her cart and began to mix up a simple potion. Meanwhile, he seated himself again and resumed his scribbling. Another dratted tickle was growing in his nose though, which was streaming in earnest. He mopped the drips, to no avail.

“Ah… ah… Ahhkkt’shoooooo!” His handkerchief caught only part of the spray due to how sodden and crumpled it was, and his workbench was once again covered. Mina was at his side in a moment, rubbing his back.

“Poor dear! Elm, you sound awful. You should be in bed.”

“As soon as I work this through.”

She sighed and shook her head, handing him the steaming tonic. He took it with a grateful smile and gulped it down before taking up his quill again, rubbing his hands together to warm them before he did.

Seeing he didn’t intend to chat further, she began to clean his one room cottage. It was all he needed, just the right amount of space. He kept it cozy and neat for the most part, but when he was busy, cleaning was the last thing on his mind, which is one of the reasons she liked to visit often. She genuinely loved cleaning, especially for people she cared about. She began at the ceiling, sweeping down cobwebs and dusting the corners as she sang to herself. Elm personally thought her singing was a big component of her magic, though she denied it.

After the ceiling, she moved to the walls and cupboards. Elm found himself watching her idly rather than working. He turned back to his papers, shaking his throbbing head, trying to clear it. The tonic seemed to be affecting his fever. He had previously been shivering in the warm room, but now he was starting to sweat. The congestion seemed to be leaving his chest but was streaming out of his nose in earnest.

He didn’t know where his other handkerchiefs were, so he kept using the current one, but it was getting less and less effective as his sniffles got wetter and wetter. It wasn’t long before he started sneezing, both from his overactive nose, and the dust his sister was creating.

“Errr’sssHUUH! ErrrRIESSH’shew! Ehhhkxxt’SHEEEWW!”

Mina threw down her duster in exasperation. “I don’t know how you can stand to keep working. *I* can hardly work with you like this!”

He shrugged petulantly, rubbing his red nose. “Well, if you weren’dt kickig ub so mbuch dusdt…”

“Oh! Is the tonic not helping? It shouldn’t make you sound like that.”

“Idt helped the cough. Bud idt mbade mby ndose worse,” he mumbled weakly.

She rolled her eyes. “That tonic works on everyone else, except stubborn sorcerers. I bet your magic is going haywire and counteracting it. Especially without the sleeping effect.”

“Thadt’s ndot mby fauldt.” He shivered and coughed softly, summoning a blanket to wrap around his shoulders as he was suddenly freezing instead of sweating.

She sighed and moved to his side again, rubbing his back some more. He leaned against her wearily.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Ndo. I worgk best adt ndight.”

“Poor dear. You’re exhausted. No wonder you’re ill. What has got you so worked up?”

She glanced at the papers spread before him. “Chainmail woven with defense? Clever. Lucky you, getting an interesting project like this.”

“Idt’s driving mbe to distraction. I can’dt quide sordt it oudt.”

Her sharp eyes roved over the parchment quickly. “Your writing is terrible when you’re ill. I can hardly make it out. Ah, but here’s one of the reasons you're having trouble--half of these sigils appear to be reversed. See these here? They’re meaningless. Don’t tell me you’ve been working with them like this?”

He groaned pathetically. “They weren’dt like thadt whend I wrote themb! I ndo they weren’dt!”

She reached out and tried to feel his forehead. He batted her hand away before she could. She frowned.

“You know your magic is unpredictable when something is wrong with you, brother. My guess is you sneezed on these and they reversed themselves. You’re positively crackling with stray mana. Not to mention you’re probably feverish. You need to take some rest.”

“I can’dt. I have to deliver 3,000 of these in a weegk’s time, and I haven’dt even godden one yedt.”

“You’re not being productive like this though.”

“Ndeither are you. I thoughdt you were cleanig.”

She swatted him playfully. “See to yourself first, Elmrador, before you worry about me.”

Shaking her head, she reluctantly went back to her cleaning. The thin sorcerer directed his gaze back to his work, slowly fixing the reversed sigils, but he couldn’t get his eyes to stay in focus. They were so heavy. Everything was blurred around the edges.

His head was overwhelmingly heavy too, and achingly throbbing. He let it drop to the workbench, the cool wood pleasant on his hot forehead. He let his mouth hang open and tried to breathe, letting his nose drip gently into his handkerchief.

He must have dozed off, because Elliamina’s touch startled him some moments later. He turned to look at her, his cheek still on the bench.

“Why are you fighting yourself? You’re no good to anyone like this. The project can wait.”

“Will you mbake mbe some tea?” he asked pitifully, changing the subject.

She rubbed his back, surveying him keenly. “I’ll make you some tea if you take it in bed.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slowly pulling the blanket closer to himself as he rose and shuffled to the corner where his bed stood. He clumsily discarded his outer tunic and boots as he went, kicking them aside before falling onto the mattress and heaping blankets and pillows over himself, dozing immediately. His sister busied herself boiling the water and preparing the tea leaves.

When it was ready, she shook him awake again and helped him sit up.

“I can do idt mbyself,” he muttered, shaking her off.

“You’re worn out enough,” she chided gently. “So let me help.”

He couldn’t argue with that. The tea was sweet and hot, the perfect temperature to start drinking immediately. But naturally, the warm liquid made his nose stream in earnest. His sister had been fussing around, fluffing his pillows and picking up his discarded clothes. When she noticed his sodden handkerchief, long past its usefulness, she quickly summoned another. He took it with a grateful smile, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his watery eyes. He blew his nose several times, but his sinuses were stopped tight, and blowing just made his head throb terribly.

Once the tea was gone and he had finally stopped shivering, he felt he couldn't keep his eyes open for another minute. He fell back into the bed as Elliamina dimmed the lights and covered him warmly.

Mina watched as he seemed to slip into a doze immediately. After a moment, she returned to her cleaning. She had made up her mind that she would stay here with him until he was over the worst of this. And since she would be here for a while, she had decided she would scour his cottage from top to bottom.

However, her brother couldn't seem to settle. He tossed and turned, coughing more and more often, the most awful-sounding fits. Finally he rolled over and opened his eyes, looking at her pitifully.

"I can'dt sleebp," he croaked. "First I'mb sweatig, then I'mb freezig. And I can'dt breathe for the coughig."

She clicked her tongue, coming to his side. She felt his forehead and cheeks, and this time he let her, leaning his head into her hand.

“You are so warm, Elm,” she tutted, brushing the sweaty hair off of his brow. “Would you like me to make you another tonic, a stronger one to help you sleep?”

He hesitated, then nodded miserably.

“Just a moment, then.” She trotted to her cart, ingredients flying to her hands before she had even reached it. She made a potion double the strength of the first one, with a strong dash of sleeping draught. Turning, she made her way back to the bed with the steaming mug as her brother once more struggled into a sitting position, hindered by another coughing fit.

He swallowed the mixture in a few gulps, grimacing, whether from the taste or his sore throat, she wasn’t sure. Then, she helped him lie back yet again, propping him up with pillows so he could breathe easier. The process seemed to wear him out. His eyes drifted closed immediately.

Elliamina tucked him in, straightening the blankets around him. He mumbled something incoherent as sleep overcame him.

“What did you say?”

“Stay with mbe,” he mumbled, his wheezy exhale turning into a snore.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she whispered, though she knew he did not hear.

Elliamina spent the rest of the evening puttering around, finishing her deep scour, making soup for when her brother woke, tending to his garden, and other domestic things that she had helped him with since they were children. She gave special attention to his workbench. She cleaned it and sanitized it thoroughly, even using a special cleansing spell on the parchment he had been working on. Sure enough, as soon as it was clean, she saw many of the sigils reverse themselves to what they should be. With a little smile, she replaced the papers where she had found them. Meanwhile, the tonic did its job admirably; Elmrador hardly moved, and he was breathing much easier. The only sound he made for many hours was soft, even snoring.

Evening turned into night. Mina was an early sleeper and early riser. As soon as the sun was down, she made a little nest for herself with extra blankets and pillows on the freshly scoured floor in front of the fireplace. She was weary from her day’s efforts, and dropped off to sleep without any effort, expecting her brother to sleep soundly through the night as well.

Imagine her surprise when she was awakened by him jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and running to his workbench, lighting candles hastily as he went. He banged down into his desk chair, picked up his quill, and began scribbling furiously, muttering to himself.

“Elm? What ails you?” she yawned, getting to her feet and wrapping her shawl around herself to go stand at his side, feeling his forehead. His temperature seemed almost normal, though his cheeks were flushed. He paid her no mind.

“The spell. It came to me in my sleep. I know what I was missing.” He sniffled wetly, wiping his sleeve under his nose, but continued scribbling away.

“I shan’t try to reason with you, since you’re so determined, though I wonder how you’re awake at all for how strong that tonic was. I don’t want to imagine the state you’ll be in in the morning.” She sighed softly. He seemed fine for now, but the tonic could only mask symptoms for so long.

With a shrug, she shuffled back to her nest. As she went, she mumbled: “Fates help you if you wake me again, though.” In front of the fire once more, she burrowed into her blankets, and was quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of his quill and his muttering.

It was a harsh cough that woke her again in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, but not hers. She yawned and stretched luxuriously. For a moment she forgot where she was, until a wet sneeze made her turn.

Elmrador was just as she had left him the night before, hunched over his workbench. Spread out all around him were what appeared to be hundreds of chain shirts, and more were in the process of being finished. However, her brother looked more asleep than awake as he worked. Harsh, dark circles ringed his eyes, vivid against his pallor, as was his raw, chapped nose. Just as she noted this, the nose disappeared into his handkerchief .

“Hrrr’RUSH’eeww! Ahh’NNXGH’shuuh!”

“Oh Elm,” she murmured fondly. “You are in quite a state now, aren’t you?”

“Mbina… Good mornig. Loogk, I fidished mby prototype. Idt’s mby best worgk, I thingk.”

“It had better be, for you to be working as ill as you areYou look awful. You ought to go back to bed right away.”

“Id a few mbinutes. As sood as I fidish these three, I’ll have 300 done. Thed I cad automate themb to reblicate thembselves.”

Such a long speech made him cough harshly, his voice long gone. She tutted disapprovingly. “You’ll be in bed for a week after this. You’ve done yourself in, stubborn fool.

“Id was worth idt,” he said, almost smugly. “Idt’s for the king.”

“So you said,” she said, yet again rolling her eyes. “We’ll see if you can say the same in a few days.”

A hoarse grunt was his only reply. He had gone back to his work and needed all his remaining concentration to finish.

Seeing that he wasn’t moving until he reached his target, Elliamina did her own washing and grooming, cleaned up her bedding, and got coffee and breakfast going. Just as she was putting the eggs on, she saw him toss down his tools with a final flourish. However, as he said, the chain mail materials continued to manipulate themselves to form more armor even as Elmrador wearily stood, scrubbing his face and swiping at his dripping nose with a once again sodden handkerchief.

A round of rough, barking coughs made him hunch over again a moment later, a hand pressed to his chest. A weak “ow” was all he could manage as he tried to catch his breath, a hand now at his temple.

“I didn’t thingk coughig could hurdt so mbuch,” he wheezed.

“Only when you push your body past its limit. Come along, it’s bed for you for the foreseeable future, you dunce.” She moved to his side and grasped his elbow, leading him back to his mattress.

“You don’dt ndeed to help mbe walk, I’m ndot an invalid, only full of cold,” he muttered, trying to pull away. Mina was not dissuaded.

“Be that as it may, I’d rather help you get there just the same. You look as if a strong breeze will blow you over, and then where would I be?”

He deigned not to reply and instead allowed her to seat him on the edge of the bed where he swayed weakly as she helped him remove his sweaty clothes and don his nightshirt before propping him up against a heap of pillows, as his wheezy breathing was rather worrying her. She plied him once more with tea and tonic, which he accepted without a fuss. Then she brought over the plate of steaming eggs and toast. He made a face and pushed it away.

“I don’dt like eggs even whed I’mb ndot sick. I cerdainly don’dt wandt themb ndow.”

“Ah, so that’s why you have so many eggs. Well, would you at least eat the toast?”

He grunted noncommittally and took a half-hearted bite, taking a long time to chew and swallow. He only managed to finish half a slice before he pushed that away too. “Can’dt. Throadt hurdts too mbuch. Jusdt mbakes mbe feel sicker.” He gamely finished his tea though as she watched worriedly.

“You never turn down food. You’re already a beanstalk, Elm. I wish you would eat something.”

A rough cough was the only reply he could manage as he quickly coasted toward sleep once again. Mina sighed and decided to let him sleep, putting the food aside. That was what he needed most now anyway.

And sleep he did, for a long time. Yet his work was not done. He had to get up for a few hours the next day, for once all the shirts were complete he had to do the final quality review of the armor. Elliamina hovered worriedly at his elbow as he did intricate magic to test the limits of his creations. He was so weak he could hardly stand, arms shaking and face flushed as he cast. He had to sit often to catch his breath and wait out bouts of lightheadedness or coughs, but he would be damned before he delivered a subpar product to the king. Mina assisted him as best as she was able, doing whatever she could for his health and ensuring he didn't harm himself.

After hours of rigorous testing, he finally pronounced them suitable, while Elmrador himself ached with weariness. Without another word, he proceeded to crawl back into bed and bury himself in blankets, immediately beginning to snore as one deeply exhausted.

He passed most of the next several days in an illness and tonic-induced slumber. He was miserable when he was awake, every fiber of his being aching or throbbing. Mina forced him to eat and drink whenever she could, but mostly he wanted to sleep, and she let him do just that.

He was in fact asleep when the king's men arrived for the armor. A small crew of men rode up to the cottage with much pomp and ceremony. Mina greeted them in the garden, introducing herself as the sorcerer's assistant. They were immediately enthralled with her, as was everyone that met her for the first time, and she utilized this to expertly manage the transaction. Within 20 minutes the men were departing with many sacks of chain shirts in their cart, ecstatic with their purchase, while Mina carried a hefty pouch of gold, more than Elm had originally bargained for, into the cottage. Elmrador was still asleep, oblivious to it all. She knew he had lost track of the days some time ago, and she didn't see a reason to excite him until he was better.

Instead of waking him, she safely hid the gold in his stores. She then pulled up her chair once more to her place beside his bed, took up her needlework, and softly began to hum as she worked while her brother slept on peacefully.

#sickfic #sicknario #Sickness #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #fantasy #spellcasting #MY OCs #fever #everyone is hotter with a fever #story prompt

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imnotevenhere9 · 4 years ago

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If you're still doing Matchups, could I please get one for Lotr and The Hobbit please? Thanks so much!

🌱 She/They Nonbinary // Bisexual // Autistic and Chronically Ill with a bonus Anxiety Disorder // 18 years old at the moment

🌱 I know a lot of Home Remedies and Superstitions for like no reason. For instance, did you know that Raspberry Tea helps with Menstrual Pain, or that knocking on wood invokes the protection of the tree spirit and that’s why it’s said to give you luck? I don’t know why I know that, but I do.

🌱 Winning a fight is on my bucket list, but it has to be for a good reason. I’m not one to just pick fights for the sake of fighting, and I’m actually pretty conflict-averse, so I need to actually have a solid reason for throwing hands. But I’ve always wanted to do it for some reason.

🌱 I often get the inexplicable urge to bake something, so my loved ones just kinda end up with surprise brownies and zucchini bread at random. This habit has only worsened over Quarantine, of course.

🌱 I really like studying Witchcraft for some reason. The first spell I ever performed was a Healing Spell to help my friend who was sick with Crohn's Disease. Thirty minutes after performing the ritual, I got a text saying he felt a lot better and he was released from the hospital a couple days later, so I guess it must’ve worked. 😁

🌱 My love language is definitely gift giving. I’m pretty cheap, but I’m also an artist, so when push comes to shove I’ll just make something for someone when I like them. I pay very close attention to what people like because it gives me more ideas on how to interact with them. I’m essentially a large, flightless Crow. You were nice, so you get something shiny. But though I like giving gifts to others, I’m not very materialistic at all. I prefer to be practical when it comes to things, and I get very nervous when spending money.

🌱 I LOVE going outside and getting messy. Playing in the mud, getting soaked in the rain, I’m the type to go outside and come back home covered in dirt and twigs. It’s just really fun to me.

🌱My Dad’s a really good cook and I seem to have inherited that gene. He actually has me make dinner whenever we’re having eggs because I always cook them better than he does.

🌱 I’ve always wanted to be a really good gardener. My dream house is just covered in flowers and plants and such. I want to live in a Greenhouse, basically.

🌱 I have a habit of giggling to myself just by remembering something funny that happened, even if it was a couple years ago. I also laugh when I do something stupid, because I find my flaws and shortcomings funny for the most part. I love to laugh with people, but never at them.

🌱 You know the sort of “Girl Next Door” trope? That’s my type. Like the guy in the dorm just down the hall, or the girl in my neighborhood who I casually flirt with. I’m a sucker for cute little interactions like that, so it’s not too much of a surprise that I always fall for people like that. I never forget people I meet on the road, and often find myself hoping to meet up with them again someday.

🌱 I know way too much about Spirits and Fae. My favorite book is called ‘The Encyclopedia of Spirits’ and it shows you how to contact and interact with a ton of different deities and spirits, and I’m addicted to reading it. It’s the best.

🌱 I’m basically like a tiny, less-impressive Aragorn. I love travelling on foot, getting messy outside, I was kind of a Horse Girl as a kid ngl, I’ve always wanted to be a knight or king of some sort, chances are that I haven’t bathed in awhile, and I too would pine for a hot elf girl for literal years on end.

🌱 I always have to have some sort of weight on me to feel comfortable, because of my Autism. That usually takes the form of a large backpack stuffed with books and snacks, or a big jacket. However, my muscles are always pretty stiff and achy, so that does kinda backfire too.

🌱My closest friends say I give off “Dwobbit” vibes. That’s a ½ Dwarf and ½ Hobbit btw. I’m around 4’ 10” tall, I don’t shave, I love crafting and art, I live in the Mountains, I’m tomboyish but I also love gardening and can be a bit of a homebody, I love going barefoot, etc.

🌱 I really love History, Folklore, Mythology and Fairy Tales. My favorite is the Irish myth of Oisín in Tir Na Nog. Look it up if you don’t know it, it’s a fantastic story. But I also appreciate myths from all sorts of different cultures, like the myth of Annapurna in India or the tale of Princess Kaguya in Japan. Did you know that in Mesopotamian Mythology, Nonbinary People were said to be given the gift of prophecy and magic by the goddess Ishtar? And that a recurring figure in Slavic Folklore is the Snake King, who’s just a big ol’ snake with a doofy looking crown? I love it.

🌱 I’m an Aquarius, INFP and 4w5 if that means anything. For reference, characters who are also 4w5 INFPs include Lydia Deetz (Beetlejuice), Wirt (Otgw), Frankenstein’s Monster, Luna Lovegood (HP), Napstablook (Undertale), The Phantom of the Opera, and Celeste from Animal Crossing. That kinda tells you a lot about me, doesn’t it?

🌱 I’ve been growing my hair out, so it’s getting pretty long too. It’s always messy, and I both use a lot of conditioner and it naturally curls when wet, so I basically end up having a very fluffy mane with a lot of stray hairs and weird curls. Also, fun fact, I never learned how to braid because I’ve only really made friends with boys and I have very poor hand-eye coordination when it comes to such things. And my hair is so thin and fluffy that it’s impossible to tame anyways, so the best I can do is put it in a ponytail, since I’m basically incapable of doing anything fancier than that. When worst comes to worse, I have plenty of hats though.

🌱 I have really pale skin that’s always covered in moles, freckles (especially on my arms) and lots of scabs. It’s also getting warmer out, so chances are that I have a farmer’s tan. I have blue eyes and glasses.

🌱 I have a habit of seeing shadows move out of the corners of my eyes, frequently mistaking them for people or animals, but when I turn to look there’s nothing there. I’ve gotten my eyesight checked multiple times, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, so it’s either a lack of sleep, or the Fae are getting antsy with me. Probably the former of course, but part of me would like to believe the

Oof, sorry that description was so long! I really hope you don't mind. Thanks so much in advance!!

A/n: I made it really wholesome (at least in my eyes), so I hope you like it! ^_^

Masterlist • Prompts • S/o match ups • Taglist

S/o from The Hobbit: Kili!

will take your hands and kiss all the moles and freckles when you two are alone

listens to you talking about Fairy Tales while hugging you from behind and plays with your hair

likes to fall asleep with you on his chest, so he can plent small kisses on your head

loves everything you bake, it doesn’t matter if he heard of it or not, he always gets so excited to try what you baked

gives the best massages. He will prepare a bubble bath, help you stretch, whatever makes your achy muscles hurt less

small peaks behind your shoulder when you're

S/o from LOTR: Arwen!

adores your hair. Like literally. She loves to braid them, brush them, run her fingers through them, basically everything you can think of

please share everything you know and learnes about Home Remedies and Superstitions. She loves listening to you talk, it doesn't matter if she already knows all of it, she just wants to listen to you talk about it

your random giggles? In her eyes the cutest thing ever. Just hearing you giggling brightens her day so much

will probably go outside and get messy with you, because she loves to see you happy

gets shy when you give her gifts, she loves them all so much tho

will get you different books about Witchcraft, so you can learn and practice more!

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 4 years ago

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Minerva Mcgonogall being an awesome teacher and human being

First Man - Camila Cabello

All of her homework assignments come with the added requirement for extra credit that you draw an animal of her choosing.

She keeps sweets in her desk for students having a bad day (there’s an entire drawer of chocolates simply for Remus Lupin and only herself, Remus, and Sirius have access to it).

She gives no homework at least once a week.

She has a collection of stuffed animals on her bed and she gives them to students who are struggling. (She transfigures some stuffies into different animals when she doesn’t have the animal a student wants.)

She lets Severus stay in her classroom all the time because she knows he’s lonely.

She lets Sirius call her Minnie because she knows it makes him feel better.

She asks students about their pronouns and helps trans kids learn temporary transfiguration spells for their bodies so they can better deal with their dysphoria.

If she sees a child sleeping in her class she lets them sleep and excuses their work for the day.

She does check-ins once a week to make sure students are doing okay.

She throws small parties over breaks for kids who can’t go home.

She makes small gifts for all of her students, taking particular care with which holidays they celebrate so she can celebrate each one with them.

She has a collection of mini pride flags in a mug on her desk that kids can take from if they want.

She puts moving stickers on all the essays she gives back no matter what grade the person got.

She teaches class outside at least once a month.

She tries to use the names her students ask her to (Mr. Potter and Mr. Lupin for Sirius and Regulus specifically).

She has teatime with Dumbledore to discuss the students’ personal lives, especially the ones she’s worried about.

She encourages creativity and artistic expression and tries to give assignments that are open to originality and new takes and ideas.

She tries to pair people from different Houses together to encourage House unity.

She works to dispel House stereotypes and guide kids on a path that feels right for them.

She takes notice of kids with insecurity and mental illness and invites them over for tea.

When a student has a panic or anxiety attack or just a really bad day, she gives everyone group work to distract them and transforms into her Animagus form and lets the upset student pet her until they’ve calmed down.

She takes mental health just as seriously as physical health.

Sometimes she has discussion circles, especially nearing the war, where she moves all the desks to the side and the students all sit in a circle with her and they talk about what they’re scared or sad or angry about and then at the end they share good things to keep up the hope.

She gives a hug to anyone who wants one.

She has open teatime for students to come out to her during since she knows how hard that is (she’s an ace aro legend don’t forget) (she had to explain to Sirius and James what queerplatonic relationships were because they wanted one but didn’t know what it was called; legit they just burst into her classroom at like three in the morning with Sirius like “Professor I’m super gay for him but only like a friend but I still wanna kiss him” and James just like “yeah and I’m super bi for him but I also only wanna kiss him but not date him” and Mcgonogall just *facepalmed* (Remus was later included in this disaster)).

She fucking runs the GSA (Remus, Sirius, and the other Marauders are guests; she is not trusting them with any real sort of responsibility).

She curses all the time without reserve but once yelled at James for ten minutes for daring to use the word “hell” in her presence (her rant did include phrases like “I am a goddess, James Potter, do you really want to know what happens when you mention a place like that in the presence of a goddess???”) (overdramatic Mcgonogall for the win).

She once put a Silencio on Sirius for a week because he accidentally called her “Mcgoogs” where she could hear. (He then tricked Harry into doing it, who received the same punishment.) (Sirius received a Howler that was silent for a full minute before getting started, just to scare him out of his wits.)

She invites Sirius over for tea on the weekends just because (he sometimes sits in on her classes and pesters her until she turns his hair pink and scraggly) (he then moans until she turns it back).

She has a room off to the side of her classroom, the door of which is always closed. Many students have tried to break in only to end up humiliated by the protection spells she’s placed on it. The only people who know what’s in there are Dumbledore and Remus. (It’s her collection of many, many, many witch hats. Of various different colors, and organized by such. Some of them are feathery or furry or scaly. Some of them talk. Some of them snore. Some of them cry. Some of them scream and then smile and then stare and then smile and then scream. Yeah. Yeah.)

Mcgonogall cares, above all else, about the safety and happiness of all of her students, regardless of background, personality, or House. She wants the best for all of them no matter what that looks like and does her best to ensure they receive it.

#minerva mcgonagall #harry potter #wolfstar #marauders #dumbledore &x mcgonagall #i'm using &x for queerplatonic relationships now #because there isn't a tag for it #which is bullshit #have a nice day y'all

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thoughtfulphilosopherhologram · 4 years ago

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A little help, a Sofia the first fic, Cedwick

For @jathis!

Cedric was spinning on his chair lazily as he found that he had finished his daily tasks. He had prepared an soothing potion for the young Prince James, who had nettles rash all over his legs. He had helped princess Sofia with her assignment and even sorted out his ingredients so his lab looked a bit less messy. Baileywick would be proud of him.

But that evening, the royal steward came in their bedroom much later than usual. Baileywick nearly didn't say a word as he got undressed, put his uniform neatly folded on his chair and put on his nightclothes. Cedric was a bit worried.

"Baileywick ?"

Baileywick looked at him. The royal steward had big, dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked more hollow. He looked so tired! Cedric berated himself silently for not having noticed that. He promptly plumped up a pillow behind his beloved's back and helped him to relax.

"Baileywick, what happened ?" asked Cedric softly.

Baileywick made a vague gesture, sighing.

"Oh, nothing, really... There are many staff members who have caught a cold and can't work for a few days, so there's more work to do. Nothing to worry about, my love," he assured.

Cedric frowned.

"You can't overwork like this or you could fall ill too," he murmured worriedly. "The castle needs you. The king needs you. And I need you!"

Baileywick smiled and kissed Cedric's lips softly.

"Don't worry about it. It's not the first time it happens and we'll work it out. Go to sleep, dear."

Poor Baileywick fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Cedric fell asleep later, thinking about a plan.

***

When Baileywick woke up the next morning and found the bed empty. He quickly got up and got dressed, fearing he had overslept. Usually Cedric never woke up before him! But when he went to the kitchens to start his day he was the first arrived, as usual. He didn't have the time to look for the royal sorcerer, he would check on him later. When he began to give the kitchen staff the first orders of the day, some cooks and servants looked surprised.

"Is there anything wrong?" asked Baileywick, ready to deal with the problem.

A maid bowed politely.

"Oh no, mister Baileywick," she said. "It's just that... I was sure to have left those clothes here to mend them today, and they are already repaired," she explained, showing a shirt with a stitched tear on a sleeve.

"Someone cleaned the jam cauldron... Whoever it is, thank you! I was planning to do that today," said another voice.

Baileywick nodded.

"If those tasks are already done, then we can do the rest right away. Let's begin," he said, all business.

***

The day was full of those little surprises for Baileywick. Some rooms in the castle were already clean, the garden's weeds had disappeared in the night, the cellars were exceptionally tidy. Baileywick saw the number of his daily tasks greatly reduced. The staff was very pleased with those surprises and when the queen Miranda came in the staff quarters to ask about the sick ones, most of them felt a lot better thanks to several vials of potions they found at their door. Those who drank it felt their fever diminish and their nose less stuffed.

"Nobody knows who left these potions for us," assured a maid.

"I only see Cedric who can do this," offered Miranda.

But the royal sorcerer was nowhere to be seen.

***

Baileywick quickly understood what happened when he heard about the potions. As most of the daily tasks were done, he had some free time after the dinner of the royal family and came to the tower to check on Cedric.

He found the laboratory in a total disarray. There were ingredients everywhere, lots of cauldrons heating on magic fires all smelling of eucalyptus. Many books were open on the slab. Stitching spells. Swiping spells. Dusting spells. Cleaning spells.

Baileywick felt his heart swell with love for the sorcerer. He had spent the entire night preparing the healing potions and trying to clean as much as possible, to make things easier for him, casting endless cleaning spells. He looked for Cedric and finally found him at the desk in their room, sleeping soundly. His head was on an open book at a page explaining how to seal dozens of bottles in one go. He was probably exhausted with all those spells. Baileywick smiled and kissed Cedric's forehead softly.

Then he carefully removed the book from under Cedric's head, replacing it with a pillow and pulling a blanket over him.

The end

#fic #sofia the first #cedwick #fluff

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ryik-the-writer · 3 years ago

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Sequel to Dinnertime Disaster ~ Belle confronts Snow on her behavior towards her family and finally gets some things off her chest.

[A03]

Age of the kids: Around 23

-.-.-.-.-

Belle angrily shelved a cart of returned books, stuffing them beside each other without care to their catalog numbers.

It had been three days since her disastrous dinner with the Charmings and her blood was still boiling after Snow White’s attack on her son. Three days since her son ran off and hadn’t told his parents where he was going or when he was coming back. Three days that her daughter revealed her secret ability and barley spoken a word since.

Even her husband was quieter than usual. Belle assumed he was keeping himself distracted to prevent himself from wreaking havoc on the princess-turned-bandit, and possibly keeping tabs on Gideon, but it still felt like she was dealing with the aftermath alone.

Snow White had destroyed the foundation of her family in a matter of seconds and Belle had yet to be able to piece it back together.

Belle remembered the last time she felt this hate-filled and lost: when she had sent Rumple over the town line after his attempt of murder on Killian. She regretted it the second Rumple was over the line, but she’d been too heart-broken to bring him back. She had tried to convince herself that she was doing what was best for the town and even herself, but deep in her bones she knew she was doing it because she was hurt, because the one person she thought she could always trust had just spat on their vows, and she needed space.

And she did get space…from her rejected husband as well as the very people she’d helped save. For three days she had sat in the home she and Rumple shared, sobbing and tearing apart the remains of the life they had begun to build. Not once did the Charmings or even Hook—whom she would find out through a loose-lipped Leroy had been black-mailing her husband mere days after their wedding—stop by to check on her well-being. In fact three days later, when she managed to pull herself together long enough to get an on-the-house bowl of soup at Granny’s, she found the Charming clan laughing and carrying on at a table in the back, only noticing her once she was leaving.

It was a minor sin, Belle thought at the time, but it wasn’t until a year later, when she and Rumple renewed their vows—when she became a mother and nearly lost her dear son to an unquestionable evil—when the heroes she fought for, and sacrificed over, were dead-set on killing him—that she was able to realize that the sins against her were too great to ignore any longer.

They had left left in the hospital to rot after Killian’s attack, scared and delirious with amnesia, drugging her over and over again to keep her tame.

Snow White had sold out her and her unborn child to save Killian’s skin—and none of them had bothered to warn her of the impending danger.

And they all made the decision to leave her to rot in the Underworld after she put herself in an ill-advised sleep to protect her baby—gods she would never forget the look on Emma’s face when she popped into Granny’s. They had completely forgotten about her.

And that was on top of the constant blackmail, of using her as an inanimate object to be tossed around and trampled on and crushed as long as it benefited them.

By the time her son had been restored to her, she was willing to let go of all the misdeeds done towards her, to begin anew just as Gideon’s life had been.

But then they started up all over again.

Inquiring her services to babysit Neal and Robyn at every drop of a hat—only to ignore her requests for assistance with Gideon whenever she needed it.

Sneering at Gideon from afar.

Leaving all of them out of ‘family’ events, like dinners or parties.

It hurt, but Belle had buried that pain for Neal and Robyn’s sakes. They were what mattered. They were her family.

And now half of that equation was gods knows where, angry and hurting from his own mother’s backwards thinking—and as his unofficially godmother, Belle couldn’t help him.

She knew where he was of course. A quick spell on Rumple’s end determined that he and Gideon were still in Storybrooke, though keeping their distance.

Giving them their space was the hardest part. As a mother all she wanted to comfort her son, but she needed to let him grieve and think on his own.

If the other night hadn’t happened, maybe he would be.

The thought was still on her mind when the door to her library opened despite the closed sign, and festered into hate when the one woman in the world she didn’t want to see stepped in.

“Belle, good morning,” Snow White greeted with her usual bright smile. Though there was more stress in her eyes.

“We’re closed,” Belle said, pushing the cart towards the children’s section, her anger boiling when she heard her follow.

“We need to talk about the other night,” Snow said, her tone indicating there was no room for argument. “More importantly, where our son’s go from here.”

Belle released the cart, letting it roll until it crashed into a shelf. “I have nothing to say to you, and what our sons do is their business.”

Snow rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d act this way.”

Belle slammed a book down on the cart. “Like what, Snow? Like a parent or like someone with common sense.”

“I wouldn’t call you that,” Snow muttered, and Belle twisted around.

“You know what, this has gone on long enough.” Belle said. For yours there seemed to be this balancing act between her and the ex-princess. There was this intense acidity between them, far from a rivalry, but constant enough that they subconsciously tried to outwit each other as mothers and as leaders in Storybrooke.

But there was something more personal there, a phenomenon that divided yet bounded them together for life: darkness.

Snow feared and hated it, convinced that it went against everything she was meant to represent as a hero.

Belle accepted it as part of her life, as a part of her husband and son’s very existence. She hated it as well, but she greeted it with respect, knowing light could not exist without it.

It was in her and her family, and Snow hated that. She hated that her own child didn’t seem to mind it.

But Snow was without reason when it came to darkness, or at least anything that was darker than her.

Maybe the former princess didn’t know it yet, but Belle was just that.

“You,” Belle snarled. “Are a pious bitch and I am so sick of you.”

Snow’s eyes widened but Belle didn’t back down.

“You need to drop your issues with me and my family right now,” Belle directed coldly. “We have done nothing but been civil to you for the past two decades, but all you’ve ever done is stick your noses up at us and the other night was the final straw!”

Belle didn’t back down. She stepped up to the ex-bandit and pointed a finger at her, aiming for her heart.

“You act like your better than us, than me, than everyone in this town, but you’re lower than everyone! People may love you, but they don’t respect you because you have done nothing to earn respect! You endanger them without warning, leave them in the grips of an enemy without a leader! And that’s just the town! What about your family?”

“How dare—”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why Neal came to our house so often?” Belle inquired—begged—Snow White. “He didn’t feel comfortable around you! He felt constricted, like he had to be the son of Snow White and Prince Charming, not the son of his parents.”

Snow shook her head, staring at Belle in disbelief.

“You’re lying. He never said any of this. He never—”

“Why do you think that is?” Belle spat.

Snow’s eyes searched Belle’s face, hunting desperately for the answer that she knew.

She gulped, nodding her head just slightly as her chin wobbled.

“Fine,” she admitted through clenched teeth, her pride settling. “Maybe I did push him too hard. But everything…” she looked at Belle squarely. “Everything I did was to protect him from the likes of you.”

Belle flinched at the way the last word came out, like the tension in the Charming home was somehow her fault.

“Likes of me? Are you referring to me particularly or my family? And I suggest you tread carefully on what you’re about to say.”

“The likes of filthy, dark-hearted cowards,” Snow answered unafraid. “You think I put too high standards? Well you’re right, I did. Because my son is better than you! All of you! You and your…your…”

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Say it.”

“Your darkness!” Snow said, the word coming out as a gasp. “That darkness…Rumplestiltskin’s darkness…it keeps destroying my life no matter how many times we snuff it out! I wish it would just die already!”

Belle’s heart dropped. So this was how the great Snow White really felt. She rather see them all dead than coexist with them.

“And what about your daughter?” Belle snarked. It was a low blow, and if she wasn’t so mad the words would have never left her mouth. “What about Emma’s darkness? Do you hate that too or does that get a pass from the great Snow White.”

“My daughter’s the Savior,” Snow remarked. “She’s the exact opposite of you.”

“Really? Because if I recall correctly, her potential for darkness was so great you cursed an innocent baby and her mother to boot.”

Snow’s glare wavered. “That was—”

“Sick.” Belle answered. “And you know what? It didn’t change a damn thing? Emma still gave into darkness, still made all the wrong choices that came with it.”

“Emma accepted darkness to save us after your husband tried to destroy all of us!” Snow fought.

“I wasn’t referring to the Dark One’s curse,” Belle stated matter-of-factly. “I was referring to the darkness that has been brewing inside her all her life. The darkness she built to protect herself from everyone who ever hurt her. Baelfire, Rumple and you.”

“Everything I ever did was to protect her!” Snow yelled, her voice cracking. “And I did everything I could to be a good mother—a good friend—to her afterwards!”

“By letting her be with a man who lied to her? Who endangered her family, her son?” Belle retorted. “You led her down the aisle into his arms after finding out he killed David’s father, an event that left him scared. You made him push it aside so you could have your day. Emma didn’t need to get married, Snow, she needed to heal from everything that had happened to her. She needed her mother to listen!”

“I just…she needed…”

“And now she’s in some realm where her family can’t see her,” Belle continued, unable to stop. “Neal was right, you didn’t protect her the way you should have. You were so obsessed with making up for the moments you missed with her that you didn’t care that she was doing everything she did because she was traumatized! How could you not see that as her mother!”

That seemed to be the trigger, the anchor that had been weighing down Snow White’s grief. The woman’s chin began to shake and within a few seconds she was screaming in hysterics.

Belle actually had to jump back, the volume of her cries so loud they threatened to blow out her own hearing.

She watched in horror as the ex-princess crumpled in her library, the door still askew.

Belle stepped over her just enough to close it and allow them true privacy. She could only stare down at her for a moment, this once majestic leader who was nothing but a lump of sorrow at her feet.

Belle had been cruel, she knew that, she felt the lump of guilt began to rise in her throat.

Snow White, despite her faults, was still human, and still healing from her own trauma.

Giving up her child, living nearly 30 years in a lie away from the people she loved, and trying to put back the pieces of her shattered life when she awoke.

Her progress was notable, forgiving Regina, staying by her family’s side during all the various events in the town. Maybe she hadn’t always been the wisest, maybe she’d even been selfish at some points, but she had been doing the best she could.

Belle sighed, leaning down to scoop the sobbing woman into her arms.

“There, there,” she comforted fruitlessly. “Come on.”

She led Snow to a chair behind her circulatory desk, practically dropping her there while she went into the kitchenette for tissues and water.

She returned with a glass and a less-than-comfortable roll of paper towels, handing one to the ex-princess awkwardly.

“Here.”

Snow calmed some, taking the course towel and wiping her red face. She breathed in shakenly, focusing on composing herself.

After a moment Belle grabbed a second chair and sat across from her, hesitating on what to do or say next.

She wasn’t sorry and she wouldn’t apologize, but she hated that Snow had to come to terms with her misdeeds and guilt in such a confrontational setting, and with her at that. Her own home or even Archie’s office seemed more appropriate.

But it was all in the open now, and Belle felt she had a duty to close the door she had snatched open.

“You’re right,” Snow sniffed before Belle could say anything. “I destroyed my family.”

“No,” Belle sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to see it like that.”

“But it’s true,” Snow said with a tired shrug. “I pushed Emma into something she wasn’t ready for and now I’ve lost her. And now I’m about to lose Neal too.”

Belle shook her head, wishing more than anything that he and her son were with them at that moment.

Belle thought about them for a moment, about the last two decades and the time before and all of its obstacles.

“You haven’t lost him,” Belle reassured, her fingers clasped. “I’ve lost a son. I know what if feels like when you realize they’ll never come back.”

Snow tilted her head. “You got Gideon back. You even got to start over with him.”

Belle lifted her head, staring glassily at the woman across from her. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

The confusion faded instantly from Snow’s face as the memory of the fallen man who had impacted both of their lives settled between them.

Belle smiled sadly. “Do you remember that day? When you entered the shop and you told us Baelfire died? You held me, and…that was the last time I felt like I really knew you.”

Snow wiped a fresh tear from her eye. “I didn’t know what to do after he died. All I could do was hold Emma and tell her everything was going to be okay even though I didn’t know if it was or not.”

Belle nodded, remembering how she spent that night in the shop, sobbing into the cot in the backroom until she passed out.

“That…that was the last time I truly felt like her mother,”

Belle blinked, surprised by such a reveal.

It was ironic really. The second she learned of Baelfire’s death was the last time she felt like she had a true friend. Someone else who loved the Dark One, gone.

“I wanted so badly to see her happy again,” Snow continued. “And Hook…he was there…and he…he…”

Belle nodded. “He made appropriate modifications to earn her affection.”

“And eventually he became her only ally because of me,” Snow said with an air of disgust. “Now I don’t even know where she is, how she is.”

Belle sighed. If Gideon ever disappeared like that it would break her.

“Snow,” Belle began. “I know all that’s happened to you is still hurting you. And you’re hurting Neal because of it.” She reached out and gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “You need to face it all. I had to do the same when Gideon was taken. I had accept my part in hurting Rumple and my son so that I could have hope that we could start over.”

Snow shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. Emma, she…she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Belle fought. “Our children will always need us. We can’t fix the past, but we can build a better future.”

Snow could only stare at the woman in front of her. Belle had always been braver than her because she had more to lose. Loving the Dark One was a dangerous game and somehow she won it. Now she had a community that loved and respected her, the same community that looked at Snow White with hesitancy.

Snow had lost the leader they needed at some point, hell, the leader her own family needed.

Somehow, someway, she was going to get her back.

She stood, wiping her eyes a final time.

“I…I need to leave. I need to speak with my husband.”

Belle nodded, standing as well.

Snow moved forward, as if she were going to hug Belle, but Belle took a step back.

Thankfully, Snow seemed to understand. She had a lot to make up for and it would take time.

But really, she realized that Belle was perhaps her truest friend. She had held her accountable today, and had lifted a curtain from her eyes that had been there far too long.

“Good luck,” Belle said. And she truly meant it.

Snow paused outside the library, one last thought weighing on her mind.

“If you see Neal or Gideon before I do,” she began, hesitating a bit. “Could you tell them…they have my blessing?”

Belle tilted her head. It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was good start for the high and mighty ex-princess of Mist Haven.

Belle nodded and sent Snow away with a comforting smile.

They would never be friends, but they knew now where they stood. Belle would hold her with the same contempt that she held with Zelena, Regina and even Emma, but that would be it. Maybe one day that would change, but it was solid relationship for the two of them to have for now.

As Belle locked up the library that night, she felt lighter than she had in years, all the anguish she had felt free from her now.

She smiled a bit as she walked to her car.

She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her husband all about it.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Snow entered the little farm house she and her husband had bought decades ago when the moved out of their little loft apartment.

The house was supposed to be a haven for a new life, a fresh start when their most recent evil had been defeated.

She had imagined raising her son in those safe walls, giving him everything she hadn’t been able to give Emma. She imagined family dinners and quiet nights on the front porch after long, loud days.

She’d gotten all of that, at first, before Emma began to spend less time at the house, before Henry had jumped on his motorcycle and disappeared into the unknown.

She had told herself then that it was just a part of life, her family moving on, but then when Neal began to stray, her acceptance became a panic. She was losing her family, and she looked wrongfully for a scapegoat. The Golds fit the mold. After all, she’d blamed Rumplestiltskin for everything under the sun that had happened in Storybrooke and her family.

But Belle’s talk had lifted that blinder. Rumplestiltskin had made his mistakes and had set to work to fix them. He’d been a good friend to her husband and son all these years, and she’d been too enthralled in her grief to join in on that friendship.

But that was over now.

David looked up when she entered, concerned.

He’d felt…something…in his chest earlier today. Like a piece of the heart he shared with his wife had broken off.

It was unnerving, and if he hadn’t been looking for Neal, he would have ran and found his wife immediately.

He was still angry at her for her outburst at the Golds’ but she was still his wife. His best friend. His everything.

“Snow,” he greeted, relieved.

“We need to pack, a lot. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.” She instructed, that buried leader insider he creeping back up.

“What?” David said. “Pack for what? What are we doing?”

The ex-princess put her hands on her husband’s shoulders, smiling bravely at him despite the tears in her eyes. He was the one thing she hadn’t lost yet, but she’d come so close, shared heart or not.

She’d hurt him without even realizing it, and she had so much to make up for.

But there’d be time for that.

There’d be time for everything now.

“We’re going to find our daughter,” Snow answered, determined. “We’re going to bring her home.”

#rumbelle fic #never unwanted #belle french #belle gold #snow white #mary margaret blanchard #ryik's fics

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walviemort · 4 years ago

Text

hurry up and wait

summary: After the events of 6x09, Killian finds himself unexpectedly and rapidly pregnant; from first stirrings to full term in a week. Little does he know, Rumplestiltskin is pulling the strings as a form of revenge, and has full control over how fast—or slow—this pregnancy goes. He'll need to rely on Emma, and all his loved ones, to get through whatever comes next.

a/n: I’M BACK Y’ALL! the muse has overtaken me this week with this story (I’ve so far written 18k in about 7 days, with more to come). Hope you enjoy it and stay tuned!

rated light M / 3k / ao3

It was the final straw. First, the pirate had taken Milah; then he’d helped keep him apart from Bae for so long. And now? Now, he was part of the reason Belle was leaving Rumplestiltskin behind, and had sent their son away. Hook had no idea what it was like to suffer such loss. But the Dark One would see to it that he did.

And he had to admit—the spell he’d found was rather ingenious; something that had come over from the Land of Untold Stories and piqued his interest. And would let him have a bit of fun along the way. Well, fun for him; not so much for Jones.

It was sheer luck that the Savior and her beau broke into his shop that night. Normally, he’d take issue with that; but it merely gave him a chance to enact his revenge.

While the couple was inspecting a sword, Rumple froze them in place with a wave of his hand. From his coat pocket, he pulled a small glass orb; it would let him control the spell and keep an eye on things. And with a few more gestures that resulted in a brief glow coming from the pirate’s midsection (which mirrored in the orb), it was done.

He unfroze them and disappeared into the night, content that he’d finally be getting even with his longtime enemy. Far away from town, he pulled out the orb and peered in to see how things were faring; at the rate it was going, he had at least a few days before anyone figured out what was happening. (Unless he changed that, of course.)

---------------------------------------------

The next morning, Killian was shocked when the sun was shining through the curtains of the bedroom as he awoke. He was usually one to wake with the sunrise, but given the day they’d had yesterday—not to mention the frantic coming together he and Emma had last night—it was no surprise he’d slept in.

Nor was it that an unease had settled over him. Just because they’d found the weapon meant to kill Emma didn’t mean they’d truly solved anything in regards to her supposed fate. Just the thought of losing her...gods, it turned his stomach.

Quite literally—seconds later, he found himself making a mad dash for their washroom, only to lose what remained of last night’s dinner. It had been quite some time since nerves made him nauseous but he supposed it was warranted; his present sense of apprehension was on level with any he’d felt before heading into battle. He leaned against the wall of the bathroom and took a few measured breaths to help calm him; while it helped his racing heart, it did little to ease his stomach. He’d take it, though.

After rinsing his mouth out, he took his pajama-clad self downstairs to the kitchen, where a quiet display of domesticity lay before him: Emma and Henry, sharing a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and coffee at the table, laughing quietly at some unheard joke. It was so easy, so casual, and quite honestly, all he wanted in the world. It hadn’t been that long since his own resurrection and he’d be damned again if he didn’t fight to hold onto it.

“Killian, are you okay?” Emma asked, finally noticing his entrance. Killian jumped and sniffled at her enquiry, surprised at her query.

He scrubbed a hand along his face and it came back wet—he was crying? Goodness, he was more out of sorts than he thought. “Aye, love; just need to get some food in me,” he shrugged off.

“Well, I made Pop-Tarts,” she joked as he strode into the kitchen, pausing to place a kiss on her temple. “Your favorite,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Perhaps another time,” he tossed back as he grabbed a coffee mug from the counter; a full pot was waiting. But when he reached for it to pour himself a cup, the smell of it turned his stomach yet again; it was all he could do to put it back before he was retching into the sink.

Emma was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back through the thin cotton of his tshirt. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, concern evident in her tone.

“Apparently not,” he breathed once he was done. “That’s the second time its happened today.”

She put the back of her hand on his forehead in a motherly move that filled him with another odd welling of emotion. Though her brow was furrowed, she assessed that he was “not running a fever, but you do look a bit green around the gills.”

“There’s a stomach bug going around at school,” Henry chimed in. “Maybe it’s that?”

“It could be. You’ve definitely been running yourself thin lately.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was merely met with another wave of nausea—though there wasn’t anything left to come up.

“Hey kid, can you get yourself to school okay?” she asked over her shoulder while resuming her ministrations on his back.

“Of course.”

“Okay; we’re gonna take a sick day, then.”

He stood straight again. “But Emma—the sword—”

“—Isn’t going anywhere,” she interrupted. “We are BOTH going to go back to bed, take a nap, maybe watch some sitcoms, and order takeout. We need it.”

He couldn’t deny that it sounded divine. “Aye, love; sounds excellent.”

The nausea never quite abated, although bland crackers and ginger ale seemed to help. True to her word, they curled up in bed and intermittently napped during the day; had a few heart-to-hearts about their general emotional states, and maybe had a few intimate moments sprinkled in there.

Unfortunately, the next day saw little change to his illness, but Emma had to handle some sheriff matters and couldn’t stay home. “But I’ll check up on you at lunch, okay?”

“I’m a grown man, love; I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

It certainly wasn’t as enjoyable a day as the previous one, but by the end of it, he found the nausea had finally abated. Perhaps Emma was right; a couple days of rest was all he needed to get back into fighting shape. He made plans to meet up with Belle the next day, both for research—and to make sure his friend was doing alright.

---------------------------------------------

Away in his cabin, Rumplestiltskin glanced at the orb. He’d certainly enjoyed Hook’s being unwell, and was slightly miffed that wouldn’t carry through. But more dramatic things were about to unfold.

---------------------------------------------

To Killian’s surprise, the following morning found him with an entirely different sensation in his stomach: he was starving. To be expected, he supposed, considering he’d hardly been able to keep down anything the past couple days. He didn’t want to push it, but he needed something—fast.

Emma was still asleep next to him (he’d awoken at his normal time for a change) so he slipped out quietly to head downstairs. His usual breakfast fare wasn’t sounding as good as usual, so he poked around the cupboards to see if anything else caught his eye—and, to his astonishment, it did.

A bit later, when Emma joined him in the kitchen, she paused at what was surely an odd sight. “Seriously?” was all she could muster.

“I believe I may have misjudged these, love,” he said bashfully, biting into his Pop-Tart. It was sweet and flaky and precisely what he’d been craving that morning.

Emma just blinked in surprise. “Well, I hope you saved some for me.”

Killian said nothing as she made her way to what he knew was an empty box. He winced as she sighed. “Well, at least your appetite is back. And I guess we need to go to the store.”

“I’ll head there this evening to stock up.”

“You better.”

Before he headed to the library, he made sure to stop by Granny’s for some tea—and some pastries; it seemed his craving had yet to abate (and he was certain Belle would appreciate some extra treats).

She was understandably morose on his arrival; before they got into any sort of research, he made sure to pull her over to the lone sofa there to have a chat—or, better yet, have a cry; his heart truly broke for his friend. He couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to send her son away, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to do the same in her position.

As he predicted, though, the treats did help a bit (though he found himself consuming far more of them than he typically would). Their research yielded little, though, so he sent Belle home with the few remaining pastries as he headed to the market—where he was overwhelmed by the Pop-Tart selection. How had he been depriving himself so long? He bought one of each; hopefully that would placate Emma.

He should have also found it odd that he consumed more pizza that night for dinner than he usually would but apparently he was still playing catchup from the previous two days. Neither Emma nor Henry found it odd, so he too remained unconcerned.

His jeans were a bit snug the next morning but he figured he just needed some more time to digest; it wasn’t unusual for a sickness to throw him off like that. But he couldn’t help it if he was hungry still. He tried to keep up his fluids as well, but that didn’t stop him from snacking through the day—or devouring their Chinese takeout that night.

He and Emma were curled up in bed, engaging in some typical evening activities, when she began tracing his side and running her thumbs over his stomach—and, oddly, giggling. “What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing; you’ve just got a food baby, is all.”

“A what?”

“A food baby,” she said again, patting his (slightly stuffed) belly. “It’s when you eat a lot and it just kind of sits there.” His brow furrowed in consternation—that was the last thing he wanted. She noticed his discomfort, though, as she always did, and laughed again. “Hey, it’s fine—it’s actually pretty cute. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Now can we get back to what we were doing?”

Well, he could never say no to that, and her words were quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

But they came roaring back when his jeans were a bit more tight the next day, and that weight that had settled in his stomach was visible in a slight rounding just behind his navel. Perhaps he was overindulging. He knew it was also a sign of aging (that and the few silvery hairs at his temples) but if he could control it, he’d like to keep his trim form.

He did his best that day to pare back, to only eat at meal times. But come evening, he was starved yet again, and may have polished off the pizza leftovers from the night before. (Thankfully, Emma was working at the station, so he was free of her comments that evening.)

Still...the worry plagued him the next morning when his stomach seemed impossibly larger. There was always a decent chance his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it was still worrying. (As if he didn’t have enough of those.)

He skipped breakfast, instead going for a run about town. His jeans still buttoned, at least, although just barely. Mid-day found him chasing Lost Boys across town, which gave him a reason to avoid lunch. By the time he got back to the station with the miscreants that afternoon, his stomach was gnawing at him and he was a bit lightheaded.

Emma noticed, immediately, of course. “You feeling alright? Is the stomach bug back?”

“No, no,” he assured her, though probably unconvincingly. “I just need some water; I’ll be right back.”

But he’d hardly pulled a glass from the cupboard over the sink when the world began to spin. He tried to grip the counter for stability, but it didn’t help much, and he continued on to the floor. The last thing he heard before the world went black was Emma frantically calling his name.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a steady beeping woke him up. He blinked a few times; they were in the hospital. Bloody hell.

He looked around to get his bearings, and Emma was at the side of the bed, holding his hand. HIs other arm was hooked up to an IV, and he could feel a number of other things stuck to him, monitoring other various things.

What struck him as truly odd, though, was the sensor he could feel on one side of his stomach.

“Emma, what’s…” he started to say, though he was still a bit out of breath—and parched.

She jumped at his voice, clearly lost in thought, but the concern quickly melted to a smile. “Hey, welcome back. What did you get yourself into?”

“My own vanity, I suppose,” he said. “What’s all this I’m hooked up to?”

Emma bit her lip, like she was trying to hold something back. She was clearly nervous about something.

“Love, what’s going on?”

She swallowed, clearly working up the nerve for something. He was confused; if something was wrong with him, she wouldn’t be smiling—but something had her conflicted.

“Well, as you probably figured out, you passed out at the station. Turns out you were dehydrated and running on an empty stomach. But the main reason that’s a problem is—”

“Alright, let’s take a look at that baby!” Doctor Whale’s voice interrupted Emma as he entered the room, pulling a machine with a large screen attached to it.

Baby? What on Earth? “Emma, are you…?” Gods, he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever be blessed enough to have a child with Emma, but if what the doctor was saying was true, then…

“No, I’m not,” she said slowly, but then moved her free hand onto his stomach. “But you, somehow, are.”

He was...he was pregnant? He started laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Emma just bit her lip and shook her head. He turned to the doctor who just nodded.

“But that...that’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen weirder things,” Whale said. “A pregnant man is only, like, fifth on my list. And you’re not even the first one I’ve come across.”

Killian swallowed and stared at his stomach. That...was a babe? It would explain some things—his illness, his cravings, his heightened emotions. Although his understanding of pregnancy was that it took a lot longer for those things to happen than they had to him. And there was still the biggest issue: he was a man. “How?” was all he could say.

Whale just shrugged. “Magic. You’d be surprised how many spells out there exist for this.”

He gave a snort of derision, but let his head fall back against the pillow of his hospital bed. Pregnant. He was with child. By some magical means. Gods, was it even actually a child? And whose was it? The number of questions he had was overwhelming—as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

“Hey,” Emma said, squeezing his hand and pulling him out of his stream of racing thoughts. “We’ll figure this out.”

He just swallowed and nodded.

“I hate to interrupt this existential crisis, but I do need to take a look inside there to see what’s going on. Mind if I pull up your shirt?”

“Go ahead,” he said in a small voice, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Will it hurt?”

“No, but it’ll be cold,” the doctor answered as he went to work. The man was nothing but clinical as he lifted Killian’s shirt, exposing the gentle curve of his stomach. Looking at it now, Killian could definitely see the resemblance to an expectant mother. He jolted when Whale put the odd, cool substance low on his belly (bloody hell, it was a belly), but then was distracted when the doctor turned on the screen and picked up a wand-like device.

He pressed the instrument against Killian’s skin and moved it back and forth; this must be how Robin had acquired that image from inside Zelena (far less intrusive than he had expected). The image on the screen was a blurry mess for the most part, but eventually a clearer picture began to take shape: the definitive form of an infant.

He and Emma both gasped at the same time. The image on the screen began to move, and he almost swore he could feel the echoing tiny movements within. Whale began to point things out—head, spine, fingers, toes—but Killian just kept staring at the image, in awe: he was going to be a father.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

“Now, this is the fun part,” Whale said in a voice that indicated it was anything but. “I can tell how far along the kid is from these pictures, but something tells me the truth is not quite the same. When did you notice things changing with you?”

“Um,” Killian stammered, trying to find his voice again. “It was...5 days ago? Right? That I came down with a stomach bug, but it was gone by the end of the following day. And I’ve been voracious ever since.”

Whale just whistled. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen one like this, then. Looks like you moved up to number four on my list.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this fetus is 5 months along.”

“What?” It was Emma’s turn to be incredulous (though how she’d remained calm at all was astonishing to him).

“Yeah, whatever this spell is, it’s accelerated. At the rate it’s gone, you’ll be having this kid in, like, four days.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop, and a glance at Emma showed the same. Four days? That was insane.

It was a bloody good thing he was already on a bed, because he fainted again.

---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t quite how Rumple figured the news would be discovered, but he was pleased nonetheless at the pirate’s distress. Four days until parenthood was indeed a terrifying prospect.

Imagine if he had even less than that, though...the Dark One cackled in delight and waved his hand over the orb, then hung back to watch the next events unfold.

---------------------------------------------

hope you liked it! let me know if you want a tag! tagging a few: @sherlockianwhovian @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook

#cs ff #mpreg #killian mpreg #hurry up and wait #my ff

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heroprose · 5 years ago

Text

the regular;

a/n. well what do u know.... turns out i WILL be writing for jojo on this blog...... @jojosmilktea, that is!! hi jojo i was ur bnha spring event anon! and i’m SOOO sorry this is late RIP!!!

ship. shoto todoroki x reader

summary. bubble tea shop au. it’s true that he knows your order by heart, but he wishes he knew a little more.

to be quite honest, you didn’t know this bubble tea shop even existed in this part of the city.

it certainly didn’t look the part, all pristine with white stone walls and flower boxes hooked onto the closed glass windows. no, in fact it looked a little too bougie for this gray high rise district and you suspect that if it were not for the current downpour, wherein great big rivulets of water are endlessly streaming down the streets, hipsters would populate this cafe’s space in no time.

you cannot blame them, of course. it’s certainly a nice building and totally instagram-worthy. but what attracts you to it is not the vintage stone walls nor the massive poster plastered on the inside of the glass window, with vibrant letters that spell out NEW SEASONAL FLAVORS! but instead, it’s the generous pink awning in front that’s saving you from the insidious downpour.

you were supposed to do a little grocery shopping before heading home, damn it. technically, though, you could brave the rain for a while and shop for bread and eggs while sopping wet, but it’s a deeply unappealing idea. it doesn’t help that your go-to grocer with the terrific deals is three train stops away either and that your phone is dead, drained from too many rounds of crossy road on your commute long before the rain even began.

restless, you squint through the window of the shop inconspicuously and gape in horror as you realize it is just as cute inside as it is outside. from what you can tell, it’s set up like a little garden party, with metal outdoor chairs and circular tables and the tiles even have flower smiley face stickers on them. oh no.

it is something of a relief you’ve only discovered this bubble tea shop now because any earlier would have you blowing your bank account on extra boba and grass jelly. and in this economy? not ideal.

still, your eyes waver to the poster again. rose milk tea? peach iced tea? the prices aren’t listed anywhere so you presume they must be absolutely monstrous. completely insane, probably, and jacked up immensely to compensate for the expenses gone in the decor alone and--

“we’re open, you know. you can come in.”

you pull away from the window hastily, letting your back bump into the metal back of chair. biting back a cry of pain, you eye the speaker head-to-toe before letting your shoulders slack. the black apron tied at his waist screams barista. actually, everything about this dude screams barista, from the rolled up sleeves to the vaguely disheveled collar. even the watch on his wrist-- woah. is that a limited edition tag heuer watch? you blanch a little.

he grips the broom with both hands and gestures with the jerk of his chin to the door. “you can come in,” he repeats. his bangs flutter about his forehead thanks to the gusts of wind and it’s a bit mesmerizing to see the red and white flutter like that.

“oh,” you say, desperate to recompose yourself as you pretend you weren’t wringing out droplets of water from your clothing just minutes before. “it’s okay, thank you. i’m just waiting for the rain to pass.”

the barista opens his mouth but before he can speak, a loud clap of thunder zips through you and goosebumps erupt across the expanse of your skin. with ears ringing, you wince and the tag heuer-wearing fellow only watches. you purse your lips, glancing from him. to the onslaught of rain, to finally the door.

well. so much for staying outside. wordlessly, he pulls the door open for you and you oblige quietly, mumbling a small word of thanks as you pass him.

unsurprisingly, the shop is wholly vacant, save for him, the boy who follows you in, and another barista behind the counter, who leans against the table behind him with arms crossed. the radio is on but it’s turned down so low that it might as well be off.

it would be painful to loiter in this shop for an hour or so without buying anything, so begrudgingly, you pull out your wallet and pray to whatever higher deity up there that you won’t get hooked on their drinks and subsequently, their freakish prices. you’ve got a budget, for goodness sake.

when you step to the counter, the barista that met you outside sets his broom aside to meet you on the other side. “what would you like?” he asks automatically, with the tilt of his head. you glance over the menu above his head despite knowing your answer deep inside your heart.

“taro milk tea, please,” you say, bringing your gaze back to him. a trickle of rainwater slides down the curve of his cheek and you have to tear your gaze away. “medium, with boba. and extra sugar too.”

“will that be it?”

“yes,” you reply with your eyes downcast, carefully deciding on whether to use cash or credit. maybe you can use some of your spare coins this time.

his gold name tag says “shoto,” and it gleams even in your peripheral vision as he nods and turns to the other barista with the spiky hair who stands a few ways’ away and glowers a bit.

“katsuki,” says shoto. “one medium taro milk tea with--”

“yeah, yeah,” says the other barista snappishly. “i heard. i’m literally right here.” he pulls away from the table and exits to the back forcefully and you two watch him in relative silence. a guitar-heavy shawn mendes song plays in the background; played too softly for you to determine which one though.

shoto’s gaze swivels back to you, undisturbed by the attitude his coworker just presented and so you do your best to remain indifferent as well. it is similarly pure irony to have such a gentle cafe hosted by such personalities.

“name?” he simply asks and you tell him, not bothering to question why that was still necessary if you were the only customer in the entire shop.

and it is equally strange that after katsuki returns with your drink, about to hand it to you, shoto acts to intercepts with an extended hand to take the cup away.

“what are you doing?” says katsuki incredulously, drawing back.

shoto presents the sticker with the order printed on it in the air. “i need to put this on.”

“seriously? it’s not like you could hand it to the wrong person,” he mutters, but lets shoto tease it out of his hand before promptly returning to the kitchen again, letting the doors swing behind him. you refrain from smiling too wide as shoto carefully presses the sticker onto the cup behind the counter with an unexpectedly concentrated expression on his face.

when he utters your name to catch your attention, shoto slides your drink over to you, not letting go until your fingers accidentally brush over his. “here you go.”

��thank you,” you say brightly, shaking it for good measure. the ice clinks distract you momentarily from the noise of rain hitting concrete. the cream and purple taro swirl together brilliantly.

he nods, turning away to take a cleaning rag into his hands. shoto wipes at the counter meticulously, every once in a while swiping a smudge with his fingertips to evaluate his work. the quiet is only periodically punctured by the clap of thunder and when shawn mendes starts belting out the background adlibs via the radio.

“when do you think the rain will let up?” you muse absentmindedly, fingers drumming the raised counter as you push along your bubble tea and dig around the container for a straw of your favorite color. “not for long, i hope.”

shoto blinks, glancing up. “i heard it’ll last all through the night.”

steely dread pools at the bottom of your stomach. “no!” you gasp, confronting shoto. “really? i don’t have an umbrella or anything.” you didn’t hear anything of the sort, but then again, you haven’t checked the forecast since this morning. maybe you can wave down a cab or something. you let out a brief laugh of disbelief that rapidly devolves into a groan. “man. that stinks.”

he looks at you sympathetically, watching you deftly pierce the plastic seal top of your milk tea with more force than necessary.

you bring the straw to your mouth, sipping quietly as you think of your next line of action. the richness is disturbingly good and you’re saddened to know that you’ll be returning in the future, rain or no rain.

taking a seat in a metal chair, you finally give the shop a thorough glance over. with all the bright lights and pale wallpaper plastered with colorful stickers. above you, the ceiling vents buzz quietly. the whole shop is just--

“dazzling,” you murmur after several minutes, submitting to its glamour. “everything’s so pretty here.” the interior designer really went ham here and it shows. you fish your phone out of your slightly damp pocket and wipe at the screen with a sigh. you’d even take a photo if you could.

unbeknownst to you, shoto had left the counter upfront and is wiping down a table nearby as you speak. “thank you,” he says and you jolt, head snapping towards his direction. “we do our best to be presentable and comfortable.”

“full marks on both then,” you say breezily and a ghost of a smile teases at his lips before he walks away to the backroom.

he’s amused. did he think you were funny? your ears start to warm up a little and you drain your milk tea faster. in any case, it’s best that you brave the storm sooner than later.

there’s little doubt that the rain won’t be stopping any time soon and it would really be the icing on the cake if you not only got stuck in a thunderstorm but fell ill as well. you’ve realized, from all your years of life, that people don’t appreciate their functional nostrils until they get stuffed.

and you don’t know how much time passes in that cafe with the absence of clocks and your phone, but after catching yourself glancing over at shoto for the fifth time, wondering if you can make him smile like that again, you finally think that enough is enough. your chewing speeds up.

then you stand up, careful to not let the metal feet scrape the tiles. should you just book it, through the rain? or should you stand under the awning a little longer, hoping the rare cab will notice your helpless self and save you? as you mull these thoughts over, you toss the cup into the bin and wipe your hands with a spare napkin, getting rid of the condensation.

“wait.”

shoto’s calm voice makes you whirl around yet again.

as he walks closer, you notice that he’s gripping something in his hand and you can only bring yourself to stare as he presents it to you.

“take it,” he says. “this is my umbrella.”

your heart stutters for a second. “huh? no, i couldn’t,” you say hastily, dismissing him with a wave. “that’s really kind of you though, thank you.”

“but you said you didn’t have one.”

you give him a quizzical look. “but if i take yours, then you don’t have one.”

“katsuki-- um, the other person who works here-- lives near me. we commute together sometimes. so please,” he says, gesturing the closed umbrella. you wrap your fingers around the clear plastic gingerly to his coaxing. “take it.”

tears nearly prick your eyes as you lean over to pat him on the arm graciously. he’s more alarmed than anything else as you do, silently wide-eyed, and is it only then that you notice his eyes are different colors. “thanks, shoto. i’ll be back tomorrow to return it then. i promise!”

he gives you a quick nod. “i don’t work tomorrow. i’ll be here all weekend though.”

“alright, shoto. i’ll see you on the weekend.”

“stay safe.”

you’re already turning away and pushing open the door before you see the flicker of a smile pass over his visage again.

“you gave away your umbrella?” says katsuki after the cafe closes later that evening. his eyes narrow down at his fellow coworker sharply. “to a damn customer?”

“it’ll get returned,” assures shoto. his upper arm is warm where you had touched him, and his hand hovers over it for a second before he shrugs on his jacket.

“that’s not the point,” his coworker seethes, angrily hanging up his apron. “my car is two blocks over and i was relying on you to do your part in bringing the umbrella. idiot!”

ah.

you come back that sunny weekend, with shoto’s trusty transparent umbrella in hand... as well as the weekend after. and the weekend after that. sans the excuse of the umbrella, of course.

when it is katsuki that greets you at the counter, he does little to hide his disapproval of your order; grunting when you greet him with a cheerful “hi katsuki!” and grimacing each time when you smile and add, “with extra sugar!” to your order.

“you’re aware of how much sugar is already in this stuff, right?” he tells you.

“i’m here for a good time, not a long time,” you reply. “and are you really supposed to be asking me that? as someone who works here?”

katsuki scoffs and wordlessly punches your order in anyway. his brew, however, is immaculate without fail so you don’t question his tactics.

but when it is shoto... he greets you warmly, stretching the conversation by asking about how you are and about your day.

“the regular?” he eventually asks after several weeks of you making the same order as the last.

you smile. “the regular.”

sometimes, you loiter near the counter when it’s not busy. you learn, with some semblance of glee, that shoto is a student like yourself and he only works part-time-- the rainy afternoon you met him on had been a shift he was covering for someone else. other times all you can do is take your drink and wave him goodbye.

even on the extremely busy days where you cannot even find a vacant seat, there are brief seconds where you think of leaning against the wall and enjoying the atmosphere. it is a startling realization, how desperate you want to linger in his presence.

your affection is making you ill. ugh, and being bloated is not a good look on you either.

drinking taro milk tea at competitor bubble tea shops don’t even sate you. it’s always too watery, too thin; the flavors rounding off as bitter, over brewed tea. but you drink them to wean yourself off. you should probably stop drinking them altogether though.

some time passes before you can find it in yourself to return. the storefront is as pretty as it always is whenever you pass it by on your commute.

“hey, how are you? have you been alright?” asks shoto right off the bat, dropping his washrag haphazardly beside the sink when you find yourself at the counter again after the weeks of hearty self-restraint.

his concern is so vivid it unnerves you. it’s a funny and ill-placed nervous look on his face, eyebrows pulled tense. “i’m fine,” you say, “how have you been?”

“i’m well,” shoto says. “and... that’s good. it’s been a while. i thought you might have started getting your milk tea fix from somewhere else.” he pauses. “have you?”

his sincerity makes you throw your head back and laugh, but your stomach gurgles at the recollection of drinking so many subpar taro milk teas. “never,” you tell him finally. “i like this place too much. and the people here too.”

“i see.” shoto’s smile is bright this time, eyes so soft even as he speaks. “the regular then?”

you let out an exaggerated sigh, your own gaze crinkling up. “you know me so well, shoto.”

“quit freakin’ flirting at the counter,” snaps katsuki, mopping the floor vigorously. “do that shit when you’re not at work, icy-hot. it’s disgusting that i have to stand here and listen to you two.”

shoto frowns. “it’s not flirting. we have to be kind to customers.” he calls from the kitchen.

“kindness is you giving extra napkins, not asking if they’ve been going to other bubble tea shops. as if.”

“we’re... just friends then.”

“just friends, my ass. what, you think that extra sugar ass sweet tooth loser came in every week alone just to get tea? you know what...” katsuki’s peeved grumbles trail off until they’re no longer comprehensible.

shoto just ponders on this as he drains the sink.

“here,” says katsuki one saturday afternoon. “take it. and go.” he pushes the purple drink into your hand and wipes his own hand on his apron. “extra sugar. don’t blame me when your teeth fall out.”

“damn,” you say, although you are hardly taken aback by his crudeness anymore. “but i will. i’ve got a lot to do today, so i can’t stay and chat. bye guys!”

“take care,” says shoto just as katsuki says, “don’t care, didn’t ask.”

(when you wave goodbye, however, you are pleased to see that they both reciprocate kindly.)

by the time you eventually take a sip, you’re already on your way to the rail to get to your favorite grocery store. today, it’s buy one get one free bags of potatoes so you know you’ll be stocking up this time.

mindlessly, you pierce the top with your straw, careful to aim for the center. you give it a stir before taking a sip, the familiar creaminess filling your mouth.

although it’s... different, somehow.

sweeter, you think. did katsuki actually overload it with sugar this time? seemed like a weird prank to pull. perhaps he was teaching you a lesson but considering that he hasn’t been fired yet indicates that this was an infrequent occurrence. hopefully.

chewing the boba thoughtfully, you pull the cup away in order to squint at the dark text printed on the sticker. it’s the same as you always say it: a medium, iced, taro milk tea, with boba and 25% extra--

the word “sugar” is scrawled over with black ink, although not deliberately it seems. it’s just covered up with a slew of numbers and letters written unbelievably neat in spite of being on a cylindrical cup and you nearly hack up a black clump of sugary boba onto the concrete sidewalk.

but nevertheless, you force it down to look at the order again, more closely this time.

they’re numbers, and your heart stutters in your chest at the realization there’s just enough to be a phone number; followed by a name that you only ever saw emblazoned on a gold name tag.

you want to commit the numbers to memory, but it’s undeniably hard to concentrate. not when shoto’s gentle smile is on the forefront of your brain and when big, fat droplets of water are hitting your forehead with incredible force.

you glance up at the swirling, ashen clouds above you, bloated and expecting. an uncomfortable feeling crawls up your spine at the realization that you’ve forgotten your umbrella at home today too.

oh god. not again.

“i can’t believe you actually wrote your number on my cup today... very smooth, shoto.”

there’s a beat before shoto replies, his voice tinny and distant over the phone. “actually, i did that the first day you came in-- when it was raining. i figured you didn’t notice or you were rejecting me.”

“oh. so, wait-- you did it twice then? that day and today?”

“no,” says shoto. “just that day.”

“then who--” you stop yourself.

outside your window, a clap of thunder shakes the sky. and the epiphany that follows renders you both silent.

#shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha spring time #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #ok jojo actually though i nearly wrote u a tiger king au and then i was like hold on....aint nobody but me gonna want this.....

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sherlollydramoine · 4 years ago

Text

Detroit

Prompt 15: “not interested, thank you”

Fandom: Rami Malek/Need for Speed Movie

Pairing: Finn X Reader

Word Count: 2052

Warnings: Language, Alcohol consumption, Predatory Male Character (don’t worry–he gets his), Fist fight.

Here’s the follow up that was much requested to Broken Promises (HERE). Didn’t have time to edit this so please don’t mind my mistakes.

It had been just over a year since you’d walked out of his life away from everything that you’d ever know to start fresh. A good friend of yours from college worked for some big time corporation in Detroit whom upon hearing about what had happened and your need to start fresh had recommended you for a position. Everything was a blur after the interview having been basically hired on the spot and you needed to move quickly. The company itself owned several apartment buildings and was able to provide you housing for six months until you’d been able to secure one on your own. They’d been generous in allowing you three weeks to start, which enabled you to gather the remnants of your life with Finn, and put them on a truck.

You’d been unable to face him without feeling some kind of guilt. You did just walk out offering no explanation, after angrily expressing your frustration with his broken promises. Once you’d left there was no going back for you, you’d purposely fallen out of touch with everyone to avoid any updates on Finn.

“Hey, YN, boss needs you to run some files down to the second office,” your co-worker and roommate Alicia informed you as she perches herself on the corner of your desk crossing her legs over each other, her heel clacking against the faux wooden front of your desk. You kept clacking away at the business email you’d needed to finish typing, hitting spell check, then sending it off to digital transmission land.

Looking up at her nodding your head, you hated this corporate job with every fiber of your being, but it more than adequately paid your bills. Alicia was the only friend you’d made since your move to Detroit. The two of you bonded quickly over the fact that in the main office of this company, you were only two of three women.

“Yeah, sure I’ll run em down anyway since I’m out to lunch in about ten minutes anyway. Anybody need anything from the other office while I’m there?” you ask, you hated going down there. The fellas who were employed in the secondary office were far less refined than those on the top floor and were prone to make rude or outright lewd comments. The only man in the other office that never was rude or lewd was the actual office manager Doug, a kind man in his late forties that had a wife and four children.

“I don’t think so. At least no one has said anything to me about it. There is something you could do for me though?”

“Yeah sure Leesh what is it?”

“Could you give me the scoop on one of the newer guys down there? I heard some rumblings that he was gorgeous. Can’t remember his name though, Jen said he was kind of flirty in a goofy way and he talked about cars a lot.”

With a small laugh and a roll of your eyes, you agree to give her the scoop on the new hire, though a small part of you felt sad. That description could fit any number of men but it also aptly described your ex and it made your heartache a little bit. She wasn’t sure what cubicle he was located in but you figured it probably wouldn’t be overly tough to spot them. New hires were easy to spot: Ill-fitting suits, slightly tense, and they never seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to be doing.

Alicia gives you a big smile and then ambles away back towards her desk buzzing her boss to make sure that he had the files ready to go for her. You watch as she disappears into her boss’s office for a couple of minutes reappearing with a stack of manila files in her hand.

“Here ya go, darling. The top six files need to go to HR and then the rest go to Doug. I’ll see you after lunch.”

Pushing back from your desk and standing up, taking a moment to stretch as it had been way too long since you’d seated hunched over a computer answering emails for the last several hours. Taking the files from your friend you trek towards the elevator bank humming a song that had been stuck in your head. Dropping off the necessary files to HR and then getting back on the lift to drop off the last stack downstairs before your lunch break.

“Hey Doug,” you said with a friendly smile. “These are all yours,” you say as you set the large stack of manila folders stuffed to the gills with who knows what paperwork in his ‘INCOMING’ tray.

“Thanks YN, how’s it going upstairs?”

“Oh you know, the same ole same ole. I just do as I’m told,” you laugh out. You start walking back towards the door, “Anyway, I gotta go but let me know if there is anything that you need from upstairs.”

As you walk out of Doug’s office you catch a glimpse of a man with very familiar curly hair and your heart drops. You couldn’t help but stare thinking maybe you’ve hallucinated or if this was really happening. The man must have felt your eyes on him because when he looked up both of you gasped in shock.

You didn’t wait around for him to react instead sprinting down the corridor to the elevator. Trying to calm your breathing as you rode the elevator down to the main level of the building, walking across the marbled floors, and out the door as fast as you could.

What the fuck is he doing here? You thought. How fucking dare he come all the way to Detroit. He has no business being here.

After your second cup of coffee, you came to the realization that It didn’t matter as you likely weren’t going to see each other very often, you could do this. You were an adult after all. Instead of grabbing lunch, you grab another coffee and then head back upstairs to your office deciding to cut your lunch break short.

The rest of your day was spent working furiously not even realizing when it was quitting time until Alicia tapped on your desk with her perfectly manicured nails.

“Bitch, we’re going out!”

“Do I have to Leesh?”

“Yes, yes, you do. You never did give me the deets on the new guy. Is he as handsome and flirty as Jen said he was?”

“Yeah. He is, he’s also my fucking ex,” you respond dryly, watching her face morph from curious to curiouser.

Grabbing your bag and following her to the elevator making the quick decision that you’d go out. If there was ever a time when you needed a strong drink and some possible casual sex, it was tonight.

Alicia ends up taking you to one of your usual spots. As was common for the place it was crowded and loud full of other ‘suits’ wanting a little bit of fun on a Friday night. After scoring you both a prime spot to hang, she flings her bag onto the seat next to you and flounces off. Her red curly hair bouncing as she dances along to the beat of some heavily auto-tuned pop song that was blaring through the speakers.

Sitting back in your chair watching the random groups of people taking shots, sipping beers, out for nothing but another convivial Friday night.

In your observations, you failed to notice when Finn walked in with a group of co-workers still in his suit and tie. He fidgets nervously with his tie, loosening it while talking to one of your other co-workers.

Just then Alicia re-appeared with a small tray of assorted shots carefully setting it down to avoid sloshing the amber colored liquid over the shot glasses.

“Uh-oh babe, looks like you’re in for a heck of a time tonight,” she warns, tilting her head in the direction of Finn.

You look up in time to see Finn walk past your table, your eyes briefly catching before you lower yours, grab a drink off the tray, and slam it back.

“Fuck this night!” you yell out, grabbing another drink and repeating. Twenty minutes and five shots later you were definitely feeling good.

Grinding against Alicia on the dance floor giggling with each other forgetting all about the issue of your ex being in the same space as you.

Leaving the dance floor behind under the guise of thirst, Alicia goes back to the table while you grab another round of drinks. While waiting an attractive man you’ve never seen before turns to you to strike up conversation apparently, not really wanting to deal with any of that you turn your body away. Dealing with men right now was not necessarily high on your list of priorities since you were already a few shots deep.

“Hey gorgeous, let me buy you a drink?” the stranger asks.

“Not interested, thank you,” was the only thing you could think of to say. Inwardly cringing at how rude that sounded but at the moment you couldn’t be fucked to care.

“C’mon, what could it hurt? It’s just one drink,” he responds with a tone that made you suddenly angry.

“Yeah? One drink? And then what, mister? Then another one, and another until you’ve got me so drunk that you can take me home and use me in whatever way you see fit because somehow I owe you something. No, no, no. I don’t want your fucking drink!” you were yelling now stamping your feet looking very much like a toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of a crowded club, and the handsome stranger had the nerve to look pissed off.

“Now gorgeous that-”

“She said no man, why don’t you leave her alone,”a familiar voice sounded from behind you.

“Oh and what are you gonna do about it pipsqueak?,”the man challenged.

Rolling your eyes at the sudden testosterone fueled fight that you can feel is about to happen.

“Nothing, I’m just letting you know that my girlfriend isn’t interested in your drinks. She’s an independent woman capable of buying her own.”

The bartender returns with your drinks, eyeing both Finn and the stranger, the aggression radiating off of the both of them. It had been a year but you could clearly see Finn with his chin up in definance, shoulders squared, strong arms tense, and fists balled. A stare down between the two until the man in the suit swung at Finn, hitting him square in the side of the head.

Finn might be to most men considered small but he was tough, having worked as a mechanic for most of his life. He had way more muscle packed under his suit than it looked like he did.

Finn stumbled backward, hand coming up to the side of his face where the asshole had struck him. Abandoning your drinks in favor of subduing Finn, you launch yourself at him and doing the only thing in the moment that you could think of to do, you press your mouth to his. It only took his brain approximately three seconds for him to go from aggressive to horny.

His arms wrapping around your waist pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, you moan into his mouth giving into the warmth of him. The alcohol you’d consumed making your brain foggy, slowly processing what is happening. You break the kiss without warning hoping that whatever the hell that was, the spark that you had felt would fizzle out.

Forgetting completely about the drinks you make your way back to your table grabbing your bag ignoring the look on Alicia’s face as you then make your way out of the club in a stunned confusion.

“YN?” you heard Finn call out.

You whirl around, nearly stumbling in your half drunken state, “What Finn?”

“Do you-need some help?” he asks, unsure of how he should proceed.

“You know what, why the fuck not.”

You barely remember walking home with Finn in tow but when you woke up in the morning with Finn still in your bed a slow smile spread across your face. There would be worse ways to wake up on a Saturday morning.

#fictober20 #fictober2020 #rami malek #finn x reader #finn #need for speed #fanfiction

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madmadmilk · 5 years ago

Text

Like Dark Chocolate Part 7 | Tom Holland x Reader (FINALLY)

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING, BUT WE’RE BACK IN THE GAME BABEYYY. Thank u for waiting so patiently~ it literally took like 6 months lol pls be kind ((pics not mine))

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You can’t help but fall into something familiar, something warm, something you deserve. He’s been waiting for you while you’ve been wondering. They say time heals all wounds, but the real question is, how much time does it take to even believe you’ve healed?

Warning: Swearing, sweating, and something like forgiveness

Word Count: 10.8K petals on the floor

Special thank you to some of my lovely BETAs: @fangirl-writer-awesomeness @laucontrerasv @spidey-waffles11 (and honestly anyone who sent asks looking for this. thank you)

“Same old Tom.”

Your head tilts as you look into those familiar chocolatey browns. You can see the arrow run straight through his heart. It’s the first time he’s hearing your voice say his name in a month. And it’s one of the few times you’ve let yourself say it out loud.

There’s a familiar taste that coats your mouth.

I don’t want to admit it but––

A shallow breath catches in your throat, a faint smile on your lips. You just can’t hold it back anymore, old feelings threatening to spill over.

I do miss you, Tom.

They were never really forgotten.

Just a little bit.

And well, you could never hide it from yourself.

You fight the smile on you dry lips from widening, you fight the warm flush ferociously crawling up your chest, you fight every urge in your body from jumping up to wrap yourself up and all around him.

You missed him.

And the bare sight of him is enough to drive you mad.

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has been,” you reply curtly, eating up the sight before you. He was dressed in a rush, slouchy, ruffled but smelling like a cosy detergent and sexy shampoo. The giddy smile has never left his lips.

The space between you both is maddening, easy to be made close, easy to pull further apart.

Your fingers twitch by your sides.

Ha.

He probably can’t even remember the text he sent you–– “Blink 3 times if you miss me,” how the hell would you count how many times a person blinks? We do it all the time? When does the clock run––

But, Tom… Tom gets it. Of course he does.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.1, 2, 3.

A devilish grin stretches across his boyish face, an overwhelming excitement vibrating through him. He stood taller, shoulders hunched up as he leaned forward. It was a short victory he would hold against you and then it evenly faded into a relieved smile. The corners of his brows pull down as he lets out a soft sigh. You can hear the click of his tongue. His shoulders slump in satisfaction, and cheeks pinken as if his whole body being was saying, “thank god, thank god.”

He finally has your attention, better, at your admission.

His quiet voice confirms,

“So you have been reading the things I’ve sent you,” whispering now, “And listening?”

Haha.

You give him a blank stare, but inadvertently stretch your lips from smile to pucker to smile. You’re trying not to give him anything more than your telling blinks. You’re not going to make yourself anymore vulnerable, any more needy, any more…. generous. This was already too much.

But the silence gives him one more confirmation; tells him that you still think of him, at least enough to let him think you do. And this circular rationale reminds you of just how much of a sweet lil cavity he is.

An aching pain you can’t ignore.

He nods, wiggling his jaw while his eyes dance over your shoulders to your nose and back to your eyes,

“Good to know.”

Oh, hell.

Tom’s confidence comes and goes as he laughs to himself, only to flush in embarrassment. Neither of you can keep your composure. Both of your minds roll over all the little things he’s said in the messages and that’s more than enough to fill the remaining gap between you.

You feel like you know almost everything he’s feeling right now.

Almost, almost.

He clears his throat, scratching his head and bowing down,

“Listen, I–I really didn’t expect to see you at all. For the while. It’s just that Mal messaged me about an emergency, just saying that it was you and––“

“It was me. I sent it,” you clarify, not wanting to smear any more blame on your ill neighbor. Hadn’t she had enough? Questionably.

“I used her phone.”

“Oh,” he laughs emptily. You see his entire face sink in guilt. He scratches his head a little harder, trying to piece it together.

“She practically begged me to get your attention and she––“ he hums to your truth, “She showed it to me. I… I saw the messages she sent to you.”

Tom freezes, and drops his hand. He searches for an answer in your eyes. His blinks are slow, and the deep stare makes you all too aware.

Suddenly, you wonder if that was a breach of his privacy, if his healing should have been done alone. If you had stepped into a part of him you weren’t meant to see.

You step forward, putting your hands up.

“Sorry! Uhm, she… She let me read what she sent you, at the end… end of it all,” an uneasy chuckle falls past your lips, “She left your conversation open… and yeah, I saw a little bit. I think she was apologizing to me with it… or something like that.”

He nods, stare looking past you now, far away. He mutters under his breath,

“I’m still waiting for one too.”

And now you felt the restlessness of guilt; maybe it was a breach of trust. You squeeze your eyes tight for a second, trying to reorganize yourself, trust this and trust that. You’re getting tangled deeper into problems you were trying so hard to move past, smooth past.

The truth is all you have left.

You offer him a way out of the storm, praising softly,

“At the very least, I want to say thank you… for uhm, letting me know you were coming.”

His brows twitch into a furrow before he smiles gently, his cheek pulling. His hands were itching to reach out, to hold you. And, honestly, if he did… you wouldn’t resist too hard. Maybe.

“Of course,” Tom confirms so lovingly. In that short phrase you can hear the tumbling of his feelings, the way he had to hold back from spilling his heart out and taking all of you in his arms, up and away from this cursed apartment.

But you both hear the echo of your own words, cast like a spell, “give me time.” So he did.

“And…. I’ll be getting out of your hair now.”

Your head tilts as you take him all in. His hair has dried, somewhere between curls and waves, the bags under his eyes are deep but the expression on his face is warm. You notice his pause, wondering if you should ask him to stay.

You can’t.

And he knows that.

Tom cracks into a laugh, rolling his head in a circle. You stand back on your heels, tension dissipating. He rocks back too, and starts to pick up his scattered jacket and hat. He puts them on quickly and you lean against the back of the couch. The apartment is quiet, save for the sound of his rustling clothes.

He heads to the door, ruffling his hair before he sticks it back under his cap. His hand is on the doorknob, cranking it slowly. He turns back to give you a dazzling smile,

“It was really, really amazing to see you again.”

You stomach flips. You can only nod and smile, as he holds your gaze. He looks down stepping out and––

“Hey! Tom?”

He looks over his shoulder expectantly, and you take the door. He’s still halfway inside your apartment, and sorely full in your heart. He raises his brow in question, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you hold the door open for him.

Here it goes.

“I… I stayed around because… I kind of wanted to see you.”

His jaw drops.

“It was nice.”

And that goddamn heart-stopping grin is burned into your memory. You could see the sunshine and hope leaking out of his pores as he smiles with an open mouth.

Ooh.

And with a boyish chuckle, he accepts.

“Thank you, Y/N,” the flushing boy turns back and retreats with a happy skip,

“I’ll see you around.”

My name.

You don’t let yourself watch him walk away for too long, and shut the door quickly. Similarly, trying to shut out the emotions welling in your chest. Warm, worn, weak.

If Mal was awake, listening, or even remotely on “your side” you could just imagine her slow clapping to that awkward exchange.

You and Tom had finally moved forward; maybe they were baby steps. Or maybe they were even something less.

Anything is better than where you were nearly a month ago.

You retreat back to the couch and sink into your spot, alone with your rambling thoughts. Are we in, or are we out? Are we back? Is there more? Are we less––?

Gah.

You laugh as you wipe your hands over your face. You pull your cheeks down and let out a garbled sigh.

It’s really annoying how much you miss the taste of chocolate.

☎️ “Hey, It’s Tom. Again. Uhm, alright… This…. This feels ten times MORE awkward now that I know that you actually listen to these. Haha, shit! And I’ve sounded so pathetic in every single message–– hahaha, but, uhm, thanks. Not sure what part I’m thanking you for… but… I’m just thankful for you. Hah, hope that’s okay. I really just can’t believe I got to see you. It’s really been a long while, and I… I just wasn’t sure how we were even going to meet again. And, I realized I don’t have many pictures of you and you haven’t updated ANYTHING so––– oh, oh my god. I didn't mean to sound so fucking creepy! I swear I’m not checking on you everyday or something, hahahaha. Wah! I–– well. I don’t think i’ll ever forget what you look like, and I hope you’ll let me stick around……………… ugh, I’m the worst. For fucks sake. Hm….. you…. You really did look amazing, babe. I couldn’t breathe. And maybe you look even better without me……. Ahem. Ah, yeah. Sorry this is a fucking, that I’m a fucking mess. I’ll leave you be. Yeah. I’ll-- uhm, later. Bye, Y/N. I’ve missed you too.”

☎️ “Hey! Hey, uhm, It’s me. Tom. Again, again. Haha. Okay, uhm, totally slipped my mind, but I’ll be at Jay and Jae’s wedding like next, next week. Harrison said you were going as his date? Yeah, no problem with that. Just– uh, yeah. Just letting you know i’ll be there too. I know Mal, is invited so, she might be around? I’m not too sure. And… shouldn’t Zendaya be back around that time? Hahaha. Yeah, i–– This is just a heads up. I…. I won’t bother you there but…. Can i say that i’m looking forward to seeing you again so soon? Because I am….. Ooooohhhh….. Okay. Yeah, sorry. I’ll see you there, or not. Bye, babe.”

You smooth out your dress over your legs as you sit in a stiff chair. You kick your feet next to Harrison, lost on his phone. He ignores your fidgeting.

True to Tom’s voicemails, that you did listen to the moment you got them, you were at a wedding. Together, but not exactly. Jay and Jae were distant friends of yours, closer to Tom and his group of friends more than anyone else.

So naturally, Tom was there, sitting alone and far off, since Harrison took you as his date. He kept a professional distance, you would say.

Now, Mal was meant to be here too–– but she wasn’t. She declined without giving a specific reason, but you could imagine a few. The idea of fluffy bright whites, bouncy chatter and the honest glow of fairy lights might not shine too well on her particular shade of red.

Not that she doesn’t deserve her own sparkly moment in time, but you suppose this is all too fresh. And all too soon.

You reach out to touch the flowers wrapped around the chair in front of you. Were they real? Were they fake? You occupied yourself like this, and wondered…. Should you be feeling the same way as Mal?

Your eyes dart around, following strings of lights and greenery and warm sounds. Being at weddings, whether you knew the party well enough or not, has always made you feel loved. There's a certain warmth and love and respect that just overflows and spills into your own heart. Making you nostalgic for things you’ve never felt before.

So lovely.

Your thumbs smooth over a large petal.

And a ceremony like this…. Isn’t that bad. One day…

Your eyes flicker up, immediately finding that curious cute cavity.

One day maybe.

Tom is sitting with his arms resting on his legs. He switches between looking up, waving at distant friends and checking his phone, only to put it away quickly. He’s fidgeting too– trying his hardest not to look directly back at you.

You still catch him a few times.

You lean back, obscuring yourself from his view and line up your arm with Harrison. You lean your head on his shoulder and laugh to yourself, pressing a fist against your lips to stifle it.

“Hm?” Harrison hums, craning his neck to see your face, “What’s so funny?”

You quiet down and smile gently. Curiosity is bubbling inside you and you feel like you’re in such high spirits–– the giddy nature of weddings is infectious, after all.

Is it because you feel like you have the upper hand tonight? Because Tom is trying so hard to not stare, but is so bad at hiding it? Because you feel like nothing can go wrong from this point?

Knock on wood.

Having Harrison by your side definitely feeds you a bit of confidence, at his expense. But you don’t think of that immediately. Things are only just coming to focus for you, and you eyes are willing to see.

You squeeze Haz’s arms softly, and suggest,

“Shall we invite him over?”

The golden haired boy scoffs, cocking his head back before looking at you,

“You sure about that?”

“‘Can’t leave him looking like a chump all by himself, right?”

He smiles at your thoughtfulness, raising his eyebrows then standing up. He calls over his friend quickly without much question. Tom perks up at the call of his name, and you could see his eyes widen across the ways.

He shimmies his way over, dodging people with a easygoing smile. He stands next to Haz, nodding his head politely,

“Hey, guys.”

“Hey, come sit with us,” you offer plainly, pointing beside Harrison.

You could see Tom doing the math in his head, but he doesn’t challenge it. He smiles instead, a little wary and a little stiff but thanks you. You could hear Harrison snort in dull annoyance, making you giggle.

You’re giddy for real.

Haz is sat between you two during the wedding ceremony, but you can feel whenever either of them turn to look at you, hot stares on your cheek. You all sit and stand together, following the procession.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” the taller boy teases over the tension, bumping you with his elbow. You bump him back and he continues, “I’m in the line of fire.”

“Shut up!” you whisper back to him, catching Tom’s attention.

He turns to you, only like quarter cheek, but you can see the side of his eye wrinkle and how his cheek lift in a smile. You’re left looking at the teasing image of his jaw and ear and cheek and the tangle of waves on the nape of his neck––

Bring the heat.

The ceremony ambles on, and in the lull you hear Tom joke with Haz,

“Can’t wait for the drinks, man.”

Pffft.

His face was dusted pink. He needed something to keep him cool, something to do with his hands, and it might as well take the edge off too. It really couldn’t do much harm at this point. But would it even help with his nerves?

You stop yourself from giggling again, some kind of ancient, wretched, cliche girliness crawling out from you. You’re trying to play coy, but you can’t go exposing yourself.

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? And know you’re wanted?

Feels a little nice to be on this end, you have to admit.

You pull through the rest of the service, crying as the grooms whisper their vows to one another. Honestly you could barely hear it, but the way that they cried and smiled and cheered told you everything you needed to know.

Your heart swells as they kiss and walk by, everyone throwing handfuls of petals over them. It rains pink and white, a small flurry of love.

And while you take in the loving visual, you miss the way that a certain brunette turns back to catch a glimpse of you. Through the light mist of flowers, he sees a happy tear mark down your cheek and wishes nothing more than to be by your side and wipe it away.

“Catch you in a few,” comes Harrison’s voice and parting tap on your shoulder.

“Huh?” you blink, rubbing the corners of your eyes delicately.

He smiles, tilting his head towards company calling his name. He disappears into the crowd after giving your shoulder a squeeze and Tom a sharp pat on the back.

Ah, alone at last. You roll your eyes and nod to yourself.

There’s a wave of people leaving the ceremony to walk over to the reception hall, but you end up waiting in your row with Tom. You step close to his back, peering over him to see if it would be any easier to get out. You don’t talk.

After a while of being stuck, you both dart between chairs and exit the opposite way. You feel his hand almost touch the small of your back as he urges your way through.

The touch doesn’t connect, but a part of you wish it had.

You laugh bitterly as you push through the doors that lead out. It’s more than a bit ironic that you meet again at a wedding. The place of commitment and love and attempt at eternal happiness.

It’s kind of funny actually.

You step onto the sidewalk, shivering slightly at the cool spring weather. The smell of spring and summer was strong, but your teeth still chattered.

You stand side by side as you wait to cross the street, cars zipping through. You’re too aware of the space you hold between each other. You hold your hands to your chest and look ahead to the reception hall, glittery lights and soft noise wafting through.

“That was beautiful,” Tom comments quietly.

“Wasn’t it?” you smile, brought back to those glimmering emotions. You blink the wetness away from your eyes as you face him for a moment.

I’m such a sucker.

His hair is gelled back neater than usual, though a rogue curl tries to coil at the side of his head.

For…. things………..

“Mhm,” he hums, returning your gaze warmly. Those dark browns caught a twinkle the evening glow. Your heart beats oddly, as your lips pressed together. Tom smiles then taps the back of your arm, looking ahead of you.

“Let’s cross this street now.”

And you walk behind him, following his steps while skipping in your formal shoes, watching the broad sweep of his back in a smart black jacket.

You felt safe here.

Again.

Tom stood by your side as you crossed the threshold of the reception hall. The clack of your shoes against the hardwood didn’t catch any new attention but it sounded so fucking loud to you.You felt his shoulders roll back, as yours did, taking in the beautiful sight. Fairy lights and flowers and white drapery, hidden and highlighted by crowds of people. Wah.

You turn your cheek softly to look at him, your lashes fluttering. He was doing the same thing, both cautious of what to do and what to say next. You can’t stand at the entrance forever.

Oh, fuck it all––

“Hey! Tom! Is that you–?” a new voice crackles into range. Said boy ducks down and hollers back to an unfamiliar crowd, stepping away from you.

“Y/N!” and that call was for you, from a blonde you could hardly call yours.

You bounce back to Harrison, quickly hooking your arms into his without thinking. You wanted cover, fast.

Tom’s presence beside you was short lived as you went separate ways to greet some familiar faces, to your frail relief. You both get swept away in the tides of people, hardly saying goodbye to one another. Hm. You look back over your shoulder to see Tom smiling back at you gently. Hmm. He nods simply, then turns away.

See you later.

You suck in your cheeks, feeling a pang of disappointment as your expectations didn’t last long. But it’s fine. It’s fine. You weren’t even counting on spending the time that you did with him. Its fine! Really!

You float between hanging out with Harrison to meeting up with some old friends. Eventually starting to be dragged away by some especially gossip-y pals, Jenn and Sam. You hold on to Harrison’s arm as they tug you away,

“Nooooooo, guys, I can’t leave him by himself!”

Haz pries your fingers off one by one, sticking his tongue out and pointing behind him,

“Don’t worry about me, I have some other chumps to hang out with.”

You tilt your head for a second to see Tom, of course, looking down. His hands are stuffed deep into his pockets, laughing to himself, a pretty smile you wish you could have ignored. There’s a little unease that you notice about him too quickly, and that’s when you bounce back up.

Ha.

“Enjoy,” you say quietly, quite literally being pulled to the bar.

Conversation blends in seamlessly, with the help of some casual alcohol and swishy dancing. You haven’t met with them in along time, catching up and dissecting updates you’ve only seen through instagram and facebook. Then that drama starting spilling out as you look deeper into your cup, seeing where it all was heading….

“So, I heard Tom and Mal officially split,” Sam starts.

“Tom and Mal? They were a thing?” Jenn gasps.

“Yeah, official-ish–– right, Y/N? You roomin’ with Mal right now, yeah?”

And you nodded, “Yeah.”

“And they’re over? Done?”

Their eyes both shone bright with excitement, nearly licking their lips for the spill. Please, oh please! Share that shit!

You hold your shakey glass to your lip, wishing you didn’t have to answer this. But under their wide eyed stares and the desire to speak some truth, you squeak,

“Yeah, something like that.”

And they assume the pitying position quickly with,

“Oh, poor Tom. I knew he’d get dumped. He’s too nice and Mal was obviously taking advantage of that––”

And,

“Oh, well, I heard that Mal was just trying to use him to get back with someone.”

“Like, Jon, right? Or was it Tobey? I don’t remember––”

“Yeah, and Tom isn’t the type to date frivolously, so he must have known––”

Their story was wrong, but not so wrong. Just enough to get you itching. Itching to set it straight and itching about whether or not you had the authority to correct them. Like what, just save Tom’s face, and tell them that Mal got what she deserved? That could be easy. But what happens when they ask about your role in this story–– is it even yours to tell?

“They did look great together though, Tom was head over heels for that bitch.”

“How could she let him go? I mean, the girl was all over everyone all the time, but Tom was a good one.”

They looked for him in the crowd, spotting him and cooing in pity. They were being so obvious, god. And at this point, you really couldn’t help yourself. You spoke in a hushed tone,

“Hm, actually, Tom dumped Mal.”

“Huh? For real?” and “Tells us what happened!”

You pause for a second, trying not to get in too deep.

“I don’t know for sure, but Tom realized he could… be better.”

“‘Be’ better? Not ‘do’ better? What do you mean by that?” Sam pushes, leaning closer to you, stepping by your side so you could both get a view of Tom swaying with some friends.

You shrug, turning your back to Tom, “I don’t know! I just saw the aftermath. I haven’t really talked to him, or Mal. It’s been tense–– you know?”

“Yeah, we get it,” Jenn nods solemnly, but perks up to wave, “We can just ask Tom himself! Hey! Tom! Harrison!”

Gah–!

Both of them are waving and making a scene towards the pair of boys somewhere behind you. You can only hunch your shoulders to brace yourself. It’s not like you could just walk away––

And “poor” Tom didn’t even realize you were there until the last second, freezing as he stops next to you.

Huuuu.

You’re very aware of how close he is.

With no formalities, no greetings, your friends cut right to it, only directing themselves towards the darker brunette,

“So, how have you been, Tom?”

He shrugs coolly, laughing sheepishly. His eyes are a little half-lidded as he blinked,

“Just… ask what you want to ask.”

Woah.

You look at him in dull surprise, Harrison too. You notice the soft pink glow on his cheeks and how he’s supporting himself on one leg. Maybe he’s drunk? Maybe he’s just that ready to get it over with.

Cheers.

“Sooooo, you? And… Mal?”

“Not a thing anymore,” he shrugs again, holding up his beer bottle and smiling cryptically.

Your old friends turn on the pity again.

“Awwww, but you guys were so cute together!”

You have to squint your eyes at that remark, knowing they were egging him on. Buttering up the situation, but…. Ugh. You hate these kind of exchanges. But hey, transitions are important right?

Tom tries hard not to look at you as he nods slowly, explaining only a little bit more.

“Yeah, we… just didn’t work out. We… we wanted different things.”

You could see the questions bubbling in their pretty lil heads, but they offer some kindness, some room to take a breath.

“Oh, well good on you for getting out, Tom. We’re happy for you.”

And there it goes. You laugh under your breath at their blatant flip of the coin.

Tom smiles a little warmer this time, eyes crinkling genuinely.

“Thanks, ‘appreciate it.”

“And you know,” Jenn sings, shimmying her shoulders, “If you’re looking for a new, new love. There’s plenty of candidates right here!”

She bumps your shoulder, making you fall towards him. You dance a few steps forward, clinging onto his arm to balance yourself. You scoff as you stand up straight, your hand gripping his sleeve and nearly stretched across his chest.

Oh.

He stiffens beneath your touch.

Right.

You pull back to yourself, stepping aside as he clears his throat. Your brows furrow but he continues to speak uninterrupted.

“Ahem, yeah… thanks. I’m still–– I’m figuring things out. But I’ll be sure to do it right next time.”

Next time.

And you crack a one-sided smile, pursing your lips and looking down. Haha.

Harrison gives Tom’s shoulder a hard pat, not to be forgotten.

“If you get a next time!”

Oh, that was a bit pointed. A little sharp.

Tom opens his mouth in reaction, booing. Harrison laughs wide hugging his shoulders as everyone teases. You can’t look straight at him, knowing that you would fold and join into the glee all too quickly.

He looks too pretty in this light.

“Well, we still have some rounds to make,” Haz hugs Sam, then Jenn, then you, “We’ll grab a drink with you later.”

You close your eyes in the short embrace with Harrison, recharging. He squeezes your shoulder and starts to pull Tom away. Tom was in the middle of hugging your old pals, no hard feelings.

He gets to stand before you but speaks to the group,

“Yeah, ‘nice seeing you guys.”

The one rogue curl has turned into three framing his face, his canine pokes over his lip in a warm smile, and you feel the world stop turning.

“Y/N.”

You nod, giving him a quiet goodbye, tracing the lovely expression on his face. You blink softly, calming the pinpricks in your heart.

Damn.

And before you realize it, you’re smiling.

Greaaat.

It’s getting harder to deny that he’s got you got.

Cos now....

I’m actually kind of rooting for you.

How great is it that wedding playlists are full of love songs, huh? Gives you lots of material to think about as you bob your head to some bops with a chilled glass of wine in hand.

“I love you” and “I need you,” those are the songs singing. And the warmth in your face? You can blame it on the bubbly.

Right.

You raise your glass with another circle of friends as you spin in a daze. You let yourself blend into the blur of company, focused on remaining present.

Present as in–– not falling too back into those chocolatey clutches. Too soon anyway.

You don’t need to spend this time thinking about Tom. You don’t need to worry about where he is or how you’ll meet again–– in the next hour? After this wedding? Next week or…

Stop!

You’re just two separate people living on this planet, and your worlds don’t need to revolve around each other. At least, not all the time.

Tom is respecting your space, and you his. You don’t know what happened during this month long break, but… you still have time to think some things through. Whatever.

You nod along with friends to the music, finding your attention drifting away as the songs switch to something slower. The spell is wearing off, clarity is coming.

“I’ll be right back,” you hum but sure they didn’t actually hear you, and head to the bathroom.

And what a surprise, he is standing outside talking on his phone.

He doesn’t see you at first, kicking his feet on the floor and spinning alone. You tiptoe past him, and maybe that was when he notices you–– you can’t fully tell either because you’ve already made it inside.

You make no impression of it, only looking at your face in the mirror. You take out an oil-blotting sheet and press it against your forehead. You look at your reflection, and it simply stares back. Nothing new, just some lines of wear and tiredness beneath your eyes. The usual.

You exit the restroom, and he isn’t there.

Hm.

You make your way, pulled into some conversations and breaking free for another drink, waiting at the counter of the bar. Your fingers tap against the counter fidgeting not out of impatience and––

There’s a raucous eruption of laughter and rustling beside you. You turn your cheek to see none other than, that man. He’s hugging another guy as they stuff a few bills into the tip jar. He notices you this time.

Small smile, and then disappears into the crowd.

You managed to smile back as your drink came and you flit away just as quickly. There’s an incredulous laugh that edges in the back of your throat.

Hmm.

Next, you go out for some fresh air on the balcony and, huh, he’s there, too. Harrison and Tom smoke some cigars with the grooms and you quite literally smack your lips and turn a heel to the other direction.

Not the kind of air you were looking for at the moment.

You sputter a laugh in disbelief, shaking your head as you clomp your way to… wherever the hell else.

God, you weren’t even looking for him! He was just always fucking… right there. Your pace quickens and you focus on the tap of your shoes as you run away––

But there’s something else in your step.

Disappointment?

Maybe it’s weighing on you that he isn’t making any moves. Not that you want him to, but you kinda did expect him to.You see him miraculously after a month and he leaves all those begging and wanting messages and now you see him here and–– nothing.

Shit, Tom. Don’t be such a great guy.

You laugh, shaking your head, feeling your hair come undone a lil. You tuck it behind your ear as you come back to face the twinkling lights.

You’re making it hard to ignore you.

You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back in an attempt to relax. Sliding your way back onto the dance floor, you find friends and hold onto your waning freedom.

Dancing is the best way to get him out of your head. He’s outside, you’re in a tangle, you won’t find him here. You won’t even look for him here!

Shimmy. Sing. Shake. Grind.

Your eyes are closed to just fall in tune with the music, and maybe you’re dancing badly but that’s always alright. Just enough to get the feelings out.

In the throes of expressing yourself with your body, you fail to ignore another body coming up behind you, shushing your friends. Warm hands melt down your waist, rolling with the contours of your hips.

You yelp, jumping up and falling back into the body. You turn to see that it’s just Harrison, laughing smartly. His cheeks are flushed as he hugs your waist close to him,

“Hello there, thing.”

Thing.

“God! You scared me.” You swat at him, as you struggle against his arms to face him. You hug his own waist back easily, fingers spreading across his back. You giggle sheepishly, feeling the full weight of tiredness as you’re finally able to lean on someone.

His warm fingertips gently brush hair away from your sticky face, commenting,

“You’re look beautiful, even 3 hours into this thing.”

“That’s the alcohol speakin’, Haz.”

“No, no.Just accept it,” his eyes soften, watery blue, “I mean it.”

Oh, the pang of guilt.

“Not looking so bad yourself,” you say, patting his cheek. You could feel the beginnings of stubble beneath your hand, sending shivers down your spine.

The song slows and you collapse into a dance together, feet shuffling softly and heads leaned. You take solace on his shoulder, breathing in his manly cologne, still going strong. You can smell a feminine perfume mixed along in there somewhere too––

“So, where’s Tom now?” you callously ask.

“Why are you looking for him?”

“N-no, I’m just wondering,” you callously reply.

Harrison shallowly laughs at your obvious interest, shaking his head to hit his chin against you.

“‘Trying not to keep bumping into you, he says,” you hear a deep sigh come from deep within, “Ya’ll are so annoying.”

His bold hand pats the space right above your ass in poor punishment. You inhale deeply, words spilling,

“I don’t know what to do with… with this, honestly.”

“Spend some time with him, you’ll know.”

You frown, craning to look back at him, eventually standing straight before him, “I… don’t want to.”

“Then don’t look for him,” Haz says firmly, bluntly, clearly.

He’s giving you an empty smile, his eyes icy. And it hurts your heart, hurts you knowing that he’s still having a hard time with this too. You step back, making distance,

“I’m sorry, Harrison–– I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, you’re alright,” his eyes close, tilting his head. His perfect hair falls with his movements, “I don’t want you to pity me, just–– just let yourself be happy, or else i can’t move on.”

Woof.

That’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

And you hear it loud and clear.

You don’t know what to say, offering him a crooked smile, eyebrows pulled. You try to give him a look that looks more like understanding rather than pity.

He chuckles, a bit more genuinely this time,

“What are we going to do with you?”

You bob your head. You’re a wreck and you know it.

“Dance?”

“I dare you to dance with Tom.”

“What?No way! I can’t do that,” you look past Harrison as he spins you. That pretty boy is standing alone against the wall somewhere far off. He’s not looking in your direction now, but you could never be sure of where his eyes were mere seconds ago.

“No!”

You want to tell Harrison that you’d rather dance with him, no one else, but that would just be twisting the knife in further. Pure cruelty.

“Come on,” Harrison hugs you from behind, swaying for a moment while he presses his cheek against yours. The grain of his stubble tickles your face as he whispers into you ear,

“There’s nothing to be worried about.”

Easy for you to say, is what comes to mind. There’s PLENTY of things to worry about–– but further burdening Harrison with your troubles is just.... Unfair, and you know it.

Fuck it all.

The song ends, and Haz lets you go with a soft spin and swivel. Your shoes tap on the hardwood, as he motions for you to go. It fills you with a little bit of confidence, if you can call it that.

You make your way, looking back to see the beautiful boy already chatting up some people nearby, his perfect smile on display. There was a little ease given back to you there. A little.

The songs get slower, and it’s harder to make it out there alone.

Your stupid eyes keep trailing back to Tom leaning against the wall, glass in hand. You suck in a breath and finally waltz yourself over to him.

At least you have the element of surprise on your side, right?

“Hey.”

“Ah! H-hey!” he’s caught off guard, pushing himself off the wall to stand tall.

You fall into place next to him, looking around as you control the pace.

“You enjoying yourself?”

You’re aware of how strange this sudden exchange must be, but you’re tired of running in place. You think Tom picks up on that too as his shoulder slumps in casual ease, able to speak loosely,

“Of course, great company and an open bar. It’s a good night.”

You break into a wry smile, wondering who and where his company was. You were out there with his best friend, who was left?

That’s a little mean, haha.

“You’re not gonna go dance?”

“No one I wanna dance with out there,” he bumps his head to the music, looking out into the sea, and back at you.

You exhale, taking a small leap,

“No one for the… past few months?”

Tom fights a grin, puffing his cheeks up as he turns to you fully. His eyes scan over your face, looking for permission to be back on that cheeky shit,

“There’s only (1) person that comes to mind.”

Mmhmm.

“––Well ,a few ones. But you’re the main one, don’t worry,” he jokes with a weak smile.

That’s enough to make you laugh though, his easy teasing. You fix the strap of your dress as you smooth out the conversation with just as much tact,

“So, how have you been otherwise, busy?”

“Yeah, a little bit, and you?”

“Not busy enough,” you laugh, maybe this wasn’t so easy. The nervous energy boiled in the pit of your stomach as you kept talking, “––with work and class and stuff. It’s been slow but i’d rather be stressed. I don’t know it’s weird, being idle.”

“No, no, I get it,” Tom points his finger as he takes a drink, maintaining eye contact, “Don’t overwork yourself though.”

“Thanks.”

And the conversation stops, not flowing to the next thing like it used to.

There should be so many things to talk about, so many things to catch up on, movies, shows, life, anything! But there were still wrinkles you had to iron out, not to be forgotten.

The silence isn’t unpleasant though, though you can credit that to being at a loud and rowdy wedding. Lots of background noise and things to avert your gaze to.

“How’s Mal?” he asks outright and suddenly.

“Doin’ better,” you reply just as earnestly, “Haven’t talked to her much though, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s good. She… really worried me last week, but we left on good terms.”

Thank god.

You face him fully this time too, “I’m glad. That’s great, Tom. I’m really happy for you.”

He puts down his glass, scratching his nose to hide his face. You can see his eyes were a little watery while his brows furrowed,

“Listen, I– I gotta clear some things up with you too. If you’ll––”

You hear the loud crackle of a microphone, eyes directed towards the mass of people rushing to the dance floor. The DJ announces it’s time for the bouquet toss, people pushing beside you asking you to come join, Hands reaching out as they pass.

Uhm, hell no.

You shake your head in rejection, it may just be superstition, but you’ll take no chances. Predictions for the future made you queasy, forever waiting for those star sign events to come true. It’s limiting, in a way. Strings of people pass by you, pulling at you and Tom to join. They smelled a little too hopeful and a little too much like alcohol.

“Come on, you’re single. Just go!”

“No thanks,” you breath.

“Why, are you taken?”

“No,” you had to reply over and over.

You held still, your stomach churning for some reason. Maybe it was just having your future ~love~ predicted and dissected by a crowd of people. You just felt rushed and hot and annoyed. These festivities were meant to be fun, harmless! But you feel too conscious about it in this state.

“Want to get out of here?” Tom offers, expertly sensing your nerves, his hand already hovering over the small of your back.

“Please.”

He takes the outside and you walk along the wall, weaving through threads of people while his hand guides you. You couldn’t look at him, embarrassed about your mini-meltdown as he leads you out into an empty hall. It led to a quiet lobby.

No one was there, the only sign of use were the half-drunken booze littered across a table. There was still plenty of room to stand and talk. You lean against a marble column and look out the window. There’s meant to be a view of the city, sparkling at night, but the glare allowed you to see your reflections. Both of you stood apart and stiff.

You hug your shoulders, thinking of just moments ago, “Pushy.”

“Sorry about that,” Tom offers, leaning against the same pillar, close. “Is this alright?”

“It’s not you,” is all you can return.

You both take the moment to try to look past your own reflections to the outside world, listening to the muffled sounds of the DJ and blurry cheering. Soon enough, you push off the column stand closer to the glass, looking out and seeing clearly.

“I have to apologize for speaking on your behalf… about Mal.”

There’s a beat of silence before he comes beside you again, searching for the same view. In the faint reflection, you see his hand reach for yours and stop, stuffing his back into his pocket. He pretends he hadn’t moved at all.

“No, no, thanks for saying something. I, uhm, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

You both chuckle, looking down–– no one really knows anything. It’s contained, it’s a secret.

It’s stills something that’s only between the three of you.

And it’s all you can think about lately.

What are we now?

During this gap, you’ve spent so much time thinking about what to say, and what you would do when you get the chance to speak one on one…. But now you’re fumbling. So far, you don’t know anything about thisTom. This Tom you have seen for days, weeks, months. You don’t know what he’s being doing, how he’s doing or what he’s even thinking about–– not like before. Not like back when you could read his mind. Not like when you knew, “I’m on my way” meant “I’ll be 10 minutes late, but I’ll be there.”

There’s so little to go off of.

The boy before you wasn’t a complete stranger, but not exactly a friend either.

And you don’t know where to start with that.

You cross and uncross your arms in the dragging echo of silence.

You feel like a child, helpless. You feel like a teenager, confused. But worst of all, you felt like an adult who has no idea what the fuck to say.

It would have been comforting to know that Tom felt the same way, but you didn’t notice that. You didn’t see how his forefinger pressed into his thumb, and how he bit the inside of his cheek, navigating the same path to the truth and apology.

It would actually be a relief for someone to burst in at this moment.

But the time for peace and clarity has arrived, and you both know you shouldn’t let it go.

“I’m sorry for… kissing you the last time I saw you. The last, last time, I mean. At the party,” Tom courageously blurts, turning a frustrated red. He steps back to the column, leaning against it as he balls his hands into fists,

“That’s one the biggest… things I have to say sorry for. And… yeah, you know the rest. I just–– I know that I shouldn’t have done that. The alcohol and confusion isn’t an excuse… and yeah, it’s disgusting, I know.” He trails off, hoping that you would pick up from there. But you don’t, properly giving him time to say what he needs to,

“I–I’ve been so lost for so long, you know? Looking for someone to be with, and Mal was there. She was someone who wasn’t perfect, needed help… Someone I thought I could help. And I wanted to stick through it, but when I met you––aside from what happened between us, you taught me that I deserved better. Better than someone who wouldn’t do anything in return for all I’ve done. That that relationship isn’t… something I had to destroy myself to save,” he looks up, looking for you.

“You just… none of this is your fault and you don’t need to feel bad for any of it. For me.”

Tom laughs, shaking his head more curls and waves coming undone.

“You don’t need to be anything to me. But I’m just going to be the sap that’s still falling in love with you for a while longer.”

The laugh takes a bittersweet turn, and you can tell he wishes he were holding your hand–– anything to physically show you he means it. But you’re not sure you’re ready for that kind of direct touch just yet.

You’re just absorbing it all in. It’s been a tumultuous few months, both caught in a vicious tide. Rolling, tumbling, drowning–– and it’s not an excuse for either of you. You can’t just let things fall where they may.

“No… Tom, I have to apologize too,” you start shakily, after you hear cheers from the vibrating reception.

“For what?”

Breathe.

The past few months of getting close to Tom, getting closer and falling apart, run though your mind. And you really wonder if he thinks that you are blameless in this catastrophe.That you hadn’t seduced him or wanted him while he was promised to someone else.

That’s pretty shit of you, right?

You lick your bottom lip in a small smile, Tom always had that kind of innocence about you. The assumption that you don’t play the game, that you could never wish ill-will. He could never think that you had ever schemed against his relationship.

And you didn’t, explicitly, but….

“Tom,” you dig your heel into the ground, leaning against the window while you watch his face, “I shouldn’t have ever… tempted you–– or spent that time with you. Back then, in the beginning, you had Mal. And I walked right in between you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did, and maybe it wasn’t forcefully or with the intention of taking you away but… it was wrong of me to even try to confuse you. It was selfish and stupid.”

And it hurt everyone involved.

Whether it started with you is up for debate, but you want this cycle of hurt to end with you. Or end with the truth.

You think of Harrison and even Mal. Maybe it’s not your fault or Tom’s fault, but it’s hard to feel blameless as you assess the damage.

“If I hadn’t gotten involved, none of this would have happened and…”

Your eyes shift left and right as you wait for his reply. Tom hangs his head, rocking for a moment before coming back up to smile,

“It’s okay.”

His words hang in the air, releasing you. And something has changed, with your confessions, something has reverted back to those glossier days. He teases,

“I’m glad you confused me.”

You scrunch your nose at your words being brought back.

Tom and Mal’s relationship was rockier than either of you knew at the start, and with your intentional slash unintentional meddling, lots of things came to light, got messy and now… you’re here.

Confused.

Far from the start, but still just as lost.

Tom’s brows raise and soften as he watches your heart on your sleeve,

“I…. I know there’s still a lot to think about but… I gotta say that I’m so happy that you’re still here talking to me.”

You have to laugh, one that you can’t swallow and pretend. You rub the corner of your eye, and muse,

“I’m not that cold, Tom.”

But you had been, and he knew he deserved it.

And while time has not swept away all the hurt, the path seemed a little bit clearer.

There were still some things you couldn’t deny.

“Hey... You know what?”

He hums in response, kicking off the column to come stand beside you again. You could see the pretty wrinkles on the side of his mouth deepen as he breathes into a smile.

You start,

“Despite this mess, I’m glad I got to know you. At all.”

His dark eyes widen as he takes it in, the future still in question. His pale hands yearns to reach out to you, and even with this new confidence he is wary of rejection. Instead he cuts through the still and get straight to it,

“What does that mean?”

You felt caught off guard at his parry, but your answer comes out all on its own.

“It means that, I’ve liked you, Tom. and––”

And?

“I don’t completely want you out of my life.”

You find yourself smiling as you tuck your chin back in embarrassment. That sounded an awful lot like you still felt That Way about him. You shut your eyes and sigh, shaking your head a little bit.

“Not completely?” he repeats, egging you on for more. He leans close to you, making his way back to your heart.

You chuckle under your breath.

“Let’s start over.”

Tom’s brows harden.

You stretch out your hand towards him, which he cautiously accepts as you put out the flames.

“As friends.”

There’s another loud round of applause that echoes through the hall. Shouts and whistles bleed out to the lobby.

“As friends,” he murmurs.

You shake firmly, avoiding his eyes as your hands fall back to your sides. You turn your cheek to face away from him and suggest,

“Let’s get back in, yeah?”

You don’t want him to see the strange, flustered, excited, happy expression drawn so obviously on your face.

“Let’s,” Tom agrees easily.

His hand smoothes over the small of your back, in a brave and bold little show of camaraderie.

Let’s start off as friends.

You smile stiffly, because you don’t want him to know that your heart is pounding like it used to.

That it would be too easy to melt back into that old mold.

Let’s just see where we go from there.

As with all romantic dramedies, you enter the party together with no resolution or closure to your prior conversation. And once again, you are immediately swept away into the tide.

You lose each other for a moment, following the flow of people and conversation. But this time, you find your way back to one another, willingly.

Tom stands tall by your side, instead of cowering away, and you roll your shoulders back with inviting poise. You feel at ease and he smiles warmly.

That’s not to write off the unbelievable and undeniable tension stretching in the small gap between your shoulders. It’s TOO real.

Your hand had bumped his once, and you both jump back and fumble over hurried apologies.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good.”

And it’s back to standing still but not too still. You both manage to relax with your favorite blonde slash brunette makes his way, and stands in between. He’s throws his arms over both of you, drunken weight pulling down as he sways.

You laugh at the rumple in his collar, fixing it while berating him for still being so drunk at the end of the night. Harrison waves the hand on your side and twirls a finger in the air,

“Indulge a little.”

The celebration nears the end as the lights dim and people start making two lines by the exit, standing together holding party poppers to burst over the grooms in the grand finale. A parting gift of glitter and petals and kisses.

Tom has placed Harrison in a chair by the wall, both of you standing nearby. You both snicker as he rubs his eyes and checks his phone, undoubtedly texting you both.

Facing forward, you hold the small device in your hands as you wait together, scraping to make small talk. Your voice startles him.

“You know, Z is coming back in a week.”

Tom’s eyes widen, looking at you with genuine surprise. He nods, looking for more,

“Oh, for real? Does she want––” His eyes dart from side to side, thinking of his next words carefully.

You finish it for him.

“She wants to see you. And uh-oh, biiiiig trouble.”

“Oh,” he pulls an exaggerated face, tugging at his collar.

“Not all bad trouble. But–– you know, it could help your case if you could help us with the move. Uhm, If I could trouble you with that.”

Tom smiles wide, his eyes crinkling near shut as he looks down. This is your arm stretched out towards him, offering a path back to where he wants to be. But it’s just a feeler, if anything at all.

“Yeah, of course, I’d love to.”

You giggle, shaking your head. No one wants to help anyone with a move, dummy. God, you don’t want to take advantage of his feelings but–– he does have a car and some apologies he wanted to make. Haha, it’s nothing malicious! You could just use the help.

“I can bring Haz and Jacob too, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I don’t have that much shit.”

“Just Harrison then?”

Your eyes scan over him, wondering if he was worried about spending time in the same place as 3 women who were, arguably, after his throat. You really can’t blame him for looking for some protection.

You offer your sympathy with a edging smile, “Yeah, bring the drunkard with you. He’ll be a lot of help, yeah?”

You both turn back to look at him, squinting into the crowd. You laugh as he finally finds you, and offer him a little wave. You turn to Tom to see if he was waving too, but he wasn’t.

His face is close, and tilted towards you. You could see those freckles you missed so much, and the brow you’ve always wanted to tame. You could smell that faint boyish cologne that always reminded you of home––

“Oh! Here they come!” Tom interrupts, his whole face perking up animatedly. His smile is so wide and true, leaving you in a daze and you turn back to the grooms.

They make their way through the lines, dressed in white, only to be covered in glitter and streamers and petals.

You squeal in excitement, screaming congratulations as you pull the string and feel the pop in your bones. Tom is whistling and howling beside you, a cheeky hand making its way across your back.

Goosebumps prickle across your skin as you watch the new couple pass.

Hey.

They disappear into night, as the crowd collapses into one. You hear stray pops and fizzles, delayed responses but none to go to waste. The flurry of confetti is dense and never ending, feeling like a stubborn snow flurry in the early spring.

You lean into the warm palm into your back, and spin to find it’s owner.

Through falling flowers, muted music and passing bodies, you turn back to Tom.

Lovely Tom.

And he’s found you too, hair tousled just right and lips a rosy pink.

Picture perfect and sugary sweet.

“Hey, you.”

Your back is still blooming with warmth even after his hand falls away.

“Hey.”

Before the flurry ends, he’s pulled you aside to avoid the bustling of people making their exit. The dim light and soft rustling makes you feel small and lonely, yearning to be held again.

Your eyes shift towards Harrison, coming up from his seat and taking a video of the falling flowers. You blink back into your body.

Straightening yourself out, you tuck hair behind your ear, making rogue petals fall out onto the floor. You and Tom laugh, as he brushes his shoulders off and shakes his blazer.

You’re shaking off your dress as Harrison comes up, and Tom speaks low,

“Can I give you a ride home?”

Oh, the night’s not over.

You look at Haz, still in and out of his coordination and seeing that he was your ride… you agree. You walk with the pair of boys clinging to each other into the warm night and softly bump into Tom’s shoulder.

“Did you plan for this?”

He raises his brows to give you a smug smile,

“Nope, only hoped.”

You roll your eyes as you get into Harrison’s car–– Tom must have gotten a Lyft or something. Harrison surrendered his keys and quickly settled into his seat up front. He dozes off quickly, dropping his phone and making no reaction.

Tom snickers as you take a picture of the blonde sweetie, sitting back to type on your phone.

He plays some whatever late night radio music, and it’s quiet in the car but it’s not so bad. It’s comfortable.

You don’t feel the pressure to talk after all the talking you had already done.

You focus on picking off flowers that have gotten into precarious places, and rub the glitter off your skin. You seethe,

“These better be biodegradable.”

And Tom laughs, glitter and paper confetti falling out of his hair.

He takes you home on familiar dips and turn, getting back to your apartment in no time. You almost forgot about your roommate for a moment too––

He parks to the side and as you gather your things he runs out to get the door for you, making you blow up at your hair. You take the hand he offers as you step out,

“Thank you, thank you. That’ll be all.”

You start to walk to the front door, realizing Tom is following you after the car door shuts and you hear his hurried steps. You look at him, lips pressed to avoid a smile. He shrugs,

“Just want to make sure you get inside.”

You both look towards the door, only a short distance away. And reconvene with those dark browns, curious to see what could happen next.

He understands that there’s still a line, still a few things to settle. And you appreciate that–– except for the fact that your insides are buzzing to take him in, to watching something dumb or to catch up or to drink drinks or to just to have him on your couch again.

But it can’t be tonight.

You climb up a few steps, making yourself a lot taller than him, and lick your lips,

“”Thank you, Tom. Uhm, it was nice talking to you again.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he scratches the side of his neck, “This eases some of my worries.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say softly leaning back.

“But I want to.”

You shake your head, throwing your shoulders up as you laugh,

“Stay worried then!”

Tom pouts, slapping his arms at his side in defense, and you only rub your nose.

“Thanks,” he sarcastically nods, continuing the banter. He wants to spend more time with you too, to wrap himself in that fuzzy gray blanket and tell you how much you meant and mean to him. But he rocks back on his heels, trying to get away from your sweet scent and away from the sweet licks of temptation.

Let’s not make the same mistakes twice, yeah?

“Text me when you make it back, okay? Tell Harrison to too,” you conclude, stepping on the brakes.

He smiles a little too wide at the permission you just gave him, and you only realize it a second after. Then the lines of communication were open again, that this is something you will really move forward with–– and as Tom bows his head to hide his ecstatic grin, you catch sight of a stray white petal knotted in his locks.

“Hold on!”

You reach forward instinctively, and he keeps his head lowered. You hold the side of his head with one hand, the bottom of your palm smoothing across his forehead and the other plucking the petal from a nest of gel,

“Got it.”

And he looks up then, with no warning. You hand frozen in place, and ultimately cupping his cheek. Your thumb presses against the corner of his lip, pressed in a gorgeous and heartbreaking smile.

You manage to speak, “Look, silly.”

Your hand shakes as you show him the white petal between your faces, and he defiantly looks past it and straight at you.

“You can keep that,” he whispers, making your hair stand on end.

And it’s funny because your arm lowers, and your hand slides off his burning cheek onto his chest. You smooth down his lapel and hold his gaze before you let your hand fall back to your side. You wished nothing more than to tumble forward, to collapse back into his arms. To embrace him wholly, for him to embrace you back.

To forget the stupid messes made and fall in love with the sweetness again.

“I will.”

There’s still a trust to be earned, a new recipe to follow. Proper ingredients, real sugar and in the end, it’s still gotta taste good too.

But, oh, what would wouldn't do to kiss him again.

To take a bite of that sweet chocolate.

“I’ll see you soon, Tom.”

I wonder what it would taste like now?

A/N: …… FINALLY. OH MY GOD. it’s been like what, 6 months? Since December? This series took a hard hit because of my birthday and holidays and tumblr banning blogs left and right. I’m glad to return to it, and fucking… END it. Thank you so much to those of you who have stuck around, remembered this series and asked for updates! This is for you.

If you can, please like, comment and reblog. I want all of those who have been waiting for this to see the end! Maybe like 2-3 more chapters left?

And i’ll let you know when i can update next. The next one won’t be as long, so maybe i can get it out in a week or two?

Track #LDC or #Like Dark Chocolate to see the updates!

Again, thank you so much and i love you guys! See you very soon.

Peace,

Madmadmilk

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