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charleslee-valentine · 9 months

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Junebug.

Word Count: ~1,300

Chapters: 1 of ??

Ship(s): Radiohead (Brocktop/Vietnita/Stretch x Chop Top)

Warnings: Trans male pregnancy (past), mild panic attack, a baby almost gets injured.

also on ao3!

_______

The empty house next door to the Sawyers, not the old Franklin house, but the one Aunt Nancy was living in before she run off from the law, has found new residence.

Nobody else wanted it. The family themselves had avoided taking the blame for Nancy and her boy getting caught, successfully hiding their own misdeeds as the police uncovered body after body from the tailored house just a ways down the street.

They let it sit empty for a couple months, years, eventually considering selling it off to avoid the heat. There was, after all, no use for it. Let it rot, forget the blemish on the family name.

‘Til a bouncing baby come along.

Once upon a time, Drayton had been grateful when Bobby brought home a girl. That would mean no extra mouths to feed. Only, this girl wasn’t no typical girl. She was like Bobby, only the opposite way.

She had him knocked up by a couple months into their relationship.

Out popped a baby with a couple red hairs, the brightest of blue eyes, and a giggle like an ornery little grinny.

They called the baby Junebug.

Bobby had insisted they name the kid Bumble Bee, but Stretch thought it might be worth giving their child a /relatively/ normal legal name. Junebug could work as Junie or Junior when need be, and Bug could work at home.

Junebug Cassiopeia Major Sawyer.

It was better than Sugar Snap, or Sasafrass, or Moonlight, though it wouldn’t have been Stretch’s first choice. Then again, her fiancé calls her by her old dj name, so maybe she has no place to mention that.

Baby Junebug is an explorer, first and foremost.

All the stars shine in those striking blue eyes when an opportunity to get into some trouble arises. Looking to Bobby himself, it’s not much mystery where that streak of mischief comes from.

Out in the tailored front lawn of their new home, where the rows and rows of flowers used to be, they built a little rocking bench out of scrap wood from the old shack that got torn down.

When they’re letting baby roam and adventure, the backyard is better for that, but Stretch is off work today to help watch the kid, and Bobby is always free to play around. So out front to appreciate the sun and the pretty garden it is.

It seems to always get Bobby, now that he’s all recovered postpartum, damn hyper.

“H-Hey, mama! W-Watch me. L-Look, Stretch, c’mon!”

Somehow, the man got it in his head that he could do a cartwheel. Probably because Nubbins could and he wanted to be identical to his twin, even if they looked not much alike.

Now Stretch is forced to watch his attempts.

Really, he’s just kind of flipping around in the dirt, ruining the one nice pair of pants he has, but she’s polite enough, giving tiny applause when he sort of almost gets it. It’s his spontaneity that had her enamored with him in the first place, after all.

Junebug, on the other hand, isn’t /pretending/ to be absolutely fascinated.

Only a little less than two now, Bug has mastered walking and crawling and a little bit of climbing, but still struggles with speech. And with growing hair apparently, the poor thing only adorned with light little wisps, enough to just barely curl around their little ears.

That doesn’t dampen an adventurous spirit one bit.

One minute, Stretch is holding her pride and joy in her lap, guiding tiny hands to applaud Bobby’s job almost well done. The next, she’s watching horrified as her baby decides she’s a diving board to free fall towards the dirt.

Now, the bench isn’t very high, but a skinny little 22 month old doesn’t have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out of that fall without at least minor injuries.

They’re lucky Bobby’s already on the ground, he dives and catches their Junebug like a football, grinning up at Stretch victoriously. Stretch herself, on the other hand, kind of freaks out.

For a moment, she’s sort of frozen, but once sense comes back into her, it’s panic time.

“Robert did you- Our /baby/ could’ve- Holy mother of-“

Maybe she’s a stammering mess. So what if she wants to be the one in the family to assume that mantel for once? Sue her.

“I-I got it, mama.”

Bobby isn’t trying to be dismissive. He caught the baby! It’s no big deal now.

Except that this was very, very big. Stretch should’ve held on better, should’ve been paying more attention, shouldn’t be raising her baby on this death trap of a farm-

“Shush.” Stretch says out-loud to silence her Bobby, for one, but to silence her thoughts too.

No need to bring up all that shit she’d worked through a thousand times already. She’s a good mother goddammit. And her Bobby ain’t a half bad papa either.

Pacing helps her burn off some of the tension. Shaking her bangle bracelets too. Maybe she’s learned a thing or two from watching them Sawyer boys. Nothing bad about physically expressing big feelings.

Junebug watches her with fascination in those big blue eyes. From the waist up, in time with Stretch’s pacing, a rhythm is set. Wiggling like a snake would.

Bobby notices first, probably because he’s still holding the wiggly little Bug. Of course he’s going to encourage fun when he sees it.

“A-Are ya daaaancin’? Wanna, d-dance with mam? G-Go on, get her.”

With little assistance, (“Don’t you go doin’ everythin’ for that baby now, Robert! The kid has got to learn!”) Junebug rises first to hands and knees, and then to standing. A few clunky, toddling steps is all it takes to reach Stretch, who notices right away and reaches down to take the little one’s reaching-up hands.

“Hi, my baby. You want up?”

Words or no words, she knows her baby enough to know that wasn’t the right answer. A little scrunched up nose gives it away.

“I think J-Junebug wanna dance!” Bobby clarifies, hauling ass to get to his feet.

The cartwheels weren’t enough to burn the fuel off the hyperactive well, apparently, because then he’s weaseling his way into the circle, one hand holding little Junebugs carefully, while the other wraps around Stretch’s waist, demanding more motion.

It’s not even a dance. It’s aggressively spinning in a circle to the tune of whatever made up bullshit song her Bobby makes up on the spot, ‘til one of them falls on their ass.

That honor goes to miss Vanita herself. She can’t up and goes down.

Totally unconcerned for her well being, the baby she’s put buckets of love and dedication into raising up, laughs at her until those chubby little cheeks turn bright pink.

At least it’s charming when the baby does it. Her Bobby would laugh in her damn face too if he wasn’t busy spinning like a Tasmanian devil.

He doesn’t slow down at all and subsequently trips over her legs and falls onto his ass next, dramatically hauling Bug in the air to keep fragile baby bones out of harm's way.

Not even a second passes to make sure things are settled before he’s buzzing and swooping the two year old around, imitating an attack helicopter he claims, (“Bubble gum, i-if it was a p-plane, i-it’d sound like th-this… Not-Not this...“)

He’s less charming, when he turns the tot around and declares that the diapered bottom now right in Stretch's face is where the attack missiles launch from. She slaps the back of his head for that one. He knew it was gross and just giggles about it, which of course, makes Junebug imitate that signature laugh. Had to learn it from somewhere.

Stretch, even if her favorite dress is dirty, and her baby gave her a little heart attack, /and/ her future husband is a little bit less than a gentleman, well she wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, she signed up for this when she agreed to a second date with Bobby after the first took them on a trek through the woods and they got helplessly lost in knee-high crick water.

That’s a story for another time. Maybe when Junebug gets a little older and starts wondering about mama and papa.

(Junebug Sawyer was co-created with @maskemasker)

#chop top x stretch #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #stretch tcm2 #vanita brock #tcm 2 #my writing #fan child #kid fic

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sarah-dipitous · 1 year

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 117

The Hounds of Baskerville

"The Hounds of Baskerville"

Not me almost forgetting Sherlock gets purple for The ShirtTM instead of blue for The ScarfTM

I...forget this guys name (character and actor) because he will forever be Alonso...Alonzo? Either way, he's the guy from Voyage of the Damned. Allons-y Alonso!

OMG THE HARPOON AND COVERED IN BLOOD.

Stop being mean to Mrs Hudson...

The fact that Bluebell is relevant...you DUNCE, Sherlock

The superstitiousness of everyone about Dartmoor.

Good lord, he's so off putting, now in 2023. Literally what was I going through in 2012 that made me like Sherlock (the character) so much

The visuals in this episode ARE beautiful. The VIEWS of Dartmoor. One can really dramatically stand on rocks there. (I realize that sentence sounded sarcastic, but...it wasn't. It somehow wasn't. It was absolutely genuine)

I always liked this little village outside the army base. It's charming.

Love John insisting on Sherlock following through on the bet they definitely didn't make but that Sherlock DID lose. That is one BIG paw print

OMG. The tiny Mycroft parts because Sherlock stole his ID card that grants them access to Baskerville.

Oh...right. This is the episode where I do get ever so briefly attracted to John. I just get twirls-hair-around-finger when someone pulls rank...

I do feel very called out though...because in some ways my taste has not changed. What's that about a statement coat with the collar turned up so they look cool??? Goddammit

JOHN FOLLOWING A LEAD IN MORSE CODE but the flashing light was...like...a couple in a car hooking up

So. He's just pretending to have seen something right now. God, he's so infuriating

Henry (Alonso), no he didn't see it. He's playing you for a fool at this point. And now he's gaslighting John, too. It's all so much worse when you know.

Worstie, we both know that's not quite true. There's nothing wrong with you, PLEASE. There's SO much wrong with you. (Who am I? Who have I become??) Look, just because there's nothing "wrong" with your deduction skills doesn't mean you're 100% alright. Yeah...I'd have the same reaction as John.

Ok. Like. I know Dr Franklin is the one who did it. He's behind it all, but is he psychologically torturing poor Henry? Mmmm, maybe not if he's breaking up John's date with Henry's therapist

Aaaaaaaaand he's reeling you in to make the experiment he's testing on you go on. LORD, I forgot about the "you've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable" He's so rude.

Pfffff, yes, Lestrade. Okay. Okay, I did laugh, GENUINELY laugh at the "[Mycroft] sends my handler incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself GREG?"

Hey, yeah. I remembered that the vegetarian restaurant was ordering meat, but WHY

Oh wait...is THIS when he drugs John?? Wait, was his freak out at the pub real?? I legitimately have no clue. I loathe this man.

And now I'm back on the, he's been playing them this WHOLE time.

Poor John, he doesn't deserve this happening to him

Oh wait. Shit. It was a genuine freak out on Sherlock's part earlier.

Gonna be frank with you. Did not remember/expect the "In" of "Liberty In" to be Indiana.

Yeah, I don't think that's gonna be your therapist any more, Henry. Sorry, bud.

Oh. Oh Henry, no.

Okay. On one hand, yeah, Sherlock's got it all figured out, but on the other...Henry his HIGHLY SUGGESTIBLE right now. I don't think this would hold up. You are literally telling him what "he remembers" in this state where we've just been shown that you'll see what you're told you'll see...

God...I forgot they just blew the villain up this time around. I mean...they let him chase them through an active mine field, so like...kind of the same thing. CAN WE STOP HURTING MY FEELINGS

He's such an asshole.

I was gonna end i there, but I forgot that Jim got locked up somehow and scratched Sherlock's name just alllllllllllllll over his cell walls. It...shouldn't be making me feel things, but it does. Jim always will.

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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resedacitrus · 2 years

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𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 - 𝐝. & 𝐥. 𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨

this is...something that i've been thinking about for a few days and i finally decided to write it!!! spoiler alert, it's about daniel and ma </333 i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it c: gonna warn u,,,there are mentions of injuries, death, and sorta??? poverty??? and lack of food. so please please please be safe and only read if ur comfy!!! thank you xoxo

time flies.

he was eighteen. he was graduating next month. he was a handsome young man; lean and limber, hair dark and eyes even darker. he stole his father's attributes long ago. he stood before her, long tan arms pulling her into a hug.

"i love you, ma."

the words left his lips and immediately lucille found herself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions.

comfort was first.

she thought of the simple days of summer in newark, bringing a then five-year-old daniel to the playground so he could burn off all his rambunctious energy. he was as rowdy as a child his age came; dashing around the park shouting and not bothering to look where he was going. he stumbled over his untied shoelaces and scraped his delicate little knees.

straightaway, his innocent eyes filled with tears and he looked to the bench where his mother sat. she rushed over to him, scooped him up, and suddenly everything was better. she pulled band-aids out of her purse and kissed the pain away. mothers love best.

"thank you, mama."

grief came next.

she remembered the hospital room like it was yesterday. room 308. to her left, eight-year-old daniel sat by his father's bedside. his tiny hand trembled in the grip of his papa's larger one as the heart monitor gave a final bleep and flatlined. she would never forget the way he lowered his head and cried; too young to fully understand, too old to be oblivious. a tearful goodbye. a goodbye that should've never happened.

"you promised you'd stay, dad...'member?"

lucille was a widow. daniel was fatherless.

then there was guilt.

daniel was fourteen and had just started high school. he was a lot smaller than the other boys his age, likely because he was growing up poor and without enough to eat. lucille blamed herself for this. since the death of her husband, the burden of working two jobs was on her back and it was up to her to pay the bills and make ends meet. she did her best to make sure her son had food on the table every night, but sometimes her scant paycheck wasn't enough and they'd both go to sleep hungry.

"daniel, are you okay?"

"yeah, ma...just lightheaded...didn't have money for lunch today..."

up from the ashes came hope.

lucille stood in the living room of the larussos' new jersey home. franklin avenue. she surveyed the space, seeing all of her and daniel's belongings packed tightly in cardboard boxes. their old station wagon was parked outside and the open trunk was waiting expectantly. california was calling and so were new opportunities. she looked over and saw daniel, now seventeen years old, silently staring at the toes of his shoes. he hadn't spoken a word to her since the first box was packed.

she knew her son was giving up a lot and for this, she was eternally grateful. the look of pure apathy and disdain on his face made her want to unpack all the boxes and cancel the plans, but she knew that they could never have a functional life here. she didn't want daniel to raise his future family in a town like newark.

finally, reality.

lucille held her son in that hug tightly and didn't let go. she cupped daniel's face gently in her hand and gazed at him. gosh, he looked so much like his father.

he was brave. she saw it in his fists. he was kind. she saw it in his eyes. he was strong. she saw it in his posture and the way that he carried himself now as an eighteen year old. so much learning to do, but so much learning already done.

but most importantly, he was her son. the bond they shared was like steel. nothing could destroy it. she felt it in the way he embraced her and spoke softly in her ear.

"i love you, ma. thank you for everything you've done for me."

#the karate kid #the karate kid (1984)#cobra kai #the karate kid fanfiction #cobra kai fanfiction #daniel larusso #lucille larusso #ralph macchio #randee heller #my writing

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dionysusbabe · 3 years

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Grand Theft Auto Headcannons

Ive got some Unholy Trinity headcannons for you all! enjoy~

Love language

Michael

Quality time. Sit down and watch a movie with him, walk in the park, lounge by the pool, hell love it all. As long as you're around him he will always find himself deeply in love and so full of serotonin and dopamine that he will sometimes be unable to take his eyes off of you as he admires everything about you and this moment, wanting to snapshot it forever.

Franklin

Gifts. Now, hear me out, this man absolutely hates receiving gifts, he despises being the centre of attention (he almost punched a waiter who was about to sing happy birthday to him when he was 12), but giving gifts is his way of saying ‘I love you.’ He feels like sometimes his words aren't enough and will absolutely shower you with compliments, but when he hands you a (not so) delicately wrapped present, you can rest assured that man would go to the ends of the earth for you.

Trevor

Physical touch. Trevor Philips is a very touch starved man. Sure, sometimes he puts a bullet directly into someone's skull if they touch so much as his arm, but, if he cares about you, he will beg and plead for a hug or for you to simply hold his hand. This does, however, mean that he will 100% be hugging you any chance he gets, or will constantly have his hand in yours or snaked around your waist. If you ever seem uncomfortable or ask him to stop, he absolutely will. His love language may be touching, but he would never make you uncomfortable.

Best date ideas

Michael

Movie night. He’ll invite you over for a movie night and will let you pick any movie you want, though, keep in mind, he will have his mind less on the plot and more on small things like lighting, cinematography and continuity. Sure, he’ll try to hold his tongue on some of these things but sometimes he can't help but blurt out what's bothering him. If he ever goes silent while watching a movie, he’s most likely watching your reactions and admiring you again. Either that or you've actually captured his interest in the movie (which is extremely hard to do, so congrats!)

Franklin

Stargazing on the hood of his car. Franklin’s always been fascinated by space and stars, something about the greater beyond calls to him. Start him on a conversation about stars and you will NOT hear the end of it (though he will profusely apologise after). Combine stars with the next best things, you and cars, and you've got the best evening this boy could have ever dreamt for. Franklin will tell you about every constellation he can see and will lay right next to you so you can see what he sees. If you glance at him, you’ll see how the stars reflect in his eyes as they’re filled with childlike wonder, either that or he’ll have his gaze settled on you as he admires how you absorb the night sky above you both.

Trevor

Shooting range. It's not unknown that Trevor enjoys guns and shooting, something about the sound and feel really hits differently for that man. But being able to share his love with someone he cares about is the best thing ever for him. If you were to go to a shooting range with him, he would spend half the time with his arms wrapped around you from behind as he teaches you how to shoot or helps you steady your aim and the other half of the time would be spent challenging you. If he wins, he will NOT live it down and claim that you are paying for ice cream at the pier. On the other hand, if he loses, he will claim it was for some reason done by the hand of god, pout and demand you still pay for ice cream at the pier (though he will absolutely cave and end up paying for it). If he ever does lose one of these challenges, it's because he spent most of the time admiring how you aimed, stuck your tongue out, and then squeezed the trigger.

What’s their sleeping position?

Michael

Michael prefers to sleep on his back, occasionally shifting to his side where he faces towards the door. He once stated that “it helped align his back” which may be semi true, but you know deep down (and so does he) that it's really a last minute grapple for a sense of stability and manliness in his life. A form of dominance. He finds laying on your stomach or side to be inherently feminine, and though he explains that there is nothing wrong with that, he doesn't want to portray himself as feminine in any way, shape or form.

Franklin

His back with one arm outstretched for you to lay on and his other hand resting behind his head. Franklin will forever try and keep you close so he will always have one arm around you while he sleeps. When he’s sleeping alone he will put a pillow over his arm where you usually rest as a way to calm himself down and will pretend that the pillow is you (he uses the one you usually sleep on so it smells like you too, which he adores).

Trevor

It changes. Trevor sleeps on his back when you're around and lets you sleep with your head on his chest, that's on a good night at least. On a bad night, if you're with him, hell wrap his arms around you and hold you tight until he can fall asleep. If he’s by himself on a good night, he’ll sleep on his side and hug a pillow, imagining it's you. If it's a bad night by himself he either won't sleep, or will sleep on his side in a fetal position with a pillow squeezed between his arms and legs.

What’s something they like that may be surprising to others?

Michael

Trains. Ever since he was little, Michaels has been into trains. Thomas the Tank Engine was the show that calmed him down from meltdowns when he was little and every year up to his 13th birthday he would always ask for something related to trains. If you rummage through his closet, there's a box labeled “EXCLUSIVE” in bold black sharpie which is filled with old birthday cards that have train paraphernalia on them. Bring up trains around him in private and he will pull up pictures on his phone and ramble on for ages. Bring up trains around others and he will glare at you until you shut your mouth.

Franklin

Stars. Since Franklin was a boy he's always had a deep love and connection to stars and the deeper beyond. Something about the abyss calls to him on the daily. When he was a kid he would draw pictures of himself in rocket ships that would always be pinned to the fridge. When he was 7 he got his first telescope. He used it every single night and still does. His favourite constellation is Cassiopeia and his favourite star is Alpha Pegasai.

Trevor

Model cars. Something about those tiny wheels makes his little brain go brr. Trevor enjoys occupying his time by doing models, model cars are his favourite. If he doesn't have something to do he will end up picking at his skin until it bleeds, so he picked up model building. Ever since then his closet has been stacked with boxes that are separated neatly into two piles. “Complete” and “Unopened”. There's a special shelf in his closet where his completed model cars sit. Bother him while he's building and he will punch you in the jaw, its his favourite thing.

How they are in the DEED

Michael

Michael is rather a selfish lover. He tends to forget about his partner's needs through the deed itself, though afterwards will ask and prod if you're okay, if you enjoyed it ect. If you ever say that you didn't feel complete afterwards, he will promise you he’ll make it up to you next time, though if he keeps up to his promise you'll never be certain.

Franklin

He can be kind of needy through the deed. Being a switch is tough work. He will either be on top of you or will be doing whatever you request of him. Franklin is a rather even lover, he’ll do whatever it takes to please you while also making sure he, himself, is pleased. Franklin will constantly be asking if you're okay with what's going on throughout and will, beforehand, ask if you have any boundaries.

Trevor

You're going to need a safeword. Trevor will make sure you are pleased before him, sometimes he will even go without finishing himself just to see you squirm and melt under his touch. If you have boundaries, he will push them, though as soon as you say the safeword he will stop and make sure you're okay without hesitation. He just hopes that goes the same if he ever needs to say the safeword for whatever reason.

#gtav #grand theft auto #grand theft 5 #headcannons #headcannon #micheal de santa #franklin clinton #trevor philips #unholy trinity #gtavrp #gtavfandom #writing

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mannien · 3 years

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Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - PROLOGUE

The one with graduation, daisies and carnations, and a hopeless emotional addiction.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: some stress and anxiety here and there

Some feelings are addictive. It’s easy to get used to the way something tingles with excitement, warms up with passion, or stings with powerful adrenaline rush. People get comfortable with feelings known and desired and more often than not, they turn them into coping mechanisms. Whatever sticks their wobbly pieces together the longest, is the ultimate solution. Feelings don’t need to be entirely positive or with pure intentions behind them. As long as they cover up the shattered pieces, they stay. They may enhance some experiences, especially when someone decides to stick with something as simple as joy. But some make life more difficult than it seems; they mess up the timeline and allow people to feel so many wrong things before reaching the truth.

An array of emotions weaves through fresh university graduates. A sense of freedom and relief is somewhat clouded by fear or excitement. Someone has an internship lined up, their friends take a year to travel across Europe, a roommate has an apprenticeship at their next job. Others might take things slow and see what the future holds, while some students get prepared to have a fresh start. The overall unknown seems to be the underlying tone in the speeches during the graduation ceremony, but each person in polished shoes and with a rapid heartbeat subconsciously sticks to a feeling that makes them feel more at ease.

Students of each program are called on stage. Every little success along the way is cradled into slippery hats and fitted gowns with the university’s subtle emblem on the front. The audience is sitting on the large balcony above the graduates. People clap with appreciation at each young person walking across the wooden floor and shaking the chancellor’s hand. Some receive a more enthusiastic applause, sometimes even a roar of cheers. As the long queue of journalism graduates makes its way through the hall, the names are listed rapidly. Students walk as if they were a part of an assembly line, trying their best not to delay the process of the nerve-wracking hand-shaking and walking without tripping. The last are always graduates with exceptional results, so the crowds are encouraged to clap vigorously. And that’s what’s heard when the eyes of two women in the audience are focused on the proud figure walking on stage: the loudest cheers of the afternoon so far.

“Remind me, why aren’t we screaming for your boyfriend, and the whole department of journalism is?” A questioning voice surprised Millie so much that she jumped in her seat.

“I’m nervous, Thea. That’s why.”

She stated the obvious. Millie Beaver was the one to frantically fix the sleeves of her gown as a nervous tick. She got up early that morning, dreading the day full of polished festivities and exaggerated elegance requested upon a bunch of tired, educated enough people. The pride in successfully finishing her studies was yet to come; her body was rather keen on reacting dramatically to the large crowds of scholars, pupils and their families. The dread of participating in an unrehearsed event like this clouded her brain and made her focus solely on not loosing it. Though she wouldn’t dare admit it to the smiling man, who was just about to shake some hands on stage. The confidence he wore on his face was something she was used to seeing, even in the least favourable scenarios.

“I still don’t get it, how some people are born so talented that they don’t need to work their asses off to get somewhere,” she shrugged, making her tight black curls shake with her head, “I mean, the hours we spent on reading and researching…”

“I guess we’re just different.”

“Different? It’s not fair, that’s what it is. Patriarchy at its finest.”

The comment made Millie laugh and release some of the tension. Her eyes followed Franklin into the side corridor, where a little crowd of his friends formed a circle around him – the star of the department - before continuing into their seats. His cheerful stance made her bit her lip in excitement; for a moment, she tried to forget about whatever was said through the speakers. She genuinely wanted to be feel happy for him and his academic achievements. After all, she spent previous months on watching him get to the top of their classes almost effortlessly, as if he was born to be talked about by the teachers.

Millie felt her heart speed up at the thought that he might start searching for her for a little cheer, or even a tiny wave of support. But Frank sat down and continued to enjoy his fame, and Thea started to pull her up from the wooden chair.

“Come on, it’s our turn.”

She followed her friend and attempted to smooth out the heavy gown. Her light brown hair flowed as she walked, making her nervously fix it every now and then. She turned to the very end of the queue to find Jane, who wore a wide smile. They made eye contact and the blonde sent her a half-smile, knowing that they are almost through the tough part. It calmed Millie to know that she had her support system, not only up in the balcony, but also somewhere among the students of literary and media studies. At one point she feared that her nightmare of falling off the stage will become reality, but as a surprise to her and her close ones, clumsy Millie walked gracefully and with pride painted across her face.

Mission accomplished: she made it through college without falling.

The main floor of the event hall once again filled with students, their peers, and families. Loud chatter was heard across the building as people were celebrating the achievements of the year’s graduates. Some of the groups moved outside and took in the chilly London air. It smelled of rain and freedom, clouded with light grey pillows in the sky.

The three girls tried to make it through the crowds of chatting people in search for the perfect spot to take pictures together. Jane wore the highest heels of them all, so she was designated to lead them to the wall with the logo of the university. In a tight weave of pinkie fingers, they rushed through the hall just as they would through a college party. Millie felt dizzy from the sea of the same black gowns surrounding them from every angle. Some people waved at them, so she kept her smile wide and left Thea – with her one hand free – to the waving back duty. Their secure escape led them safely to the back wall on the side of the entrance, where some of the students usually found peace between classes and sat down on the floor, watching over the busy entrance to the building during the semester. The carpet remembered a lot of spilled coffees and teas in the wobbly little cups purchased from the cafeteria inside. Millie let out a breath of relief, seeing that only a couple of students found this spot perfect for keeping the memories.

“Hey, congrats! We’re graduates!” Jane welcomed the group that was finishing their poses in front of the wall.

Thea laughed with them, but desperately waved her hand in front of her reddening face to cool off.

“I hate your speed in heels. That was too fast!”

“Don’t worry, at least you don’t have to run to the Linguistics ever again.” Millie pulled her little bag from underneath the gown and looked for a sheet of paper with old notes. As long as Jane was busy chatting up other students, the other two tackled the makeshift air conditioning to prevent Thea’s makeup from running.

“Okay, are we ready for some iPhone memories?” The sound of a snapshot stopped Millie from frantically fanning their friend’s face.

“You sound ready. Do you have a tripod or a selfie stick, though? I want to have a picture with all of you.”

“We could still catch that group and ask someone to snap a few?”

“I’m not running anywhere, I’ve just fixed my face!” Thea puffed her cheeks and did a few more waves around them, certainly for an enhanced dramatic effect.

“Then don’t run anywhere, I’ll call my mom to come here, she’s probably out for a smoke anyway.”

“You really want to have your graduation pictures taken by your mom?” Thea and Millie chuckled at Jane’s resigned sigh. “Maybe Frank could come here? I trust his steady hands more.”

“He was supposed to go to the student’s office after the ceremony. Honours and stuff.” Millie pursed her lips.

“Right when we need him! What a boyfriend.”

“Jane!”

“Do you need a hand, girls?”

A sudden male voice stopped the rising argument and made the three of them look into the corridor. He welcomed them with a warm smile and soft wrinkles by his eyes. With a small bunch of colourful flowers, he stood out in casual, non-graduate clothes, yet with similar youthfulness to him.

“I’m not my brother but I can take a straight picture in focus.”

“What the fuck?” Millie covered her mouth in shock. Hesitantly, she took one step away from Jane and Thea, afraid of her next reaction. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to my friend’s graduation, fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m serious!” She raised her voice and made her way over to him, meeting his steps somewhere in the middle of the distance. He was smiling at her stupidly and she couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his reaction.

“I’m serious too, you made it! That’s so cool!” He opened his arms and invited her in, with a small encouragement of his waving hand.

One of the most addictive feelings are those of an utter comfort and safety. This teasing sparkle making your insides warm up and encouraging you to be a little more positive. That’s precisely what Millie felt when she was engulfed in a tight hug by her childhood best friend. Tom held her tightly across her back and swayed them side to side, earning a hearty laugh from the girl who was now, shining. She felt a sense of genuine relief once he squeezed her in reassurance; her brotherly figure showed up, so she was finally able to relax. Suddenly everything felt easy and perfect. All of the stress, fear of the unknown, anxiety about the grand event of the day, and the rest of damaging emotions slowed down their tempo in her veins, simply because she was home. Her smile swiftly changed into more prominent and definitely brighter by a shade or two. As he held her close, he could feel Millie’s warmth suddenly radiate through his body, making his eyes twinkle with joy because of this very girl.

“Congratulations, Minnie Mouse, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered next to her ear, cautious of what others may hear from their little exchange. She did not need any more nerves weighting her down, so he decided not to make a big scene – even though he definitely wanted to tease her worrying head and make sure she’s having a good time. “you’re all grown up now, so I got you flowers.”

“Oh, so otherwise you wouldn’t?” Millie shook his head, but accepted a small bouquet of carnations and daisies.

“Nah, I know you hate flowers.” He winked at her and put his arm around Millie’s arms, tucking her into his side a little too tightly.

“Absolutely. Thanks Tom, I’ll throw them out after the pictures.”

“Go ahead,” He tucked her in even more, making her squirm in discomfort. It was one of their things, to squeeze one another too tight. It made them feel connected as if they were siblings. They knew how sibling love worked, Tom having three younger brothers and Millie being the youngest of three sisters, but it was refreshing to have it a little spiced up. She let out a shy laugh and pushed him away before taking the delicate bunch from him. She lost the smell of his familiar perfume and took a breath. Once he extended his hand to Millie’s friends, he was back to his public confidence and charm. “Hey! Thea and Jane, right?”

They took an intimidating number of pictures; some of them good enough to share with people, other more fitting into a private photo album filled with silly, heart-warming memories. The group shared a lot of easy laughs together; Millie’s girlfriends eased into the lightly flowing chatter with Tom in no time. It made her sink into the bubble of comfort and light; she was smiling brightly when they reached the entrance to the building. Tom opened the glass door for all of them. A slightly chilly air hit Millie in her blushing cheeks and slowed down the pinky glow spreading across her cheekbones. Somewhere in the distance she noticed her parents lurking excitedly at the group and waving them over expectantly.

There was this heaviness slowing her down and taking up an excess of space in the back of her mind. As they were making their way across the university’s main square, Millie slowly turned her head to the side. She perked up at the sound of loud cheers and noticed a familiar group of students. Among them, there was Frank—laughing and hugging people from his department—and he definitely enjoyed being in the centre of attention. She was sure he didn’t even notice her walking by, but she didn’t want it to affect her as much as it was going to.

In turn, what she didn’t think of was the attention someone would give to her best friend: the smiling, cheerful young man, who was shamelessly chatting up Millie, Thea and Jane.

“Oh my God, is that Tom Holland?”

This simple question, raised somewhere from the group of journalism graduates, didn’t surprise Tom. However, it definitely rose the hairs on the back of Millie’s neck. Though he brushed it off and sent her a reassuring smile, Millie felt panic flowing through her veins. They both knew it could happen, but Tom seemed to be focused more on making her a priority, rather than fearing being recognized as the famous actor. He watched her reaction, now fully aware of her boyfriend emerging from the crowd and skipping towards them.

“Hey, I was trying to find you earlier,” he brushed his hand through his dark blonde hair and gave her a brief smile, before turning excitedly to Tom. “Hey man, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“We just went to…” she paused, seeing as he was already extending his hand towards her friend. “…take pictures.”

“The girls had a nice little photoshoot back inside.” Tom cut short his smile, raising the side of his mouth only to her. He accepted Frank’s handshake but didn’t allow it to turn into a bro-hug. It was fairly easy to read their body language; Franklin tried his best to seem friendly with his girlfriend’s celebrity friend, but the said celebrity was too kind to allow his cheekiness outshine Millie’s comfort zone. Jane and Thea turned their heads away at the sight of palms squeezing a little too tight for a friendly greeting. Frank’s friends and a couple other bystanders watched the exchange with prying eyes, and Millie let out a frustrated groan at the unnecessary tension.

“Cool, cool. Can I steal my girl for a moment?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer, but rather just took her hand and pulled her to the side, hiding slightly behind the group of people. He fixed the tinsel attached to her hat and winked at her, giving her his full attention. He looked at her with his gleaming blue eyes and made her smile at the intimate moment.

“You good, sweetie?”

“Yeah, just fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Are your parents here? I haven’t seen them.” She looked around, trying to find his mom’s flowing blonde hair.

“They went to get the table at the restaurant nearby. Wanna join us?” He searched her face and leaned in closer, brushing his nose against hers. Millie laid her hand on his shoulder and allowed him into her little space.

“Why are you asking me to choose between our parents?” She chuckled, but patiently waited for his reaction. “Could we all spend time together, at least once?”

“I told you, it’s not a good idea,” Frank brushed his lips against Millie’s, slowly easing her into him and making her return the kiss. “you can ask Tom to come to the party tonight, it’ll be fun.”

“No promises.”

They shared a few more kisses that left Millie breathless - Franklin wasn’t usually the one to publicly show his affection, so she craved anything he willing to give her. She smiled up at him and let him go, happy that he took the minute to catch up with her.

With one last wave of his hand, Frank joined his party. Although he was instantly pulled into celebratory pictures, he couldn’t help but watch Millie walk away; she joined Jane and Thea in a heart-warming group hug. She was just sweet like this: sticking to her people, making sure everyone’s happy, and embracing all the kindness in the simplest actions. Franklin smiled to himself at the sound of her cheerful laugh and turned back to his friends, but then he noticed the source of her laugh. Her and Tom did a barely-there joyful dance, raising their hands and curtseying to her parents. Alfred, her dad, patted him on the back and shook his hand vigorously, while Millie was being squeezed by her mom.

People from Frank’s department praised him for having any kind of relationship with Tom Holland. Frank watched Tom’s joyous exchange with his girlfriend. Tom was proudly paying attention to his best friend, and Millie’s cheeks were hurting from the smiles. She was content and felt at ease. She was sure that her heart was filled to the brim with love and comfort.

Yes, being addicted to feelings is difficult. It holds people hostage in the arms of the sole premise of positive emotional experiences. It’s also blinding for the addicts, making the loss of certain feelings hurt more than it should. Addiction feeds off the weak, the confused, and the uncertain. It eats them up alive and strives to receive more and more satisfaction. It allows for the illusion of reality, so that the addicts can project certain feelings onto their consciousness. They live in their bubbles of unruly contentment and often forget to look into their souls and perform a regular check-up.

Millie was an addict.

***

Please let me know what you think!

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear @sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection @cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #tom holland blurb

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

Text

Seasons Change [3]

iii. the summer will warm the coldest parts of your heart

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, language.

summary: a mission throws you and steve together, bringing a new sort of revelation to your relationship.

a/n: okay, yes, I know this is late, but listen, I couldn’t find my laptop amongst all the moving boxes! good news is that I did find it though, so here is seasons change part 3 (my favorite part!), one day late!!! the taglist for this series is open!

previous chapter // series masterlist // full masterlist

June 20, Rome, Italy.

You walk out of the bathroom of your hotel room, your final belongings gathered in your arms. You dump them into your open suitcase, not bothering to organize them since you’re finally flying home again, before zipping the suitcase closed and plopping down beside it on the bed. You stare out the window of your room, admiring the Sydney skyline outside, though you’re glad to trade it for a familiar skyline in just a few short hours.

As you stand to grab your suitcase, your phone rings, and your stomach drops with dread, already aware that this phone call is not going to be one that you like. You grab your phone from your pocket, eyes scanning the familiar number on the screen before you answer with a sigh, “Hill, this better not one of those calls.”

“It’s just recon!” You sigh again, and you can practically hear her cringe though the phone, “I know you haven't been home in months, but you’re our best agent. And you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

“Who gave the orders?”

“Fury.”

Not optional then. You nod once, even though she can’t see it. “Where?”

“Rome.”

Your brows lift slightly, “Italy?”

“You know any other Romes?”

You deadpan, “Yeah. Georgia, Alabama, Illinois.”

Hill lets out a short laugh, “Okay, okay, I get it, smartass. Yes, Rome, Italy.”

“Just recon, huh?”

“Just recon.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t say no if it’s from Fury. “Alright, send over the file.”

“Already done.” You can hear the smile in her voice when she adds, “Oh, and you’ll have a partner on this one.”

You groan, “You know I do better solo.”

“You’ll like this one!”

“You said that about the last one.”

“Who, Franklin?”

You hum in acknowledgement, “He talked too much. And he ate way too much garlic for someone sharing a tiny room above a church.”

Hill laughs again before she mutters, “Well, I mean it this time.”

“Who is it?”

“Can’t say. Classified.” You let out a sound of frustration, and you can hear the amusement in her voice when she reassures you. “You’ll meet him in the safe house.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t forget that you’re my favorite agent!”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you soon.”

Shield sends a Quinjet to fly you to Rome, which you suppose is the closest thing you’ll get to an apology for not getting to go home. Still, it’s better than flying commercial, so you accept the gesture, and your flight passes uneventfully, which you’re grateful for.

The safe house is close to your landing spot, so you decide to walk, thinking the fresh air will be good for you. Unfortunately, you underestimated just how hot it would be beneath the Italian sun, and by the time you arrive at the safe house, you’re sticky with sweat. You walk inside, the apartment pretty small as far as safehouses go, but you’re used to sharing close quarters with other agents, so you aren’t worried about it. You drop your bag on the floor in the living room, heading towards the kitchen and calling out as you move. “Hello? Anyone here?”

As you step into the kitchen, you find it empty, save for a note on the table, along with a small brown paper bag. There’s a delicious smell wafting towards you from the bag, buttery and warm and full of cinnamon, and when you pull it open, you see a fat cinnamon roll staring back at you. You get an idea of who your partner is before you even read the note left beside the bag.

Went to grab a few things, be back in a bit.

-S

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “God damn it, Hill.”

You knew you’d regret telling her about your arrangement with Steve, but she was suspicious after he called her in Japan, and she pretty much pieced it together on her own. All you did was confirm the details for her. Still, it felt nice to talk about it with someone. Not as agents, but as friends. You work so often that you don't have a lot of opportunities to get close to anyone, and besides Steve, Hill is the closest thing you have to a friend.

You shake your head, sure that she’s laughing her ass off at HQ, before you settle into one of the chairs at the table, pulling the bag with the cinnamon roll towards you. You pull a copy of the file out of your bag, given to you by the pilot in the Quinjet, reading through it again as you eat the cinnamon roll left to you by Steve. And that’s where he finds you later, sitting at the table and popping the last bite into your mouth, and he says from the doorway, “Where does it rank on your list?”

You look up in surprise, so engrossed in the file that you didn't hear him come in, and he smiles as he walks into the room and sets two bags of groceries on the table. “So?”

You shake your head at him, not understanding. “So, what?”

“The cinnamon roll, where does it rank?”

You smile and wipe your hands clean, looking down at the crumbs scattered on the table. “Oh. Definitely not as good as my mom’s, but it’s one of the better ones I’ve had, so maybe a 7?”

Steve’s brows lift and a playful smirk settles itself on his face. “A 7? It’s at least a 9.”

“There’s isn't enough icing for it to be a 9.”

He smiles and nods, taking note of the criticism. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He starts to put the groceries away, and you stand to help him. “So you’ve read the file?”

“Simple surveillance, in and out in a few days. Intel says Alexandrei Ivanov has been scoping out tourist traps to test Hydra weapons at.”

You nod, both of you on the same page, before you ask, “So how are we gonna play this?”

Steve grabs a different file, turning to hand it to you as he grabs the last few groceries. “Newlyweds Victoria and Logan Jones. Honeymooners happily in love, hitting up all the best tourist spots and snapping plenty of pictures for their family back home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up a little as you scan the file, realizing that you’re gonna have to pretend to be married to Steve for the next few days. And everyone knows that you have to stay in your cover at all times, because you never know who’s watching. This should be fun. You take a deep breath and look up at him with a smile, feigning a confidence you don’t quite feel. “So, when do we start?”

It turns out that you’re starting right away.

You freshen up from your flight and change clothes into the ones Steve brought for you, a bright yellow sundress; both of you looking incredibly average when you reveal your outfits to each other. Preparing to be tourists, you both don sunhats and grab a camera, and with your cover in place, you head to the Coliseum hand in hand, playing the part of a couple in love.

It doesn't take long for you and Steve to spot Ivanov, as most of the Hydra operatives tend to stand out in a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand when he spots him first, and he turns to you and sweeps you in for a kiss, whispering softly against your lips, “Ivanov at your 3 o’clock.”

You feel your skin heat up with his touch, and you tell yourself that it’s the Italian sun, because you’re an operative and this is just work. But Steve seems to notice the effect he’s already having on you, because he smirks, and you repress an eye roll as you turn away and look around for Ivanov. When you spot him, you turn to your fake husband and exclaim, “Let me get your picture, love!”

You see his cheeks tinge pink, and now it’s your turn to smile, the nickname clearly something he enjoys. He passes you the camera and stands in line with Ivanov, and you point the camera at Steve, pretending to snap pictures of him, when in reality you’re capturing Ivanov in the background. Once you get the shot, you smile at Steve, waving him back over. “Oh my god babe, you look great! Come see!”

Steve walks over and checks the pictures, smiling his approval at you. “Wow, you really captured my good side!”

You lean into your cheesy role, beaming up at him. “Every side is your good side!”

“Baby, c’mere.” He pulls you in for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last, his tongue instantly slipping into your mouth. You have to work hard to remind yourself that you’re in public and this is a job, so you need to keep your composure. Every move the two of you make needs to be calculated, it needs to serve a purpose.

Steve’s mouth moves over your jaw and down to your neck, his mouth pressing kisses and love bites into the skin there. You automatically tip your head to the side, giving him better access, and you hear him whisper against your throat, “Think you can get his phone?”

He lightly nips the side of your neck, and despite yourself you let out a soft moan, unable to hold it back. You feel Steve smile against your neck, and you clench your fists hard, pressing your nails into your palms, trying to calm yourself down again. You nudge Steve back up to your mouth and pull him close, running your tongue over his bottom lip, sinfully slow. You hear Steve’s breath hitch in his throat and you smile before whispering, “Phones are my specialty.”

You pull away from him, stepping back and smiling at his expression, Steve clearly getting into this just as much as you are. You’re slightly relieved that you aren’t the only one affected by his presence or his mouth on yours. You’ve seen each other a few times since Japan, quick flings on your way to other cities and missions, but each tryst never feels like enough. You feel yourself wanting to spend more and more time with Steve. Not just for the sex though. The sex is great, but you’re starting to enjoy just being with Steve.

You try not to think about it too much, focusing instead on your arrangement. No strings attached, just hook ups. No feelings, no relationship. That’s it.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, returning to the present and your need to lift the phone off Ivanov. You carefully evaluate him; where’s he’s standing, where his phone is most likely to be on his body, what’s the best way to get it off him. And as you watch him standing near the railing, a thick crowd of tourists moving past him, you decide that the best method is to slip it from his back pocket as you move past him with the crowd.

You blend in with the families and couples moving through the attraction, and when you get close enough to him, you deftly slide the phone from his back pocket, quickly switching it to your other hand, held out of sight. You wander over to an area with brochures and pamphlets, grabbing a few and using them to further hide the phone, before making your way back to Steve, the phone hidden in your hand. When you reach him, you give him a smile, passing the brochures and the phone to him. “Look at all these places we need to visit here! So many exciting things to see!”

Steve beams at you when he feels the weight of the phone, and he quickly slides an SD card into the phone, transferring whatever he can as he chatters away about what cafes look best and what attractions you absolutely need to see before your honeymoon is over. When the transfer process finishes, he pulls you close and whispers, “Now how do you get it back?”

“Bumping into him is best, he’s less likely to feel it sliding into his pocket that way.”

Steve smiles at you, “I have the perfect idea then.”

Your brows furrow together, wondering what he has in mind as he pulls you towards Ivanov, talking excitedly the whole way. When the two of you get close, he holds up the camera. “This looks like a good spot, babe! Let’s take a few selfies here.”

“Good idea, love.”

His eyes cut to yours, and you confirm the nickname is one he really likes as he lifts the camera and pulls you close. He snaps a few of the two of you smiling before he leans in and kisses your cheek, snapping a few more. Finally, his lips find yours, and you hear the camera snap a few more times before his arm lowers and his kiss grows more passionate. His tongue slips into your mouth again, and you feel one of his hands slide down to your ass, the phone hidden beneath his hand, pressed against your butt.

You feel a spark of arousal as he shifts you backwards, his mouth moving to kiss your neck as he bumps into Ivanov, quickly sliding the phone back into his back pocket. Steve’s hand quickly returns to your ass, squeezing lightly as Ivanov turns to look at the two of you with disgust. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry man, it’s just hard to keep my hands off her.”

Another squeeze to prove his point, and you close your eyes, steadying yourself as Ivanov retorts, “Maybe you should take her home and fuck her then.”

“Maybe I should.”

You look up and find Steve’s eyes, and the look in them is enough for you to know that he means it. You both mumble another apology to your target before Steve takes your hand and leads you through the crowd, the two of you heading back to the apartment you’re sharing. But it’s like the walk cools Steve off or something, because when you arrive back at the building, he drops your hand and steps inside, awkwardly rubbing his neck as you lock the door behind you. “Good grab back there.”

“Yeah, you too.” You shake your head, your mind too focused on his hands on you, before you amend, “I mean, thanks.”

He holds up the SD card and the camera, “I should get these sent over to Fury.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” You glance towards the bedroom door, thinking there’s only one thing that’s gonna cool you down at this point. “I’m gonna shower, try to wash off this sweat.”

“Enjoy it.”

You swear you can see Steve physically cringe at his response to you, and you nod once, grabbing your bag as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You move straight to the bathroom, switching the water to cool, hoping you can shock your arousal out of your system. You strip quickly and step under the cool stream, the water shocking the heat that seems to linger on your skin. Goosebumps lift on your skin, chasing away all thoughts of Steve, and when you feel calmed down enough, you switch the water warmer, intending to wash up before you get out.

You wash your hair and body quickly, wondering if you can claim jetlag and pretend to go to sleep early to avoid any more awkward interactions with Steve. But as you stand beneath the warm water, letting it wash over you and relax you, you hear the bathroom door swing open. Confused, you turn to see who it is, surprised to see Steve striding towards you and pulling the shower door open. “Steve, what are you-”

The rest of the questions dies on your lips as he pulls you towards him, crashing his lips onto yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan into his touch, hoping he won’t pull away from you this time. You tug him closer and he steps into the shower fully clothed, moving beneath the stream of warm water with you. His hands start to roam over your body, and your lips move together frantically.

You reach up and unbutton his wet shirt, pushing it off his body and onto the shower floor with a wet sound before your hands find his pants and belt, undoing them too and pushing the fabric down to join his shirt. His boxers are the last to go, and as you nudge them down his legs and grab him, his hand slips between your legs, expertly moving against you. The two of you stand pushed together, water running over you as you bring each other to the edge, ridding yourself of the tension that’s been building all day between you.

Steve is the first to pull away, muttering “bedroom” against your lips. You nod and reach behind you blindly to switch the water off before allowing him to lead you into the bedroom, both of you dripping water across the floor. He leads you to the bed, still wet, and you lean back into the sheets, too aroused to care. Steve follows, and he’s inside of you in seconds, both of you moaning as you climb towards your highs together. It doesn't take either of you long to reach the top, and stars explode across your vision as you tip over the edge, Steve’s name coming out of your mouth as you finish.

You fall asleep almost as soon as Steve rolls off of you, exhausted from traveling and spying and being with Steve. You wake a few hours later, when the moon is high in the sky, and you roll over to face Steve, only to find that he isn’t there. Curious, you slide out from beneath the sheets that Steve tucked you into, and you pull on your discarded sundress from earlier before wandering out into the living room.

There you find Steve, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. You smile when you see him, wondering why he’s out here, until you see the sketchbook in his hand. You move closer to him, grabbing the book to close it and set it aside, and as you do, you spot the drawing half finished on the page.

It’s of you, fast asleep, sprawled out on the sheets, a soft smile on your face. You flip to the page before it and find another picture; you in Japan, eating across from Steve, and the one before that is you at the holiday party a few months ago. You look at Steve in surprise, still sleeping, unaware of what you’ve seen, and you smile as you close the book and set it on the table beside him.

You hear your phone ring in the other room, and you head back to the bedroom, scooping it from your suitcase and answering without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Good job in Rome. We’re running the data from the phone and already getting hits on other locations, which means we need you somewhere else.”

You wander to the doorway between the bedroom and the living room, looking out at Steve as he sleeps on the couch, and when you do, you suddenly become aware of the intimacy of all of this. The playing pretend, the cinnamon roll, the notes, the sketches, it’s a breach of your arrangement. No strings attached, no feelings. You shake your head at yourself, wondering if you’ve managed to ruin a good thing, and at the same time, Hill’s voice comes through the phone, soft and concerned. “Agent, are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You look at Steve one last time before turning and heading to your suitcase, already starting to pack up. “Where do you need me?”

This time when Steve wakes up and looks beside him, there is no note.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers fanfiction

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oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co · 4 years

Text

The Lovelorn Monster

Welcome to my first Modern AU, which I wrote for @lovelyrita1967 It’s a Geraskier Romcom with extra suffering and gore! Also, it’s a Christmas fic as @booichiboo requested. 16k, M.

You can read it on AO3.

Summary: It's been many months since the mountain incident. Jaskier is alone on Christmas day. His lovely, old house has somehow become a monster-infested hellhole. Now it seems there might be a way to kill two birds with one stone. Only deciding what actually needs killing is much more complicated than that.

cw: blood, so much blood, also a lot of angst (although there’s a happy ending), suicide references, some Geraskier disagreements and heartbreak. No sex, but there’s a fair bit of angsty cuddling and some much less angsty kissing.

***********************************************

When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create

No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;

Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Dido’s Lament, Henry Purcell, adapted from The Aeneid

Jaskier stared at his beautiful, tall, richly dressed Christmas tree with pride and a wistful smile. Each ornament was a souvenir or a gift. This tradition gave his decorations deep meaning, but also made him reluctant to come anywhere near the tree this year.

Memories. He had a cardboard box full of them. There was a delicately carved wooden heart covered in rich, red paint he received from Countess de Stael. Then his favourite - a perfect, tiny copy of his lute he had ordered to celebrate his first successful performance for the royals. He even had a little doll that a sibele, a demon who steals children, was using to lure a baby when Geralt cut off her head.

Geralt never approved of Jaskier keeping the toy, let alone using it as an ornament. ‘I don’t need keepsakes to remind me of the last time I killed something,’ his gruff voice would say.

Well, this year it’s going up. Jaskier picked a spot for the doll with a rebellious toss of his hair. It was quite a nasty, clumsily knitted thing. Seeing it on the tree succeeded mostly in creating an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he imagined Geralt sitting on his living room sofa, relaxed, with a snide smile, some acerbic remark already forming in his head.

Perhaps Geralt would ignore the doll. ‘You just love making yourself sentimental,’ he’d say instead, seemingly no connection, just a short, judgmental glance at the tree.

And Jaskier did, actually. No shame in that. It had its benefits. In his mind, Geralt could easily become just the memory of a perfect, lost friend, regardless of how he would feel about the prospect. He was the hero Jaskier once traveled with, no more, no less. They parted ways for perfectly rational reasons.

‘Just give me a couple of years,’ he said to the imaginary Geralt in his mind and smiled with pride. Being the storyteller meant being in control.

Then he noticed a little ornament shaped like a golden dragon lying at the bottom of the box. The sight made him freeze for a moment. He shook off the memory and ignored the draw towards his phone which has been intensifying over the last couple of days.

Everything was going fine. The phone was just playing music, lying perfectly innocently on the windowsill as it should. It was set on shuffle, and Annie Lennox’s “Dido's Lament” was on, a little bit ominous, but also somehow appropriate.

He hummed with the music while hanging up a few golden baubles. As he started to sing, another voice joined in, a distant echo of his hum, a gentle, female timbre following along quietly. It made him smile, eyes suddenly attracted to the window. It was already getting dark, and the Christmas lights he put up outside were reflecting in the glass. A weird glow by the evergreen shrubs made the snow underneath them shine delicately.

The decorations were nearly complete. There was a comforting smell of cinnamon and apples coming from the kitchen. Also, he still had some surprisingly successful homemade ginger biscuits left.

The golden dragon was the last thing he hung on the tree. He flinched a little as he did, but it was where it belonged. Then he moved away to admire his finished work. ‘Better late than never,’ he whispered to himself.

At that exact moment, the next song started to play. Jaskier instantly recognised it and stared at his phone as if it personally insulted him.

‘It's been a blue holiday since you've been gone,’ Aretha Franklin started to sing.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Jaskier whispered while walking calmly towards his phone.

‘Oh darling, won't you hurry, hurry home,’ she continued undisturbed.

He actually liked the song and was starting to wonder if he was overreacting.

‘It's been a blue… a blue holiday. And I'm all alone.’

No, he wasn’t.

‘My dear I need your love to keep… to keep me warm.’

Yeah, sure, like that was ever an option, he thought to himself.

‘I cry when I hear the chapel bells ring… And sometimes I cry all through the night.’

Fuck. Jaskier’s fingerprint lock was a little wonky.

‘Won't you please come home and make my… make my holiday bright.’

Finally, he managed to skip a couple of songs, and quickly discovered he actually preferred some silence this time. He took a deep breath and decided it was time to focus on cooking. That should be comforting enough.

As soon as he turned towards the kitchen he heard a weird, buzzing sound, and then a high, disembodied laugh. Lights flickered. There was a loud crash, a cavalcade of many little objects falling all at once, baubles suddenly bouncing off his furniture. A glass ball he bought at a little Christmas market in Vizima rolled in between his feet.

He swore under his breath and turned back. All the ornaments were lying on his wooden floor, and only the Christmas lights remained. A small dark shape with sharp horns moved along the wall and then disappeared behind the sofa, still giggling to itself.

Jaskier stared at the naked tree, feeling a bit hopeless. Then he climbed up the sofa pillows and looked into the tight space between the wall and the backrest.

Two small, red eyes stared back.

‘Proud of yourself?’ he asked with irritation and heard only a quiet hiss in response. ‘You know what? Fuck you. Sincerely, fuck you.’ He pointed at the thing, his eyes narrowing. ‘No more biscuits for you. You’re going down,’ he threatened, a surprising and, by all accounts, disproportionate amount of uncurbed fury in his voice, hand shaking slightly.

For a moment Jaskier seemed overwhelmed. He took a couple of very deep breaths, then coughed a little and his eyes watered. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, his attempts to calm down obviously failing. He stretched his neck, then rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension with a sigh. ‘Right,’ he repeated as his expression switched to resolve.

He squeezed his phone with newly found determination, and then fiddled with it nervously for much longer than he originally planned.

Finally, he clicked on his least favourite icon of all - the phone app.

The signal was ringing loud in his ears. Time slowed down. He was just about to hang up when he heard a deep voice on the other side. ‘Yes?’

‘Vesemir,’ Jaskier announced, jovially. ‘Merry Christmas!’ He listened to Vesemir return the greeting and massaged his temples nervously. ‘Yes, thank you. Erm… I was just wondering… No, no, I am not going to hang up. Whatever gives you that idea?’ He laughed nervously. ‘I do need help. It’s a dreadful emergency. No… Of course, I would have called otherwise. Yes, it’s quiet because I’m at home. No, I have not been drinking. I am most definitely sober. Yes, yes, yes… No, I do realise… I actually do have a monster that needs to be… witchered? No, it’s not just one, actually… It’s- it’s a couple of things, really. I know it’s Christmas. Yes, I see your point. But… isn’t Geralt working anyway?’

He waited as the line went quiet for a while. ‘Yes, I did just ask for Geralt,’ he confirmed.

No response. Vesemir must have moved away from the phone, and there was a sound of distant chatter. When he returned his voice was hesitant. ‘You’re sure about this?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I definitely want Geralt here. As soon as possible would be grand,’ Jaskier confirmed again, surprised at how confident he sounded.

‘Fine,’ Vesemir said finally, before hanging up right away, voice a bit more irritated than the situation justified.

Jaskier put the phone away and tried to force himself to breathe again.

You can read the rest on AO3.

********************************************

Extra thanks to @ohmybgosh @variousnoises

@thelastsock @jaskierswolf @rawrkinjd @katesierra @gilbert-von-kneecap @stinastar @carmillacarmine @ro-the-bard-writer @ikeptupwiththejoneses @purpleonionofsex @marvagon @fontegagrilledcheese @sarah-midnight @geraskierficrecs @renfribrooks @darknessyuu @comfortabletextiles @gosh-diddley-darnit @ohjules @short-potato @anie6142

@valdomarx I know you don’t read Modern AUs but this one has a wyvern, a rusalka and Geralt is still a witcher. Also, I love you. That’s my argument.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fandom #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #Geralt #geralt x dandelion #the witcher #geralt x julian #Geralt x Jaskier #Jaskier #jaskier loves geralt #geralt loves jaskier #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #the witcher and the bard #witcher modern au

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 3 years

Text

Character Meme: Through Another’s Eyes - Hawkeye Pierce on Elizabeth O'Neil

This was taken from a deviant art account, linked here. (Sorry, I couldn’t link it directly, you know how tumblr is about linking outside websites)

The idea is to choose a character who interacts a lot with your OC and answer questions from their point of view. You can also do this is reverse if that’s your fancy. With that out of the way, let’s try this out.

INTRODUCE YOURSELF

01 - What’s your name?

Doctor Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Hawkeye to anybody who wasn't Mrs. Baily in third grade.

02 – Are you male or female?

Male, last time I checked.

03 – What age are you?

Somewhere between thirty and a hundred. It's hard to say sometimes.

04 – Describe yourself.

I am a doctor first. A lover second. And an unapologetic coward last.

05 – What do you do for a living?

I'm supposed to be a surgeon, but lately I feel more like a meat packer. I'm just trying to keep everything wrapped together just so we can ship it off somewhere else.

06 – Choose five words that describe your personality

Handsome. Charming. Irreverent. Pessimistic and just overall a little rascal.

INTRODUCE YOUR SUBJECT

07 – What is their name?

Doctor Elizabeth J. O'Neil. Doc to the illustrious members of the 4077th and Liz to just about everyone else.

08 - How do you know them?

By pure happenstance. Of all the patches of hell, in all the countries, in all the world, she walked into mine. Willingly, I might add.

09 – Describe them in three sentences.

Just three? Alright. Liz is...a woman of pure will. She's like if Joan of Arc, Florence Nightingale, and Barbara Stanwyck all got mushed into a five foot nothing package. It also helps she's easy on the eyes.

PHYSICAL TRAITS

10 – Are they male or female?

Female, and she won't let anyone forget it.

11 – How old are they?

I've been told on multiple occasions it's not polite to ask a woman's age.

12 - Describe them

You mean physically? God, where to start. She's such a tiny little thing. She's got this button of a nose that looks so cute scrunched up. Uh, let's see, brown eyes. Auburn hair. Soft curves. And she's got this lovely little mouth you either want kiss or sit back and watch turn up into that smile of hers...

And she's got a fantastic ass.

13 – Do they have any distinguishing features; scars or tattoos?

Nothing that can't be covered by something.

14 – Are they fit; Athletic. Do they do any sports?

She's stronger than she looks, that's for sure. But, I don't think Liz is exactly what one would consider "sporty". The closest she's gotten to a football field is the bleachers, third row.

15 – What about Illnesses, War Wounds or Physical Disabilities?

War wounds...yeah. She's got one of those.

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

16 - What would you say is their best ability?

Her ability to change a person’s mind. I don't know how she does it. I've seen so many kids come in here who couldn't comprehend the idea of a woman working a scalpel, but the second they walk out they can't picture a world where they wouldn't. Not just the enlisted men either, but officers and generals, and well...me if I'm being honest. It's embarrassing to realize just how often she does it. But, it's the truth.

17 - What do they think their best ability is?

She'd probably say her intelligence, which, I can't exactly argue with. But I will say her common sense is no where to be found. She's here after all.

18 - What else are they good at?

Uh, let’s see...she’s very good at just cutting through the weeds and getting to the heart of the matter. Doesn’t matter what it is. She just knows what’s really bothering you, even if you don't want to admit it.

19 - What are they not good at?

Chess. I can beat her at chess.

20 - Do they have any artistic talent?

Okay, one other thing she's not good at. She once tried to draw a picture of Radar and it ended up looking like a potato with glasses.

21 - What about Musical Ability?

Now that she's got. You should hear her in O.R. If surgery doesn't pan out she could go in for radio.

22 - Are they good at a particular sport?

Does poker count?

23 - What about combat; can they fight?

Now, I didn't see this myself, but apparently she gave Frank a black eye. Trapper had to pull her off him and run her under some cold water. God, I wish I'd seen it. All I got is a blurred picture.

24 - Do they have any… powers or abilities you would describe as supernatural or superhuman?

Not that I know of. Though sometimes I think she can turn herself invisible. She just sneaks up on you sometimes.

PERSONALITY AND INTERESTS

25 - If you had to choose one word to describe their personality; what would it be?

Brave.

26 - Can you expand on that?

She just...isn't afraid. Well, no, I shouldn't say that. I know she gets scared, but she...doesn't let it effect her. I've seen her face down bullets and shrapnel and...she doesn't stop. It's just not in her. And then when she talks about all the stuff she had to go through just to be able to put M.D. at the end of her name; I couldn't do that. She's one of the bravest people I know.

27 - What do you like best about them?

Her sense of humor. It's not obvious, but it's sharp. And she knows how to laugh, like really laugh. She tries to hold it in sometimes, but when she lets it out, it's contagious.

28 - What personality trait or behaviour particularly gets on your nerves?

Probably that same bravery, if I'm being honest. There are times I swear she has a death wish. I've got an ulcer I named after her.

29 - Are they sociable; do they mix well with others?

Absolutely. I don't know a single person in camp she's not at least friendly with. Well...Charles, but they can still have a civil conversation.

30 - Do they dress well? Are they Fashionable?

The wardrobe is a little limited around here to say for sure. But, there is this little blue number she got in Tokyo... Let's just say I've thought about it.

31 - What would you say is important to them?

Being a doctor. More than anything. She's wanted to be a doctor her whole life and she's not about to stop now.

32 - Do you know of any deep, dark secrets they keep buried?

None I'd share with a stranger.

33 - Would you want them as an enemy; What sort of enemy would they make?

I'm not sure if she's capable of having an enemy. I'm not sure anyone could get her that angry. A rival though? Well, I doubt I'd be chief surgeon for long.

YOUR RELATIONSHIP

34 - How did you first meet?

We met in camp. Liz had just got off the jeep and was looking for her own tent when she wandered into the Swamp. I had just gotten out of surgery and was ready to pass out. She was dressed in her finely starched uniform and I was in dirty underwear. I knew then we were destined to be.

35 - Are you friends?

Without a doubt.

36 - Are you rivals?

Only on occasion.

37 - Are you Lovers?

That's ah...that doesn't seem to be the right word for it. It makes it sound like we're having some torrid affair in a dime store novel. On the other hand boyfriend and girlfriend sounds like we're a couple of teenagers. We really need a better word for it. But to answer your question, yeah. I guess we are.

38 - Do you love them?

For a long time now.

39 - Do they love you?

I know she does.

40 - Who, if anyone, do you think they are in love with?

She said she was falling in love with me. I'm not sure if she's there yet, but I've got my hopes up.

41 - Are they currently in a relationship?

Yes, with me. Can you believe it?

42 - Do you like them?

Now this sounds like highschool. Yes, I like her.

43 - Do they like you?

I sure hope she does. Otherwise, she's give some very mixed signals.

44 – How do you think they feel about children?

I know she likes kids and she's really good with them. But, it's a little early to ask if she wants them for herself.

45 - What about their family?

She's an only child. She doesn't talk much about her parents except that they don't really talk to her. Apparently they wanted to her marry a successful surgeon rather than be one.

46 – And finally. If you could change one thing about them, what would it be?

Not a thing. Sure, there are things about her that can drive me crazy, but it's all surface level stuff. And if those things didn't drive me crazy, I wouldn't think she was a real person. No, she's perfect just the way she is.

#mash #m*a*s*h #hawkeye pierce #hawkeye pierce x oc #elizabeth o’neil #elizabeth doc o’neil #mash oc #m*a*s*h oc

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scandeniall · 4 years

Text

love in argentina

pairing: oikawa x reader

summary/warnings: you went to study abroad in argentina, he went there to play volleyball. you meet and your love story starts in argentina./ um yeah a ton of spoilers including 402. oh and just implied sex for 2 seconds

wc: 3.2k

notes: in honor of both oikawa’s birthday and the manga officially being over. its been a ride and i’m glad hes getting the ending he truly deserves.

You're not sure when it happened. Growing up, you never really thought too much about love. You didn’t live in this fantasy that one day you’d get your happily ever after with your prince. You just lived as usual, focusing on your own dreams and goals. Being present and if love happened then it happened.

Oikawa isn’t quite sure when it happened. Growing up it had been a battle between volleyball and his own insecurities as he was determined to be the best. Sure he dated around, but it never amounted to much. There were so many people in the world to prove wrong and love had been pushed off the agenda.

But somehow it happened. Love had found its way into both of your lives and you found it within one another. It came without warning and despite every logical thought in your brains to run you didn’t. Now as you look at your fiance enter the arena your heart is filled with joy. You got your happily ever after all thanks to your last minute decision to study abroad in Argentina.

----

Another clap of thunder caused another groan to rip through your throat. Looking around your vision was minimal due to the downpour. The occasional shiver ran through your spine whenever the wind would pick up. The covering of the protruding building could only do so much, afterall. You eyed the directions on your phone for the nth time and still came up useless. When you decided to study in Argentina you looked at the frequency of rain, pleased at its limited occurrence. It was just your luck that your first weekend there you’d gotten caught.

A hoard of footsteps pounding against the rain soaked pavement caused you to look up from the device, and before you knew it a group of 5 men stood under the buildings canopy out of breath, soaking wet and laughing. Out of instinct you found yourself moving away from the group of strangers as you listened to them talk and laugh. You heard one of them mention the next nearest building they could run over to get towards their destination.

You eyed the phone again trying to make sense of the tiny map when three of them had run off. Right before the remaining ones could go you found yourself speaking up. Either be lost in San Juan for who knows how long or take your chance asking strangers for help. “Excuse me, could you guys point me in the direction of the university. I’m lost and I really need to get back to campus.”

The words came out rushed and you apologized for disturbing their day when the brunette in the group just laughed. “It's no problem. I’m Tōru. Tōru Oikawa.”

That was how you met. He’d offered to show you the way back, claiming that he knew what it was like to be new and lost in the city. He’d waved his teammate off, before telling you to keep up. In between running from building covering to building you found out he was a player on the club team originally from Japan.

“So you went across the world for volleyball? That's kind of cool.” You huffed out as the two of you ran under another canopy. After each one you'd allow yourselves to stop for a moment to not only catch your breath but to chat. “You went across the world to study.” “Yeah, but I’m only here for a semester. It seems you plan on staying. Not nearly as cool.”

Once the two of you arrived at the campus you offered to let him come in and dry off for a bit. “It's the least I could do.” You acknowledged that he didn’t have to show me all the way here and that surely he had better things to do. After a reluctant agreement the two of you found yourselves just talking. Oikawa had given you several food recommendations even ordering the “best empanadas ever” to your place. You two just seemed to have clicked. There was a sense of familiarity just like talking to an old friend that was instant.

“I have to get going. But it was great to meet you.” As the two of you said goodbye you contemplated for a moment about to offer your own number when he does the same. “In case you get lost again,” he insisted, handing you his phone with a laugh. “My first friend in Argentina,” you joke back. After thanking him again he bids you farewell with a light smile. “I’ll see you around.”

And the two of you saw each other again and again. In between your classes and his practices the two of you found yourselves texting quite often. In between teaching eachother new phrases in Spanish, you shared food recommendations, stories of your own childhoods within your respective countries and went on several adventures.

“You know, I haven't actually been here,” Oikawa hummed out from beside you. You had an assignment that required you to go to the Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes Franklin Rawson, the fine arts museum. It’d been nearly two months since you met Oikawa and when you'd asked him if he knew where it was located. Having no clue, he just decided to tag along with you. “Is that why you got us lost like 5 times on the way here,” you questioned before walking ahead to the next exhibit. “Hey!”

“Apparently there are 945 pieces here,” Oikawa read off as the two weaved throughout the other visitors, who were likely tourists. “Oh really? That's a lot,” you’d said mindlessly searching for a less crowded place to stand. You were vaguely aware of the hand resting on your upper back, his attempt at not allowing you two to become separated while also not pushing too far. You shot him a kind smile as he opened the door to the next exhibit.

Throughout the museum the two of you took pictures with your favorite works, a few selfies here and there that Oikawa forced you to send to him before you’d go home and forget. He’d invited you to his next game, one you gladly accepted. You’d seen him play only twice before and were utterly mesmerized by his poise, control, and how he seemed to command the court. After the two of you left he insisted the two of you go out for a few drinks. It was a Saturday night afterall.

You never quite made it to a bar. The two of you found yourselves just sitting on a bench downtown sipping your local drinks and just talking. “I love coming out at night, it's always so pretty,” you noted before taking another sip of your drink. The athlete only nodded in agreement. You didn’t know it then but that was the first time he’d wanted to kiss you.

From the constant chatter of people walking he’d tuned in soleyl on your voice. The way the mixture of street and shop lights illuminated your face caught him off guard. However he pushed that feeling away just to enjoy the present. Eventually you’d go back home and he’d be wherever. Still playing and still working towards his goals. “Hey, are you ok?”

He was immediately pulled out of his thoughts, sending you a genuine smile. “Yeah, just a bit sore.” He noticed the way you frowned and immediately regretted using that lie. Especially once you questioned him about his knee, a fact he’d let slip randomly one night over a late night text session. “I’m fine, besides the club would pull me so fast if I slipped into those habits again.” He’d also told you about how his friend would always have to drag him out of late night gym sessions. “Iwa gave me the nastiest bruise one time because I was in too late. It was an accident though, he was kinda shocked at just how hard the ball hit me too,” he laughed when he told you the memory. Then proceeded how he got to guilt trip his friend everyday until it healed. You only nodded but not before scolding him that somehow you’d go all the way to California to bring his friend back to kick his ass if needed.

-----

“Told you it would be worth it.” The scold you had ready for Oikawa didn't make its way out as your mouth dropped. The mountains completely took your breath away. When you’d first agreed to let Oikawa take you out to see nature you didn’t anticipate the lowered temperatures nor the annoying hiking trails. When you’d seen the first steep path you looked at him in complete disbelief. “You're not serious right now. I don’t even have on the right shoes Tōru,” you complained eying the worn sneakers with very little traction. “It’ll be fine, I’ll help you. The view is worth it.” With that you reached for his outstretched hand and went with it.

“It's beautiful up here,” you said slowly taking in the view. “El Leoncito. Blanco took me here the first month I got to Argentina. It was a rough week and he said I needed to get away. Camp out for a weekend and regain my focus.” You felt yourself nodding along as he spoke. “I remember how much you complained about your last test grades and figured you could use the break too.”

You’d known Oikawa for four months now. Your first semester in Argentina was coming to an end soon, and suddenly you were glad you didn’t let homesickness take over and decided to stay for the academic year. That gave you another few months with who turned out to be your dearest friend in the country. “Thank you,” you replied softly. While he had been looking at the view you managed to sneak a few looks at his profile. He didn’t know it then but that was the first time you’d wanted to kiss him.

The nights cooled down more than you could have imagined and you found yourself shaking despite the campfire around you. You mentally cursed Oikawa again for not informing you to be better prepared. The sound of a zipper shifted your attention as he emerged from the tent the two of you had set up earlier. “Looking a little cold over there,” he teased sitting next to you. “You suck.”

His laugh filled the air as a sudden warmth came over you. You look over to see he’d placed a pare blanket over you. You were filled with the urge to kiss him for the second time that night. “I’m not such a shitty guy now am I?” You only shook your head in amusement. “Yeah, I guess not.”

The months came and went. The two of you grew closer as the time for you to go home neared. Neither of you remember quite when it happened. It had been spring break for you and you had been hanging around Oikawa’s place for the most part. Even while he wasn’t there, the two of you had become that comfortable in less than a year. One night he came back unusually agitated and touchy, and you found yourself walking on eggshells until he just blurted out his feelings. “I fucking like you. More than a friend and it's annoying because I kept getting distracted tonight because one of the guys pointed out that you’d be going home soon.”

Your eyes widened as you watched him down his first shot of the night. A drink he’d insisted he needed after the night he had. After you hadn’t said anything for a few moments it seemed like his words dawned on him and his eyes widened. Before he could apologize you’d crossed the short space from his couch to the kitchen to press your lips against his.

“It's annoying, but I like you too.”

After that the two of you essentially began dating. You’d never officially declared a title but it was clear as day that you were together. When the year ended you decided to stay in Argentina at least for the summer, moving in with him for the time. In doing so the two of you put off the impending goodbye for at least 3 months.

That summer had flown by before either of you knew it. In between having more time to watch him play and your Argentinian adventures, they were the best months of your night. You’d spend many nights laughing and making out on the side of bar buildings on nights out. When time permitted, taking random day trips outside of San Juan and exploring together. You’d accumulated enough pictures together to fill out an entire photo album in that time alone.

One of your favorite memories came after you’d gotten home from said day trip. During which you guys brought three different jars of dulce de leche from different shops. You two had decided to try your hand at determining which shop had the best by putting them in various deserts.

“Wait we have to try them plain first,” you exclaimed the second the two of you had made it back. Taking the bag you made your way to the kitchen pulling out the jars. “The one I picked is going to be the best,” Oikawa assured, taking a spoon from you. “What if we fed each other and I took pictures to send to Iwa to remind him that he’s single.” You laughed before responding. “Oh please, he’s kinda hot. I doubt he's that lonely.”

“(Y/N) you can’t call him hot. I’m supposed to be the hot one,” he jokingly complained, arms coming to lock around your waist. Leaning your lips towards his, you mumbled with a lazy smile. “You are the hottest. But you’re going down, Grand King.” You pulled away laughing as his distressed look at your use of the dumb nickname. “I should've never told you about that.”

“Too late now,” you hummed opening the jars to set them out. “You wanted to make your best friend jealous right,” you questioned as he made no move toward the treat. You smiled at the sparkle in his eyes. “Hell yes.”

After you two couldn’t come to a consensus about whose pick was the best you two stared at the ingredients you'd also purchased to use the dulce de leche with. “Now what are we going to make,” he mused, tossing his arm around your shoulder. “Lets ask the internet.” You felt his lips press against your cheek before he agreed.

By the end of the night you’d managed to make a successful pastry, some random cake where you had to substitute a few ingredients and hope for the best, and a sorry excuse for ice cream. “I told you this was a bad idea,” you laughed as you tried to keep mixing the failure. “It’s not thickening up at all.” You moved aside as your boyfriend took the bowl from you, muttering about letting the athlete stir before adding on. “Thick like me?”

“It's as flat as you,” you deadpan.

“It’s a liquid!”

-----

“Hey (Y/N). Are we going to make this work. You know when you go back home.” He’d asked you one night as you cuddled on the couch. Your time together was coming to an end and you were leaving in two days. It’d been something neither of you ever mentioned, even during the packing stage. You raised your head from his chest searching his eyes. “Do you want to?”

Another silence fell over you two as you both processed your question. Eventually he gave you a slow nod. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” At your nod Oikawa let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. “Good. So it's settled yeah,” he questioned. “Yeah it is.” You smiled as you maneuvered your way onto his lap. Settling your knees on each side of him, his hand your cheek pulling your lips towards his. “Good,” he repeated right before his tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands slid lower.

That had been 5 years ago. In that time you'd gone back home to finish your degree and he stayed in Argentina. The following year his time in Brazil coincided with a school break of your own and you were able to meet him there. You’d gotten to meet the iconic Hinata and the two of you teased your boyfriend to death with Grand King.

The distance was never easy. There were times where you both questioned if it were worth it. Stress from both of your lives outside of one another would pile up and you had to learn to work through it. Learn to comfort despite being thousands of miles away. Reassuring you that you were indeed the smartest person he’d ever met. Reassuring him that he didn’t want to quit. He was amazing and he found volleyball fun. You’d even been the one to propose going to Brazil trying to find the fun in the game.

When he told you he was considering the possibility of naturalising you even encouraged it. And then he proposed to you. He had a small break and had flown out to surprise you insisting that it was now or never. He wanted you forever and knew if he didn’t just do it he’d keep thinking about it forever. Of course you’d briefly discussed marriage, stating that you wouldn't mind an engagement, even if it lasted for a few years while you both got your career, living and citizenship situations settled. So when he did it you made the decision to permanently move back to Argentina.

“Are you sure-” he’d asked you shortly after proposing. The high of you saying yes had worn off and now the realization of what this really meant settled. You’d discussed marriage prior to him starting the naturalization process. The two of you had been sitting in your yard hand in hand watching the stars. “Of course. I was looking into moving back anyways. Wanted to surprise you.”

His hand tightened in yours as he eyed your face for any semblance of a joke. “Really?” You only nodded pressing a kiss on his clothed shoulder. “Of course. It's where it all started. Besides, I have no doubt that you’ll make the olympic team. Gotta be there in person for moral support right?”

Suddenly you were tackled back onto the blanket your now fiance was hovering about you. “God, I love you.” Fingers playing with his hair you returned the sentiment. “I love you too.”

Neither of you are sure how it happened. You’d met at 19 and nearly a decade later at 27 you'd both accepted your fairytale ending. You found love in Argentina and your heart swells at the announcement of your Fiance at the Olympics. You can imagine his scowl at the mention of him never making it to high school nationals and find yourself laughing. Eying the ring on your finger you think back to the promise he made you two years ago on the night of the engagement.

“I want to marry you and I want to keep playing. So if you don’t mind, can the wedding be after the olympics.” There's not a single part of you that regretted agreeing to those terms. As you watched him continue to train your pride for him continued to grow. As he entered the arena ready to play against his home country you found yourself yelling.

“Beat them all Oikawa!”

a/n: i hope u enjoyed this. I’ve been in a slump and on vacation past week but i am back (i think) and better than ever. I have a 10k atsumu piece coming within the next few days so i hope u stay tuned for that. Both of that and this are me tapping into my creativity and im very passionate about 10k words esp.

also; if you enjoyed this I think you’d really like my sakusa piece no limit to you. it has a similar feel and to date is my fav thing ive written (and 5k words)

lastly: did yall enjoy my google argentina research LMAO. ngl after um i kinda wanna go there tf

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #oikawa imagine #hq imagines #hq imagine

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inkrabbit · 3 years

Text

A Day at the Beach - Dan x Richard

I don't wanna talk about this. It's currently 3:20am and I was talking about this pairing in my little group chat. It's shit, because it wasn't planned at all and I'm tired, but here we are. Y'all aren't getting a summary, either.

Word count: 3,034

Mersea Island, Essex

It had been a long time coming, operatives saying how they wanted to go an actual beach and maybe spend the night. Anything to get away from the chaos in London, saying they all needed a vacation of some sort. Of course there were some operatives who were reluctant to agree to the idea, saying they didn't feel comfortable leaving when there was still so much to do, but they finally came around when harassed enough, agreeing to spending one night before they had to come back home.

So here Richard sat in the back seat of the car Lorcan had “borrowed”, music blaring and the man spouting outrageous tales. He see Dan in the passenger seat, a smile on his face as he shakes his head. He's entertaining his friend's stories, and also glancing down at his phone to make sure they're still on the right track to the beach.

“She fuckin' made boxty and then threw it at me!” The time Richard tunes in, he's completely lost, brows furrowing as he catches the end of the statement. Boxty? He catches Dan laughing, and he can even see Jeremy's lips curl into a smile, the younger man having been seated on the other side of the car.

“Did you still eat it?” Eat it? He wondered what kind of food it was. Maybe it was just an Irish thing?

“Of course I ate it! Not gonna let that go to waste!” He knew this was going to be an adventure in itself. He had seen Lorcan's energy in the safehouse more times than he could count, the man always pestering someone and trying to find a drinking buddy.

He could never really forget the first time the older man had approached him, a friendly smile on his face as he started a conversation. Nothing too big, just asking how he was settling in with the group and if he had any problems. Even if Richard had any sort of bad blood with the other operatives, he wouldn't make it known. But when the Irishman had offered him to go drinking, he nearly choked on his coffee. It had been so long since someone had left him speechless, and his hesitation was enough for Dan to walk over and shoo his friend away. He told Richard to ignore him, that Lorcan's innocent little invitation was more trouble than it was worth considering the man would get lost easily when drunk and wander off like a child. Richard would never admit it, but a small part of him actually liked the idea of spending time with DedSec.

Maybe that's why he was here now, stuck in a car with the group's trio and headed for the beach. Back then, he would've cringed at the thought of being seen with any of the operatives, but now? Well, it wasn't so bad. He supposed they grew on him, their friendly banter and family-like connection. Did he long for that normal lifestyle? Where he had people he felt like he could finally confide in and converse with? Or perhaps he just his old life before Zero-Day and DedSec came into the picture, working his job at SIRS and indulging in the odd party Emma Child threw, though it was normally all business. Emma... He had tried to forget her name and her existence, a pang of guilt always cementing itself in the pit of his stomach. Back then, he believed what he was doing was right, and to this day he still did. But did he have to go that far?

The rest of the drive to the beach is filled with stories from the other men. Lorcan tries asking Richard for some stories of his own, but he declines. What would he tell them, anyway? His mind drew a blank when the request left the man's lips anyway. He tries to listen to the chatter now, wanting something else to focus on while they got closer to their destination. Lorcan spoke of mischief he got into when he was younger, and Dan shares his own story of being picked up by the police trying to hotwire a car. He notices how Jeremy stays quiet, and when one of the men ask him why, he simply tells them. “Didn't have the happiest childhood. I stayed alone.” Fair enough. Richard found himself actually understanding. After his father's passing, he threw any sort of social life out the window and locked himself in his room.

When the car finally stops, the sun is high in the sky and Richard is stretching his limbs, feeling his joints pop. It felt good to stretch, and the cool breeze coming from the ocean was heavenly. It had been so long since he had been here. The last time he had gone to a beach was with coworkers who had suckered him in to tagging along. It was funny how history repeats itself, but could he even call DedSec his coworkers? He supposed so, he did work alongside them ever since they had released him from that makeshift cell. Seeing everyone exit the cars, bringing out coolers and everything else is a pleasant sight. It's almost surreal. After everything that's happened, the group finally looks... normal.

He follows them to down to the sand, everyone picking out a spot and laying down their towels. Franklin had been nice enough to set Richard up with his own little spot, just a bit away from everyone else. He appreciated it. The group had made him a tiny bit nervous, still worried they would eventually snap and lash out at him. He takes a seat on the towel, legs crossed as he watches the others. Some are starting up a game of volleyball, while others are making their way into the water. He notices some of the operatives stay behind. He can see Franklin and Edmund chatting away, occasionally sharing a small kiss or nuzzling the other's cheek. It wasn't often he saw people so affectionate with one another, especially in the group.

A little farther away, however, he can see Dan sitting on a towel, legs crossed and hunched over a book. It's a surprise, to say the least. The once cheerful face is replaced with nothing, the stoic expression seeming so foreign. Glancing back at the ocean, he can see Lorcan picking up Jeremy and tossing him back into the water. He assumed Dan would've joined them, or at the very least, Jeremy would've been the one sitting out.

He spends the day relaxing, finally laying down on the towel and basking in the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze occasionally sending a shiver up his spine. He wonders what the little beach cottages will look like inside. He knew some operatives had grouped together to save money. He wasn't exactly sure who he would be staying with, having stayed out of the conversation and assuming he wouldn't even accompany the group at all. Maybe he would ask when time drew near?

Some operatives had come up to check on him, and Rebecca had even invited him to play volleyball with them. It was sweet that they tried to include him, but he declined. He still felt awkward partaking in activities with them, weary tension thick around the group (or was that all just in his mind?). He still watches them, however, taking this time to get to know their quirks. The way they move, how they each have a unique look while concentrating. It was amazing how they all seemed more open when they weren't cramped in the safehouse.

As the sun slowly starts going down, he agrees to help Dan make a bonfire. He had collected the stones, forming a decently large circle and using the wood brought back. Lorcan had become antsy, pouring some whiskey onto the wood and using his lighter to start the fire. It wasn't something Richard would do in a thousand years, but it had worked and warm air made him feel better. He sits in the sand with his legs propped up, elbows resting on his knees as he takes in the soft chatter of the group. They're all telling stories, ranging from jobs they've done to crazy antics they've gotten up to in the past. Franklin tells them some tales from Albion, while Edmund settles on a fight he had somehow won after taking to tabs of acid. Richard zones out here and there, focused on the fire and crackling wood. He almost doesn't realize how long they've been sitting there until a chill runs up his spine and a few operatives are saying goodnight. He joins in in wishing them farewell, and finally pays attention to the rest of the stories told.

One by one, the group around the bonfire slowly dwindles as people retire for the night. By the time the moon's high in the sky and the air's becoming more chilly, Richard is only left with the Irishmen. He had seen Jeremy's head droop here and there, eyes lidded as he listened to Lorcan's drunken rambling. It's not long until the younger man is finally standing up, stretching his limbs and saying goodnight to the three. Lorcan follows right after, whining about how he didn't want to be locked out for the night. He assumed the two were sharing the same cottage.

His eyes flicker to Dan. He hadn't been as talkative as he was in the car, staring into the fire and only occasionally joining in the conversation. The silence is almost deafening between them. For some reason, it felt odd. Had he gotten used to the chatter of the group?

“What were you reading?” Richard finally asks, catching the man's attention. He looks at him, just for a bit, until he raises the book and shows him the cover. The Ghost Map. Ah, some London history. He smiles at it. “Didn't know you read.”

“Little hobby I picked up,” he responds, setting the book back down. “What about you? You read?”

“Here and there. I've always been busy with work,” he confesses. When was the last time he had actually finished a book? He couldn't remember. “Was that your plan? Just to read?”

“Ah, pretty much. Not feelin' too energetic today.”

“I assumed you would've been swimming the others,” This pulls a reaction from the man. He lowers his gaze, hazel eyes staring at the fire.

“Don't really like the others seein' me scars,” Richard raises his eyebrows at this. He wasn't aware of any scars, never seeing any on the man. Then again, he normally walked around with a jacket on, and he even wore a shirt all day while out. “Don't like seein' 'em meself. Just brings up bad memories.”

“How did you get them?” He regrets it as soon as the question leaves his mouth, but Dan doesn't give him a chance to take it back.

“Prison, mostly,” he confesses, “Some from the army, but only a couple.”

Right, he was still on parole if he remembered correctly. He had skimmed through Dan's file, curious about the headstrong man, but he didn't want to admit it. He swallows thickly, but curiosity gets the better of him.

“Why? I mean, why be sent to prison?” There's a pause, but it doesn't last long.

“Beat the shite out of my lieutenant,” Well he wasn't hiding anything, that was for sure. He wasn't sugarcoating it either. “Nearly killed him. Then while in prison, I ended up killing an inmate for bein' a cunt.”

“And that added on to your sentence?”

“Aye, by a year. Used to read all the time after they moved me. Fought so many people there they had to keep me by meself.”

“Christ, you were that bad?”

“Sometimes it was to defend meself, sometimes I was defending someone else. Hated the fucks who picked on smaller inmates.”

“You... really protected other inmates?”

“'Course. 'S why I protect London. I'm just... happier doin' this.”

Well, he hadn't expected that. He never really considered why Dan had fought so much, but he managed to get some stories out of him. Abusive childhood with a father who didn't accept his youngest son. He supposed Dan had just gotten into the habit of protecting his younger brother from their father. He couldn't say he shared the same experience, but he does finally tell his own stories. A neglectful and overbearing mother, how he had lost his father at a young age and hid away from the world. He even tells him about his own time in the navy, and the man looks surprised when he mentions his own prison sentence.

He's not sure when, but the two of them have finally moved closer together, knees brushing against each other as the fire finally dwindles out. It felt nice to talk, and he was pleasantly surprised at how open Dan was. Any question he asked him, the man would answer with no hesitation. What books he read, what music he listened to, how well he did in school, anything he could think of. In return, Dan would ask him questions as well. What the navy was like, if he truly liked SIRS, what he went to college for. He had hesitated at first, but after a few questions, he finally felt relaxed enough to answer without having to think so hard.

When he finally starts to yawn, the two agree to go to bed. Putting out the fire, they walk across the beach, Dan confessing they would be sharing a cottage together. Apparently the group had agreed both would do well together, seeming to have a mutual want for their own space. The inside is nice and cozy, and Richard decides to let Dan take a shower first. He sits down on the bed, rubbing his eyes and stretching. It wasn't an eventual day, but he would admit it was nice to get out of the safehouse. He had been trapped in there, even after his release, sleeping awkwardly on the couch. He was honestly excited to finally sleep in a normal bed.

Richard's almost surprised when Dan exits the bathroom, his shirt gone and his scars showing. Some were older than others, and he was surprised when he noticed a scar in almost the exact same spot he had one. On the left side of his torso, just missing any organs. Dan doesn't even look in his general direction as he runs the towel through his hair in an attempt to dry it. Standing up, he decides to leave him on his own and take his own shower.

The steam hits him and sends a shiver up his spine. The water in the shower is still warm as his feet make contact with the droplets, hand gripping the silver lever and twisting. The water feels amazing, and he takes just a bit longer than normal as he relishes in it. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of the water hitting his skin. For the first time in a while, he finally feels truly relaxed, his eyes slipping shut. The only thing that makes him move in the exhaustion that finally hits.

Turning off the water, he steps out of the shower, drying himself off. He buries his face in the towel for a bit, his mind buzzing. It was all still so surreal. He felt like any moment he would wake up from a dream, still trapped in his cell with no way out. Looking up, he's almost relieved to still see the bathroom door in front of him. He runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it out after he's finished getting dressed. Setting the towel on the counter, he flicks off the lights and opens the door. To his surprise, Dan is already laying in bed and fast asleep. He tries to be as quiet as he can as he walks over, admiring the man in the dim light. His arm is hanging out of the blankets, his face in a slight scowl. Slowly reaching out, he runs a hand through the man's damp hair, watching his features relax. It amazed him at how similar they were, at least with their past. Pulling back, he crosses over and sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“You ever touch me without me permission again,” Dan suddenly grumbles out, “and I'll break your fuckin' hand.”

“Oh, stop being a child,” he scoffs, though a small smirk crosses his lips. “I'm sure that's the first time in a while you've gotten any sort of affection anyway.”

There's shuffling and Dan finally sits up, staring at him. There's a look in his eyes, challenging and confident.

“Ya wanna touch me so bad?” he purrs out, “Come and give me a kiss.”

He's stunned, throat running dry as the Irishman holds his gaze. He's grinning, but it's not joy. Oh no, he's grinning because he thinks Richard is going back down. And he might have if he still wasn't upset with the attitude he had to endure during their meetings before Zero-Day was stopped. No way in hell he would let the man have something else to bring up.

Pushing himself off the bed, he crosses over once more. His actions are quick, worried if he took his time, he would change his mind. He grabs the man's face, fingers running through his beard as he bends down, pressing his lips against his. It doesn't last long before both pull away, and Richard laughs at the horrified expression on Dan's face.

“I'm not one to turn down a challenge,” he tells him softly, patting his cheek before returning to his bed. He slips underneath the covers and lays on his side, listening to the soft rustling noises. He's not expecting it when Dan finally gets up, grabbing his shoulder and turning him over.

“Ya wanna fuckin' kiss me, at least do it right, ya idiot.”

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 6: Something Borrowed, Something Blue]

I’d like to give a very special shout out to @killer-queen-xo and the insightful prediction she left on Chapter 5 about Y/N and the camera...you were close! 😉

Chapter summary: Y/N breaks a promise; John gives a gift; Freddie has a request; Roger makes a scene.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, creepy male behavior.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Welcome!” Mary chimes as she opens the door for you, then her eyes flick down to the gift bag decorated with Santa hats and sprigs of holly. “Oh, love, we said positively no presents!”

“It’s just something small, I promise. Very inexpensive.”

“She’s here!” Freddie announces with a flourish of his hands, leaping up from the couch. The apartment he shares with Mary is tiny and very cluttered, and absolutely none of the decorations match. The walls are a collage of Bohemian tapestries and family photos and prints of Rococo-style paintings and magazine cutouts of articles about Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Queen. Freddie pecks you on both cheeks; Blue Christmas is drifting from the record player. You’re suddenly aware that the apartment is brimming with the scent of baking cookies. In the living room, Roger, Brian, and John are hanging strings of popcorn and paper ornaments on a short, rather scruffy Christmas tree. There is a vast array of presents scattered around the tree stand; all are small, with the exception of one large square box swathed in silver and sapphire wrapping paper.

“I see no one else respected the no presents rule either.”

“You Bostonians and your insatiable need to rebel,” Freddie quips, shooing you towards the tree.

“Y/N, look at this,” Chrissie says from where she and Veronica are sitting on the couch threading popcorn. She’s frowning and holding up a piece of paper cut into the shape of a Pontiac Firebird. “Will you please inform Roger that this is not Christmas themed?”

“Awww!” You grin as she hands it to you. He’s even drawn on a windshield, headlights, and a smiley face floating behind the steering wheel. “Let him hang it, Chris. It’s the only car he’s going to be able to afford for a long time.”

Roger bounds over and embraces you, nearly knocking you over. “This is why you’re my favorite American in the entire world. Possibly my favorite person period. The love of my life.” He takes the paper Firebird and impales it on an ornament hook, then combs through the tree branches for an ideal location.

Brian points heatedly at Roger. “If he gets to hang the damned Firebird then I get to hang my Saturn!”

“Look what you’ve done,” Chrissie tells you, but she’s smiling. She’s wearing a gorgeous green velvet dress and pieces of mistletoe weaved into her long dark hair. Veronica is beside her in a chunky red sweater and denim skirt, not particularly flashy yet festive nonetheless; she waves to you as she pushes pieces of popcorn one by one down the string. She’s wearing makeup tonight, which is unusual. Her lace-white cheeks are tinged with rouge, her slate-blue eyes rimmed by lavender shadow. Freddie and Mary are removing a sheet of cookies from the oven and quibbling over whether they’ve browned enough.

Roger gestures to the gift bag as you place it under the tree. “You better not have spent your own money on that.”

“Oh, tons. It’s diamonds and gold and a dash of overpriced modern art, just to spice things up.”

Roger growls theatrically in his high, raspy voice. Brian stands back and admires the tree as John loops a strand of multicolored Christmas lights around it.

“It’s actually very modest,” you assure Roger. “Not impressive at all. Chris helped.”

“You enabled this behavior?!” Freddie scolds Chrissie as he traverses the room with an overflowing plate of chocolate chip cookies.

She sips cheap red wine impishly and shrugs. “I know a girl in fashion school, I can get their extra yarn if I buy her a cup of tea and pretend to care about her disastrous love life.”

You smirk. “Disastrous love life? I’ve got one of those.”

“You knitted something for us?!” Roger shouts, delighted.

You wiggle your fingers in the air. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

Roger groans. “Don’t tease me.”

“You certainly are,” Brian tells you. “That roadie who busted his forehead open got fixed up straightaway.”

“That was literally two stitches. Head wounds just bleed a lot, it looked way worse than it was.”

“Well,” Brian insists. “I was impressed.”

Freddie claps his hands, slick obsidian nail polish gleaming. “Ahhhh, I’m so excited! What have you made for me, love? Oh, I hope it’s a nice thong.”

“It’s probably not,” Chrissie says.

Mary pours you a glass of wine and glances around the room. “Does everyone have enough cookies? Drinks? Veronica, dear?”

“I suppose I could use a refill.” She passes Mary her glass and smiles as John sits beside her on the couch. You’ve never quite been able to figure out Veronica; she’s cordial yet removed, kind yet wary, extremely dogmatic in her Catholicism and yet simultaneously socializing with rock stars who are unmistakably living in sin. Her most redeeming quality, as far as you’ve observed, is her steadfast devotion to John...or, perhaps, to the life she’s envisioned they could build together. She rests her hand on John’s thigh and glances coolly at you as you pretend not to notice.

Mary returns with a fresh glass of wine for Veronica. “Alright. Should we start with you, Y/N?”

“What, for the gift exchange we all promised wasn’t happening?” You grin. “Sure, I’ll start.”

You open your Christmasy bag and start doling out small boxes. It’s December 23rd, and Queen is enjoying three weeks off for the holidays before the Sheer Heart Attack Tour resumes. The next show is in Columbus, Ohio—not exactly a cultural mecca, it’s true—followed by a scattering of stops across the continental United States. Half of you is thrilled, especially for the night the band will spend in Boston; the other part of you is dreading it. You don’t talk to Roger about what he does with groupies on tour—or what Brian does, or what Freddie does—and Rog doesn’t mention it around you either. He asks you to join him after every show, for dinner or drinks or clubbing; and you tell him no (though it’s never easy to) and try not to think about the apparent eventualities of stardom. Then Roger goes one way, and you go another.

“Let’s see, what do we have here...” Brian begins prying open his box with long careful fingers.

“You can’t judge me,” you plead. “I’ve only had the tour break to work on them, and I’m really not an expert knitter or anything, and I—”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Freddie gushes, holding his black and white striped hat aloft for everyone to see. He pulls it on over his silky hair and turns to Mary. “What do you think? Am I dashing?”

She beams as she kisses him. “Overwhelmingly so.” And you think about how being on the road feels like one dimension, and being here in London another. Here, fidelity and domesticity; there, freedom from the familiar world and all its browbeating rules.

“Mittens!” Brian proclaims joyfully. They’re an olivey green, and just large enough for his hands. “They’re so comfy, feel these Chris...”

Roger whips his hat out of the box; it’s very fuzzy and a fiery red with flecks of burnt orange. “I’m obsessed! I adore it! I’ll never take it off!”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” John says. He’s sliding on his mittens, which are a soft greyish blue. “This must have taken you days.”

“It’s Christmas! You’re supposed to slave away for the people you love at Christmas. And you’ve all done so much for me, the scales will always be hopelessly lopsided, don’t you worry.”

“The color is beautiful,” Veronica observes as she touches John’s mittens, but perhaps guardedly.

“They match his eyes!” Freddie exclaims; and they do. “This is delightful, Nurse Nightingale. Truly. How can I ever repay you?”

A smile ripples across your face, full of serenity and relief. They really do like the presents. I didn’t stay up until 4 a.m. knitting for nothing. “The cookies and wine are more than sufficient. I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to make anything for the ladies, but hopefully your charming future husbands will share and there are chocolates in the bottom of the boxes for you—”

“Oh please,” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve already made the rest of us look thoughtless enough. Kindly shut up and drink your wine now. Thank you, obnoxious Bostonian.”

You laugh as Chrissie distributes her and Brian’s gifts for everyone. She decreed weeks ago that you’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day with her family in Dartford. You can help me keep Brian distracted and in good spirits, she’d told you. His father is livid about us living together without being married, and I’m petrified Bri will give himself another ulcer over it.

Inside the small boxes Chrissie passes out are fancy teabags that smell like pomegranate and peppermint. Freddie and Mary dispense pouches of little pink soaps shaped like dolphins and seashells. John and Veronica give everyone homemade candles, which are either ruby red or evergreen. Roger has picked out three novelty mugs: Led Zeppelin for Brian and Chrissie, cats for Freddie and Mary, and raining gold coins for John and Veronica.

“Well I hope that’s prophetic,” John jokes.

“I don’t get a mug?” You’re trying not to show it, but you are hurt that he forgot you.

“No, you don’t.” Roger rummages around under the tree and passes you the large square present wrapped in silver and blue paper. Chrissie and Mary whistle and clap.

“Oh, big spender!” Freddie chastises.

“Roger, no,” you breathe, horrified.

“Roger, yes!” He drums the coffee table eagerly. “Open it.”

“No real presents allowed! You don’t have the money—”

“Are we married?” Roger asks.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Are. We. Married?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me what to do with my very tiny sliver of earnings that the record company doesn’t steal.” He grins. “Now open it.”

Slowly, cautiously, you tear through the wrapping paper as the others hover on the edges of their seats. John is squinting suspiciously. Roger balls up his fists and presses them to his smiling lips. You open the top flaps of the box.

“No.”

“What is it?!” Mary begs. “The anticipation is agony!”

“Yeah, love of my life,” Roger taunts, his blue eyes luminous. “What is it?”

Carefully, you lift it out of the box. It’s brand new and shiny and perfect.

“A camera!” Freddie cries.

“A Canon F-1, to be precise,” Roger says. “And a manual too. For our aspiring wildlife photographer. Us feral musicians being the wildlife, of course.”

“Roger...” You reach for him instinctively, and he rushes over to wrap you in a hug. “Thank you so much. I don’t know why you would do this for me.”

He laughs. “Because you’re the best gift I ever got, Boston babe!”

“Let’s give it a try!” Freddie plucks the camera from your hands and begins loading film. “Alright, click this...press that...oh fuck, how do I do this?! Deaky, come over here. You can fix anything.”

“Sure thing, Fred.” John readies the camera in just a minute or two, no longer than it takes Mary to refill glasses and send around another plate of cookies. He looks a little ashen to you, a little stunned; but when you ask him if he’s okay, John just smiles and nods.

Freddie snaps photos of Brian and Chrissie as they snuggle on the couch, of John posing sheepishly in front of the Christmas tree, of Veronica waving as she nibbles a chocolate chip cookie, of Roger in his flame-colored hat. Then Roger makes sure you get your camera back, and it’s your turn to take the pictures. You sit beside the tree, the kaleidoscopic glow of Christmas lights speckling the walls like stars, and collect still frames of memories like catching lightning bugs in jars, like it’s July instead of December, like it’s the heart of a year instead of the end. After a while Freddie comes over to sit next to you, to toast wine glasses with you, to make fun of your flushed cheeks. Then he watches as you gaze at Roger from across the room. Rog is trying on Brian’s mittens and clapping his hands like a seal, grinning hugely, flashing his pointy little canine teeth. And despite all those oh-so-rational promises you’ve made to yourself, you begin to wonder.

“Don’t do it,” Freddie says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you sling back, pleasantly tipsy. And then: “Why not?”

“Because I like having you around. And if you do this, eventually you won’t be around anymore.”

When you’re finally exhausted enough to drag yourself away from them and catch a taxi, John follows you out into the hallway of the apartment building.

“I have one more gift for you.”

“John, no, absolutely not, I am thoroughly unworthy—”

“Stop.” He pulls a thin, rectangular item from behind his back. It takes you a moment to recognize it.

“Your notebook...?”

“I know it’s not wrapped.” He’s anxious, you realize, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I kept trying to work up the nerve, and I still wasn’t sure about it when we came over here, and now, well...here I am.” He gives the notebook to you, and you open it, and you gasp in awe.

Inside are sketches from Rome: the concert, the temples, the museum, the beach on that cool breezy afternoon, and, best of all, the people you shared the city with. You and Roger laughing in front of a statue of Perseus. Brian and Chrissie contemplating ruins. Freddie hunched over a piano, his dexterous hands stretched across the keys. And you sitting in that sweltering, fire-lit corner of the Italian restaurant, smiling from behind a glass bottle of Coke. You trace your fingertips over your own face; it’s blissful and peaceful and beautiful in a way that you’ve never seen yourself. “John...”

“Because, you know, you said that you wanted to document the tour so you could remember it all, and I figured...since you didn’t have a camera...maybe this would be better than nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than nothing, John. It’s incredible.”

“They’ll do for now. You won’t need drawings anymore,” he notes, somewhat mournfully. “You can put them on your refrigerator until you have photos to replace them with.”

You shake your head, still staring. “The way you captured my face...”

He shrugs, smiling crookedly. “I just borrowed it.”

“Thank you.” You climb onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. He’s warm and gentle; his fluffy hair tickles the sensitive undersides of your wrists.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispers to you; happy, not merry, like a true Englishman. And he’s right. You can’t remember a time you’ve been happier.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings like a scream, like shattering glass. It wrenches you out of that fogged, heavy precursor to sleep and your hand fumbles from beneath the covers to grab the receiver. The cord bounces clumsily against your nightstand and nudges the blush-colored conch shell that lives there.

“Hello...?”

“Darling, there’s an emergency.”

You bolt upright in bed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is the band—?”

“There’s going to be a party on New Year’s Eve and you have to come.”

You groan and fall back into the embankment of pillows. “Fred, that’s not an emergency. Jesus christ. I thought someone died.”

“Then you should be overwhelmed with gratitude for your friends’ continued existence and delighted to join us!”

You glance at the calendar tacked to your wall. “That’s tomorrow, right?”

Freddie scoffs. “Of course it’s tomorrow! Some bloke from the record company is hosting and I need a date. Makes me more marketable or something. Mary can’t come, she’s got the flu. So you’ll have to take one for the team and play the adoring paramour. Shouldn’t be too heavy a lift. I’ve been informed that I’m very adorable.”

“Make Roger do it.”

There’s an edge to Freddie’s voice when he speaks. “They aren’t quite that progressive, dear.”

“I’m really more of a museums and restaurants person than a getting coerced into socializing with strangers person, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“You’ll survive,” he replies brusquely. “Chrissie and Brian will be there. You’ll have fellow boring people to hide in a corner and eat biscuits with and discuss planetary movements or whatever the fuck.”

“Great. Roger and John are coming too?”

“Not Deaky. He already has plans with Veronica’s family and can’t weasel out of them. It’s not like he would schmooze anyone anyway.”

“Oh.” That disappoints you, more than you thought it could. “Maybe I have plans I can’t weasel out of, ever think of that?”

Now Freddie sounds amused. “You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

He laughs. “Because there’s no one you love in London more than us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The paramour ruse doesn’t go very well; within twelve minutes Freddie has abandoned you and is guzzling martinis with Elton John and some record company guys you don’t recognize, pointy party hats on their heads and silver balloons bobbing against the ceiling. It’s not 1975 yet, but it will be soon. The mansion is decked with suits and ballgowns and expensive-looking vases perched precariously on end tables. Elegant white columns rim the vast living room. You, Brian, Chrissie, and Roger are chatting nervously by a massive punch bowl carved in ice, swiping appetizers off the waiters’ trays and trying not to break anything.

“I feel completely useless,” you say, nodding to Freddie.

Chrissie chuckles. “I think he just wanted you to be here. He thinks you’re good luck, you know. All our fates turned around when you showed up.”

Roger points at you with his punch glass. “Your people specialize in witchcraft, don’t they?”

“Oh, so close. That’s Salem, about thirty minutes up the road. No witches in Boston.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a secret witch would say.”

You brandish your hand through the air. “I summon more mini crab cakes.”

The others glance around. “It didn’t work,” Chrissie observes sadly.

Brian sips his punch, which is bubbling and a vivid red. “Maybe you have to invoke Satan first. I saw a toy poodle on the couch you could sacrifice.”

“Yes, yes,” Roger agrees. “Just toss it in the oven and see if anyone notices.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Now that would make a fantastic impression.”

Roger grabs your empty glass, plops it on a passing waiter’s tray, and takes your hands in his. They’re rough and strong, and they feel a little too good. “Alright, are you going to dance with me now?”

“Roger...”

“Don’t harass her,” Chrissie warns. “She’s here, she’s working on conjuring more snacks, she’s under no obligation to dance with you on top of all that.”

He frowns at you, those intense blue eyes bright beneath shagging bangs. “Really?”

You smile, reaching up to straighten the collar of his sparking rainbow jacket. “If you’re still interested in 1975, you can ask me then.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grins triumphantly at Chrissie, and she smirks back. “Can someone kindly tell me what that clock over on the mantle says? Obviously I can’t see that far.”

“11:19,” Brian says.

“Fantastic. I’ll be back.” He winks at you, then looks to Brian. “Stay with her, will you?”

“Sure.”

Roger lights a cigarette and saunters away, smoke drifting around him. Several young women—escorts or daughters of producers or soon-to-be-ex-girlfriends of musicians—descend upon him and start asking about Killer Queen. Roger is radiant when he replies, enchanting, wearing charisma like a snake’s skin, climbing ever onwards up the rungs of the social ladder; and you think about how there’s Home Roger and Tour Roger—though he felt like home in Boston, and though he feels so distant now—and how any woman who chooses him will have to spend her life watching him devour other people’s love from across the room, from across the world.

“Be careful,” Chrissie tells you softly.

“He won’t be back at midnight.” You pour yourself a fresh glass of punch, avoiding her eyes, hiding your disappointment...or, embarrassingly and infinitely worse, perhaps your hope. “They’ve been staring at him all night. And he’s noticed.”

“Oh, honey...” Chrissie rubs your bare shoulder, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine,” you tell her. And you plan to drink until it feels like it is.

Some guitarist from Genesis appears to introduce himself to Brian, and Bri leaps into a fevered discussion of how much he admires the band’s work and how he built his Red Special and the merits of guitar techniques that sound like Russian or Japanese to you. Before you know it, the mysterious Genesis man is hauling Brian off to present him to someone equally important. Chrissie shoots a worried glimpse at you as she follows Bri away.

“Go!” you insist, forcing a smile. Just abandon me in this super intimidating mansion full of rich important strangers and breakable museum artifacts, that’s totally cool.

“We’ll be back in five minutes, I swear.”

You wave cheerfully. “Take your time!” You peer at the clock. Thirty minutes until midnight.

As you’re dishing yourself yet another glass of punch, a man in a posh white suit approaches from the other side of the table. “Are you hiding from people as well?”

“Not too successfully, apparently.”

He recoils and raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. Want me to disappear?”

You almost say yes—it wobbles on your lips like an unsteady toddler—then you reconsider. He’s tall and blond and polished; he looks a bit like Roger from an alternate universe where Rog went to boarding school and plays polo. More significantly, he could be someone important, someone the band needs, someone you don’t want to offend. “No, I’m sorry, that was so impolite. Please forgive me. My judgment is quite impaired, that’s my excuse, I blame the punch. Also I’m a New Englander and thus inclined to be uncooperative towards Brits.”

He laughs, a full genuine laugh; and it feels like a victory. See? I’m clever, I’m charming. Anyone would be lucky to have me. “I’m Eric.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s a resounding pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gestures towards the open area on the floor where buzzed men and giggling women are tripping over each other. “There’s no way I could interest you in that, is there?”

You ponder it, nursing your fourth punch. You aren’t much of a dancer, that’s true; and this handsome stranger of a man isn’t Roger. But he might be able to get your mind off him.

You sling back the rest of your punch and slam the glass down onto the table. “Okay. But only because there’s an Eagles record on.”

“Deal.”

He follows you to the dance floor, weaves his fingers through yours, sways easily with the music. Eric tells you that he’s from up north, in the Lake District; his family owns an estate that used to be the seat of an earldom or something. He describes endless emerald hills and castles and horse farms until your mind starts to swim, until the effects of the punch and scant appetizers roll over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you announce dreamily. “Thank you so much, Eric. This has been lovely. But I have to go sit down now.”

“Oh come on, one more song!”

“I’m flattered, but I have to pass. Maybe after midnight...” You move to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers are locked with yours. You try again. Eric’s still smiling, but his eyes have gone flinty. Oh no. You look around for Freddie or Brian, both of whom have vanished.

“One more, come on,” he presses. “I insist.”

“Eric, I’m really dizzy—”

“Don’t be rude. We’re having such a nice time, aren’t we?”

“Please let go of me.” You try to keep your voice level, try not to offend him. Everyone around you on the dance floor is laughing and drinking and smoking, not paying any attention at all.

“Look, you said you’d dance, so that’s what we’re doing. Am I suddenly not good enough for you?”

“Seriously, you need to let go.” You try to tug your hands away. Your heart is racing, blood rushing in your ears. The room is listing to the right, now the left. You realize that Eric is gradually leading you away from the center of the room and towards a quiet hallway. I can’t let this guy get me alone. I’m weak and I’m drunk, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me. You struggle harder, more visibly. His grip on your hands tightens. “Let go, Eric, let go of me!”

“Calm down, bloody hell lady, I’m just trying to—”

And then Eric is ripped away from you and his face smashed with vicious force into the nearest column. You scream, your hands covering your gaping mouth; the room goes silent. Eric crumples to the floor, unconscious. Blood pours from his broken nose and litters his white suit with crimson blotches and smears. Droplets drip crawlingly down the column. Roger stands over Eric, shirt completely unbuttoned, jacket rumpled, shadows of lipstick peppering his neck and chest. He wipes his own palms on his rainbow jacket, scowling, disgusted. Then he turns to you.

“Ready to go?”

“Roger, I...” You gaze in shock down at Eric. I hope he’s not dead. That might make things awkward with the record company. “I-I-I’m so sorry,” you manage finally. “I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

“No, I’m ready to go.” He lays his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the front door, grabbing both of your coats off the rack. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” And relief floods through you. Okay.

Brian pushes his way out of the stunned crowd as Roger swings the door open. Frigid air skates over your cheeks. “Rog, what happened?!”

Roger glares savagely. “When I tell you to stay with someone, you fucking stay with them.” And then he steps with you out into the bitterly cold, nearly-January night.

“It’s not his fault,” you explain as you and Roger hurry down the sidewalk, your words spinning mist into the air. “Some guy from Genesis showed up and you know how Bri is about them, and I told him and Chris to go, please don’t be mad—”

“Are you alright?” He’s scrutinizing you closely; you can still see the rosy lipstick stains on his skin as you pass beneath each streetlight.

“I’m fine, I’m completely fine. Please don’t be mad.”

He narrows his eyes. “Well obviously I’m not mad at you, babe.”

“Oh god, I hope this doesn’t hurt the band. I don’t know who that guy was with. You broke his nose, you know.”

“Good.”

You shake your head, trying to chase away those ghosts of lipstick and the girls who left them there. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. “I know you were busy, I know the party was important, I know I ruined midnight for you—”

“You didn’t ruin it. We still have a few more minutes. We’ll duck into a pub somewhere and have a pint to welcome in the new year, it’ll be grand. Maybe get you some food. You look like you could use it.”

“I just...” You bury your numb, shaking hands in your coat pockets and brace yourself against the cold. “You left the girls. Left the party. I just don’t understand why you would do that.”

“Are you serious? Obviously I’m going to drop everything if you need me. I’m always going to do that.” He pulls his fiery red, hand-knit hat out of his coat pocket and slips it over your wild, windswept hair. “You’re still on my list, you know.”

You sigh. “You’re a smart man, Roger Taylor, but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What,” he says, a tad bitingly. “Because I can’t promise you a picket fence and precisely two well-mannered, unremarkable children and a golden retriever? You’re right, I’m not going to promise you that. Because that’s not who I am. That’s not who you are either, by the way. But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?”

And that stops you, here in the cold dark heart of London, here beneath a cascading streetlight on the opening page of 1975. Because Roger’s right.

He takes your left hand and lifts it to his lips, and you know exactly what he’s going to do even before he oh-so-feather-lightly bites your goosebumped knuckles. “Look, forget about it. Don’t worry. Don’t freak yourself out. We’ll get a drink, we’ll watch the fireworks, and then I’ll walk you home. No questions, no answers. You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?”

You watch Roger, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, halos of streetlights reflected in his eyes. And you echo: “Okay.”

#queen fanfic #queen fic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #queen #fanfic

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part twelve) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5600 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twelve: After finally opening up to each other, Dean is having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. But the flirting is soon interrupted when one of the horses gets caught in a dangerous situation. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘How Far This Road Goes’ - Gareth Dunlop, ‘Seven Riders’ - James Horner & Simon Franklin (second scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

With a grin wider than the horizon, Dean puts the rolled-up mattress on Ted’s back, attaching it behind the saddle by tying the leather strings around it. He barely slept last night, but he doesn’t feel tired, not in the slightest. Nothing will get him off this high cloud, because last night, he kissed Y/N. The head wrangler hums a Led Zeppelin tune as he tightens Ted’s cinch a little, patting his four legged friend on the shoulder when he’s done. Joplin is waiting next to him, rather impatiently, tied up to the strung rope between a boulder and a tree, like the other seven horses. Her female rider moves in between the dark mare and Ted, causing Dean to fight back an amused scoff. Y/N could have tacked up Joplin from the left side, which is the usual protocol when handling a horse. But instead, the cowgirl chose the small space between the two large animals, the space Dean already occupied, making it a tight fit. “Morning, Yankee,” he teases, still with his back towards hers as he secures his lasso. “G’morning,” she greets back. “Were you humming ‘Whole Lotta Love’ just now?” Dean chuckles now, “I’ve got a reason to be cheery.”

Y/N presses her lips together, very much aware why her supervisor is in such a good mood. She is also very much aware that he’s only inches away, the two almost touching. The chemistry is evident and she needs to remind herself that the others are also readying their horses; they are not alone like they were last night. Giving her hands something to do, she checks the saddle bags again, even though she has done so already. “Did you sleep well last night?” Dean wonders casually, but she caught the lower tone in his voice. That tone that makes her heart beat faster and has her closing her eyes and taking a moment to compose herself. “I did actually. A little short, though,” Y/N returns. “What about you?” “Oh, I couldn’t sleep.”

She can hear Dean’s boots crunch the gravel underneath them as he turns around. He comes closer and Y/N forgets what she’s doing, one hand holding the stirrup, might she need the support. She feels his hand on her hip, the touch so featherlight that she could be imagining it. Holding still while he moves in, she fights a shocked whimper when his breath fans past the junction between her neck and her shoulder. How contradicting; the warm breeze leaves goosebumps over her entire body. “How come?” she manages to utter, her voice close to failing. Y/N feels his lips against her hair, but he doesn’t kiss her there, even though she silently begs him to do exactly that. She moves into his touch only slightly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers in her ear.

Before the others notice, he moves away and his hand slips from her hip, leaving a burning sensation where his fingertips gently pressed into her skin through the fabric of her jeans. The cowboy who has clearly found his way into her heart and her mind, shoots her a wink over his shoulder when she follows him with her gaze. Chuckling, she shakes her head in response. It’s a good thing she held onto the saddle, because her knees feel weak. God, the things he’s doing to her. “Y’all ready to mount your ponies?” Benny checks, before he gets on his horse himself. When all the wranglers have untied their horses, Dean rolls up the rope that functioned as a makeshift fence and adds it to the load carried by one of the pack-horses. He then puts his left foot in the stirrup and swiftly moves his leg over the saddle, the fringes of his chaps whipping when the breeze catches them. The others follow his example.

“Alright. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. We ride to the next spring, but it will be roughly six miles from here. That’s more ground to cover than yesterday. It will be rocky terrain, so stay sharp and keep up.” Dean turns his horse with the reins in one hand. “Don’t forget to keep an eye out for the herd. They were last seen in Marsh Valley by hikers, but that was four days ago, so they could be long gone by now. If we don’t find them by the time we reach White Rock Spring, we’ll set up camp there and continue the search tomorrow. Y’all good with that?”

The rest of the company agrees, both wranglers and horses excited to get moving. Joplin especially; the waiting has made her impatient. She rears, lifting her front hooves a couple of inches from the ground, repeating the action several times. Y/N rides it out, her hand reaching to pat the hot blooded mare on the neck in order to calm her down. In perfect balance she gives her horse enough freedom of reign, but controls the movements with her seat. “Joplin certainly is,” she laughs, amused with the mare’s enthusiasm. “Alright then,” Dean returns grinning, admiring her riding skills for a moment longer. “Let’s ride.”

It’s past midday and there is no sign of the herd so far. The group of riders passed Weavers Needle hours ago, a thousand foot column of rock that forms a distinctive peak, visible from many miles away. Y/N felt so tiny when she rode through the landmark’s shadow, like an ant on the forest ground. She quite possibly strained a muscle in her neck from looking up, but the young woman from the North couldn’t help herself. The landscape, created by volcanoes ages ago and molded by wind and time, leaves her in complete awe. The further they travel into the Superstitions, the more surreal the scenery becomes.

Benny told stories last night about the mountains. About the legend of the Lost Dutch Gold Mine, and the hundreds of other abandoned tunnels, hidden in the volcanic stone. About the Indians, how some of them believe that the hole that leads down into ‘the lower world’ is located somewhere in these valleys, and that winds blowing from it create the severe dust storms in the metropolitan area. It’s a magical environment that, despite having a desert climate, seems alive. The way the wind plays with her horse’s mane and whispers as it breathes through the canyon. The way the mesquite bushes rustle and the Saguaro cacti reach their arms for the blue heavens above. This land has a personality of its own; unpredictable, layered and rich with wisdom.

“Enjoying the view?” Dean held up his horse as Y/N was staring up at the renmands. She didn’t even notice she fell behind. “Sorry…” she mutters apologetic. “It’s just… everything here is so beautiful.” “Sure is.” The cowboy smirks at her, not just complimenting the landscape. Joplin’s rider is unable to hide her flattered smile. “You can stop trying to win me over,” she returns jokingly, resting her hand behind her on the cantle of the saddle. Dean side eyes Y/N, triumph in the way he holds himself, “Because I already did, right?” “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warns. “Last night was amazing, but it was just a kiss.” “Oh, I didn’t plan to stop,” he makes clear, copying her action without noticing, gripping the back of the saddle with his free hand as well. “Next chance I get, I’m gonna kiss you again.” “Is that so?” she teases. “Unless you’d rather not have me.” Dean observes her, eager to pick up on her reaction.

His lower leg brushes against hers, the metal of the stirrups jingling when they collide. He stares into her eyes longer than he should, breaking through the resistance with more ease than Y/N wants him to. Honestly, she has never been an easy catch. She pictured she would at least let him work for it, prove to her that this isn’t just a fling. But her defense crumbles with every connection, no matter how small. The intern can’t help but crave for her supervisor to touch her, to kiss her right here and right now. Both of them being on horses complicates things, however, especially since one of those horses is Joplin, who is getting anxious now that she is a few hundred yards away from the group. “I wouldn’t mind it,” Y/N admits, on a more serious note. Dean smiles, delighted at that, looking down at his horse for a brief second. “You oughta catch up then.”

The wrangler moves his hand forward and pushes his heels to his horses flanks simultaneously, the aid triggering Ted to shoot forward like an arrow from a bow. Without giving Y/N a chance to respond, Joplin’s instincts kick in; she needs to stay with the herd. In a blink of an eye she bolts, surprising her rider, who can only just prevent a squeal from escaping her throat. The experienced rider is quick to recover, though. She moves her weight forward, allowing her horse to move under her freely, giving her all the reins she needs. Within five strides, Joplin is at full speed. Y/N can’t recall that she ever galopped this fast. The wind pushes the tears from the corner of her eyes, dust blocking her view. Her hat falls back, but she’s quick enough to catch it and push it tighter on her head. She doesn’t care, though, because she feels like she’s flying.

Before they reach the others, Dean sits back in the saddle and pulls the reins, telling Ted with a ‘ho!’ to slow down. Joplin is next to him within a second, her rider laughing out loud. The cowboy watches her, laughter erupting from his throat as well. “You’re crazy!” Y/N accused, a wide grin on her lips nonetheless. “What if I had fallen off?” “You’re too good of a rider,” he returns, never worried she couldn’t handle herself. “And it’s about time you let go.” “I usually don’t like losing control,” she returns, trying to be stern. He cocks his eyebrow. “You didn’t mind last night.” “Underlining ‘usually’,” she repeats with a tone, shaking her head at the up-to-no-good grin on his face.

“Well, you—” He points his finger at her accusingly before he pushes his hat up a bit. “— should loosen up a bit. Picture it like riding.” Y/N frowns at the wrangler next to her. “I thought we were talking about riding.” “It doesn’t matter. What does, is if you hold onto the reins too tight, your horse will tense up. You will tense up. But if you relax at the right moment…” He moves his hand forward, giving Ted enough space to drop his head and the gelding blows out a satisfied sigh. “So will your horse. You allow things to be. And those are the best rides, ain’t they? The ones where the balance is perfect, and everything just clicks.”

Y/N agrees to that without words, smiling at the comparison. Dean lets the true meaning of his message sink in as well. It’s good advice he’s giving. Maybe he should take it himself. In silence they take each other in. She has rolled up the sleeves of her dusty shirt for the warm breeze to caress her bare skin. Not so long ago, Y/N came walking into the Saloon, ironed button up, polished shoes, hair band and clips not allowing a single stubborn strand to spring free. Look at her now, like she couldn’t care less about appearance. Look how beautiful she is. “By the way,” the woman next to him recalls, her voice softer so that the tourists can’t hear them. “Hm-hm?” “You were right. That was a lot more than just a kiss.” With those words she canters away, and he’s only able to breath out again when she passes the other riders to lead the group. Don’t be fooled, he’s confident about how things are going, but that doesn’t mean that ‘allowing things to be’ is easy. Even he, the guy who doesn’t plan ahead and takes it day by day, is daunted by the possible commitment that this adventure with Y/N will bring. But one look at her, seeing the change she’s going through, the difference in her demeanor and her lifted confidence; she’s all the inspiration he needs. “You better wipe that smile off your face, Chief, or the coyotes might start wonderin’ why you’re all giddy.” A little startled Dean looks aside as Benny holds back his horse until he’s next to Ted. Caught in the act the head wrangler glares at his friend from under his Stetson, but the smirk doesn’t die down. No need to respond in words, because both know why Dean is on top of the world. And so the two companions ride next to one another for awhile in silence. Dean’s eyes never leave her, though, watching how she handles the bubbly mare, who’s excitement got peaked by the little race. Joplin isn’t for everyone, but she’s taking his advice and gives the dark horse free rein, trusting her, and eventually the mare transitions to a walk.

“Well, now you’re just embarrassingly gaping,” Benny notices, clearly amused by the sight of his lovestruck friend. Dean snaps out of it and eyes him again. It’s not so much the fact that Benny is mocking him, more the fact that he himself can’t get a grip. “Shut up,” Dean mutters, shaking his head chuckling. “You were the one gaping when you interrupted us last night.” “It was 3 AM and I wasn’t even close to awake, and what do I find?” Benny lazily points his finger at the intern, then at the man next to him. “You two, giving each other one hell of a Yankee dime. I mean, don’t get me wrong, brother. I’m proud of ya, but excuse me that I was a little taken aback.” The Southerner pauses, his piercing blue eyes brassy and up to no good. Clearly he enjoys taunting his pal. “Took ya quite a while to notice me too,” he comments, adding fuel to the fire. “I was kinda in the middle of something!” Dean exclaims. “Hell yeah, you were.” Benny sniggers. “Good think I stopped ya right there. At least now you saved some for later.” “I wasn’t gonna go all the way with her,” his friend declares. It doesn’t convince the rider next to him, though, because he laughs out loud. “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’.” “Dude, I’m serious!” Dean states. “I ain’t gonna rush this.” “Ah-uh.” “I said: shut up.”

The farrier’s laughter is contagious, hiccuping as he takes in air, and his friend can’t help but chuckle as well. The head wrangler adjusts the ranch rope hanging over his horse’s shoulder, the broad smile never wavering. It’s not just the smile, though, that tells Benny that Y/N is the girl for him. It’s his eyes. He has never seen them shine so bright. He has never seen Dean so contented. “You two go together like peas and carrots,” Benny vouches, looking from the cowboy to the cowgirl. “I’m happy for ya, brother.” “You’re talking like we’re about to settle down and get a dog,” Dean scoffs skeptical, even though deep down he wouldn’t mind an outcome as such. “Give it time,” the Southerner recommends confident. “After all, two months ago, you would have thought I was crazy as a soup sandwich, if I’d predicted you to be on cloud nine by now.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Dean sighs in response. He’s not even going to fight his friend on this, Benny is enjoying this way too much to ever let go.

“Dean!” The call comes from the front of the group and it seems urgent. Dean snaps his head to the sound of Y/N’s voice and the clatter of hooves. The intern has turned Joplin around and ridden back to the tourists. One of the pack horses, Cash, who Macy was guiding along side, tries to flee away as he kicks violently to the ground. He spins in circles around the rider and her gelding Jimmi, who is starting to panic as well. “Pull the knot, Macy!” Dean commands, pushing Ted towards the commotion. Fighting to control her own horse, she reaches for the rope that ties Cash to her saddle, trying to yank the safety knot. By this time, however, the distressed animal has pulled on the cord with all its weight, and there is no way it will loosen. “I can’t!” she yells back, fright evident in her voice.

Trying to not get caught up in the line, she steers Jimmi to stay head to head with the anxious pack horse. Dean is with her in a split second, maneuvering Ted close to her and staying free from the web. “Listen to me, Mace. When you’re on the other end, I’m gonna take over.” He takes the end of Cash’s rope, wraps it around the horn of his saddle four times and locks it in his fist, hooking it behind his hip for leverage. “I need you to get yourself to safety the second that rope unties, alright?” He makes eye contact and she nods frightened, all while trying to calm Jimmi, who is getting more claustrophobic by the second. The experienced wrangler then backs up Ted, using his horse’s body weight to pull the safety knot. The second Cash feels the freedom, he bolts. Macy is clear, but the head wrangler and his four hooved partner are about to be catapulted by the horse on a rampage.

Thinking fast, Dean moves his reins towards Ted’s ears, triggering him to rocket forward. Three strides later Dean can feel Cash jerk at the saddle, Ted bracing himself, the well-trained cattle horse maintaining his balance. The rope slips from Dean’s fingers, but he is able to keep his ground, even though the rough material burns in his hand. With tension on the line, the wrangler tries to keep Cash away from a boulder that came rolling down Bluff Spring Mountain, but can’t prevent the panicked horse from slamming the water tank he is carrying into the large rock. Even though drinking water pours from the hole, it’s not Dean’s first concern. Cash is holding his hind leg up, still kicking the ground as the black horse halts, breathing out nervously. Dean spots a trace of blood, just below the fetlock joint. “Shit…” He gets off, dropping Ted’s left rein on the ground, a signal for the horse to stay in place and wait. Shit, shit, shit. Cash, who is shaking and breathing fast after all the commotion, turns his head into the wrangler, seeming to seek comfort from him. Dean gently rubs the gelding’s withers and slips his hand down the hindleg to take a better look. Two distinctive small holes are visible on the white sock, crimson drops rolling down. It seems like barely anything, but he has lived in this area all his life; he knows a snake bite when he sees one. “He got bit,” Dean informs the five wranglers, who are waiting on the path in anticipation. Benny curses under his breath, getting down from his horse as well. “By what? A spider?” Y/N wonders, sticking with the tourists on a safe distance. “Nope.”

The Southerner picks up a stick, poking at something in the bushes. Then he lifts the piece of wood, a snake hanging from the end of it. Macy squeals and Y/N inhales sharply, too. She has never seen a snake up close like that, at least not without thick glass between her and the reptile. God, that thing is huge! “Is it dead?” Dean checks, still standing by the wounded horse. “Dead as steak on the grill,” the Southerner confirms, taking a closer look. “Is it a rattler?”

The head wrangler watches Benny examine the animal as he prays to God that it isn’t. Rattlesnakes in this area are highly dangerous. The amount of venom they possess might not be enough to floor a horse, but it will cause extensive swelling for sure, most likely followed by a bad infection that will cut off the blood supply. A bite inflicted by a venomous snake could be life threatening, even when treated by a veterinarian immediately. Miles from civilization with no access to medical resources, it becomes lethal. “I think it is, Chief.”

Y/N looks over at the head wrangler, who drops his head and swears. It slowly begins to sink in that the consequences of what seems like a small injury might have serious consequences. Dean looks up, making eye contact with the intern and motioning her to come over. She rides Joplin off the path and dismounts the mare, leading her to Cash, who she comfortingly pets on the nose. “Listen to me carefully,” he starts, his voice toned down so that the others can’t hear him, as he instructs the intern calmly. “If that is a rattlesnake, I need you to take the tourists a half a mile up the trail. At the junction, you wait until me and Benny catch up.” “Wait, what are you gonna…” she stammers, hesitant where Dean is going with this.

He bites his bottom lip for a moment and looks deep into her eyes, the urgency apparent in his intense greens. “You’ll be responsible for the guests, so be cautious. Don’t take any risks and keep them safe. I know you’re not familiar with the area and that this is a lot, but can you do that?” “Benny could go with them, he knows these trails,” she suggests, but Dean dismisses it instantly. “No. I don’t want you to see this.” “See wh -” she pauses, his penetrating gaze and tensing jaw stopping her from forming words. Shocked she rakes her fingers through Cash’s forelock, only now realizing the difficult task that Dean is facing. “Oh my God, you’re gonna put him down.”

He doesn’t answer, but swallows apprehensively. If Cash has venom coursing through his bloodstream, his chances of survival can be considered zero. A slow and agonizing death awaits him; a bullet to the head would be the most moral way to go. The head wrangler takes a deep breath, composes himself, and shifts his gaze to Benny. Seems like he’s going to have to use the Colt after all. “I’m gonna check out the snake, make sure it’s a rattler. If it is, you know what to do?” Y/N nods uneasy, but determined enough to assure Dean that she can do her part. He thanks her without saying anything, his eyes softening. Then he moves past her, heading back to the trail. Left stunned, she lets her hand glide down Cash’s nose, trying to ease the horse, who in his turn gently presses his large head against her chest. Even though Y/N barely knows the horse, tears prick in her eyes. Poor, poor thing. She looks over her shoulder, watching in apprehension, how the head wrangler crouches down next to Benny, who has the snake at the end of a stick.

Dean pokes the reptile to make sure it’s dead, taking a good look at the animal. The light brown color with dark blotches on its back and smaller dark spots on its side, are indications that Benny is right. He can’t tell much when examining the head, since Cash killed the snake with a fierce kick and smashed its skull. Dean picks up the animal by the tale. It looks different from the rest of its body, but there is no rattle at the tip of it, like he has seen before with the Western Diamondback that is common in the area. He sighs relieved. “It’s a Gopher snake,” he states. “A Sonoran, by the looks of it. Smart fellas; they mimic rattlesnakes to ward off predators.” “Could’ve fooled me,” Benny concedes. “Not venomous?” Y/N checks. Dean smiles her way. “Not venomous.” A weight falls off her shoulders, and the female wrangler rustles Cash’s mane thankfully. She exchanges a look with Dean, silent conversation easing the both of them. Then the group leader turns to the tourists. “Alright y’all, let’s take a break here,” he decides, beckoning at the shade near the big boulders. “Is Cash gonna be okay?” Macy asks worried. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ll rest up for half an hour, meanwhile fix that water tank. Benny? Let’s repack so that we can take the load off Cash.” Dean turns to look at the farrier, who nods in agreement.

They leave the snake for the vultures and move away from the trail. While Benny and Brad tack down Cash and focus on repairing the tank with duct tape, saving the water that remains in the tank by catching it with their water bottles, Dean focuses on the black gelding’s injury. Y/N strolls past him between the horses, who have taken cover in the shade. She watches how the cowboy flushes the puncture wounds with water, despite the fact that Cash keeps lifting his hind leg. “Do you need an assistant?” He looks over his shoulder and nods. “Could you hold him for a sec?” She takes Cash by the rope that he fought so hard minutes ago, rubbing the bay’s shoulder in order to distract him. It works, because the gelding puts his foot down, allowing Dean to press a gauze soaked with betadine on the small holes. “There,” he says satisfied, when he’s done cleaning the punctures.

Y/N lets go of Cash’s halter, picking up the bottle of betadine from the first aid kit, together with a clean gauze pad. “Your turn.” She nods at his hand.“Show me that.” Dean brushes it off. “It’s nothin’.” His intern isn’t having it, though, and after shooting him a glare she takes his right hand and turns it over. Despite that his palm is calloused from years of ranch work, the rope has burned off parts of his skin, leaving fiery blisters. “I wouldn’t file that under ‘nothin’,” she returns stern, mocking his slang. Dean can’t help but grin at that, surrendering to her care. The smirk turns into a grimace when she dabs the damaged tissue with iodine. “Sorry,” she apologizes when she notices him tensing up. “It’s okay,” he assures, looking at her fondly, despite the sting. Y/N blushes at his expression, breaking away from his warm eyes and focusing on his hand again. She applies a clean gauze and dresses his hand, taping the end of the bandage so that it won’t come off. He checks his hand from both sides, impressed with her work. “How do you know how to do that?” The cowgirl shrugs. “I have three brothers who never failed to miss an opportunity to fall from their treehouse or trip while chasing each other through the woods. You do the math.” Dean chuckles, testing the movement of his fingers as he turns towards the other men, who are still working on the tank. On his way over, he glances at the young woman again. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” she returns happily, walking past Joplin to pick her water bottle from the saddle bag.

Joining Macy and Jon, she makes the most of what remains of the half hour break, while the other wranglers try to repair the tank. Having lost most of the water, they don’t waste too much time resting up here and decide to move on to White Rock Spring. The other horses take over Cash’s tack, who only has to carry the empty tank. The gelding already puts full weight on his injured leg, the wounds so superficial that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Twenty minutes later Y/N puts her left foot in the stirrup and hoists herself in the saddle. Her limbs are tired, her back is beginning to hurt. Day two of this trail is taking more out of her than she expected, not only physically, but also mentally, after the close call with Cash. Even though it’s early afternoon, she hopes that Dean and Benny will decide to call it a day, once the group reaches the spring.

It doesn’t take long before they pass the rock formation of Black Top Mesa and reach the T-junction Dean described earlier, left leading into Marsh Valley, right to Charlebois Canyon. The two Gold Canyon Ranchers leading the company have stopped just off the trail on the top of a hill. She catches a glimpse of Benny’s face, and he does not look pleased. Not sure if it’s her place to join them, since she’s the intern, she hesitates to ride up to the wranglers, but takes her chances a few seconds later. Dean did involve her when Cash suffered that possibly dangerous injury, afterall. Joplin halts next to Ted as her gaze jumps between the two riders. “Something wrong?” she wonders. “What’s missin’ here, Yankee?” Benny counters, without answering her question.

Y/N looks ahead, down Charlebois Canyon. The land is dry and dusty, rocks and volcanic remnants more evident in the landscape. Now that she’s made aware that something is unusual about this picture, she remembers that the canyons east of Weavers Needle were much greener. More plants and bushes, more life. “Water,” the female wrangler realizes. “There’s no water.” “Yep,” Benny confirms. “That spring is supposed to be over yonder.” “But how can there be no spring? It rained cats and dogs a week ago,” she wonders confused. “Welcome to Arizona, where it can be raining like a cow’s pissin’ on a flat rock on one side of the road while the sun shines on the other,” the Southerner states.

Dean is quiet, the gears in his head turning as he blankly stares ahead. He’s holding his reins with his unharmed hand, the leather feeling a little foreign, since he hardly ever rides left-handed. There are a few more springs close by, but since the whole canyon looks dry and dead, except for a few Saguaro cacti, he’s guessing that those ran dry too. Biting his bottom lip he glances over his shoulder in the direction where they came from, then north. “What do we do now?” Y/N inquires, her eyes shifting from Benny to Dean. “Chief?” the farrier checks with his friend, when he doesn’t respond. “How far do you think it is to Eagle’s Nest?” he questions. “About six miles?” “Give or take,” the Southerner affirms. Dean ponders, but then turns Ted around to face the three approaching tourists. “We’ve run into a bit of an issue,” he starts, updating the guests on the newly occurred problem. “White Rock Spring has dried up, and looking at the vegetation, I don’t think it’s wise to continue east. We’re not gonna find water there, which also means that the herd is most likely elsewhere. The way I see it, we’ve got two options: we either turn around and ride four and a half miles back to Willow Spring, or we move north to Salt River.” “How far is that?” Brad asks as the dark haired student rests his wrists on the horn of his saddle. “Six miles,” Dean declares. “If we leave now, we’ll hopefully make it by sunset. We need an inventory on water and food supplies. And I need y’all - and this is really important - to be one hundred percent certain that you’re up for another six hours in the saddle. If anyone ain’t, we will turn around to the Willow and cut our losses for today. No shame in it.”

The leader of the company now turns to Macy, who has Cash waiting next to her. The black horse looks alert and calm, his weight on all four hooves. “How’s he doing?” Dean wonders. “He seems fine. He’s sound, even in a jog just now,” she returns, having kept an eye on the gelding next to her. Dean nods, but not completely satisfied. He’s torn. Torn between pushing through and marching on to Salt River, or taking the safe route back to where they came from. Going back feels like giving up. It will be another day without a trace of the herd, another day of wasting time and energy. They have enough food with them for five days. Heading back might be a crucial setback, one that could lead to returning home without the group of young horses. He promised Ellen and Bobby to bring them in, but he also promised to keep everyone safe.

“How much water do we have left?” he checks. After a quick count, they come to the conclusion that they have about 10 liters between the six of them, the horses not even included. The animals are used to these circumstances, though, and they can go without water for three to four days. Dean is confident they should be okay. It’s the riders he’s worried about: both the tourists and Y/N. Dean sighs, looking up the trail from Marsh Valley that leads into the mountains. “Is there anyone who wants to go back to Willow Spring?” No one steps forward or raises their hand. Dean looks the crew in the eye, one by one, trying to unravel them and detect even the slightest hint of doubt. His gaze lingers on Y/N, who doesn’t give him an inch and seems determined. He nods, his mind made up. “Alright, then,” he decides. “We ride north.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part thirteen here

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years

Text

My Darling, Believe Me (For Me, there is No-One but You)

- A Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth... The love of my life.’ Magnus gets a lil’ tipsy, and thinks it very important that Alec knows how special he is. (Title is from Aretha Franklin’s ‘I Say a Little Prayer’.)

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

In the three-and-a-bit years they’ve been together, Alec can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Magnus visibly tipsy. Warlocks are, apparently, natural heavyweights in that department, and Magnus enjoys alcohol regularly enough that his own tolerance is even higher.

But tonight is a special occasion. They had decided to host a party to celebrate their anniversary, mostly as an excuse to see some of the friends and loved ones they’ve been a little out of touch with ever since the move to Alicante. And after a trying week – some sort of magical disturbance in the Seelie realm had caused a mild knock-on effect on all local magics, and therefore a not-so-mild headache for the local High Warlock – Magnus had waited until all the guests were comfortable, and then swept Dot, Meliorn, Maryse, Isabelle and Maia onto the balcony with him. ‘Alexander,’ he called, ‘would you hold the fort for a while? We’ll be back once we’re all a little less sober.’ Isabelle whooped, and Dot blew Alec a kiss as they all disappeared outside.

The party is over now, the guests either travelling home or retired to the spare bedrooms. Although Alec has seen his husband throughout the evening, it’s on the balcony again that he finds him – enjoying the view, or possibly letting the night air cool the alcohol in his blood. Alec suspects it’s a combination of both.

The door swings shut behind him, and Magnus looks around at the quiet click, his face lighting up as Alec wanders over to join him. ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth.’ He steps forward, looping his arms around Alec’s neck. ‘The love of my life.’ Alec rolls his eyes, but he smiles fondly, his hands coming up to rest on Magnus’ hips. ‘Okay, come on. Let’s get some water in you, and then go to bed.’ But Magnus doesn’t put up the expected protest that he’s fine, he doesn’t need any help handling his drink, thank you very much. Nor does he raise an eyebrow suggestively, and remark on Alec’s eagerness to take him to bed. Instead, his brow furrows, and he looks… sad, Alec realises with concern. ‘You don’t believe me,’ he murmurs. Alec stares, confused. ‘What? Of course I believe you. I love you too -’ ‘No, no,’ Magnus says, shaking his head. ‘You know that, I know you know that, I tell you every day – but it’s more than that. You,’ he says, tapping the tip of Alec’s nose for emphasis, ‘are the love of my life.’ He pouts a little, a surprisingly childish expression for someone centuries old. ‘I believe you, when you tell me that. Why won’t you believe me?’

And maybe Alec doesn’t have to handle a tipsy Magnus often, but he knows his husband, and so he knows that platitudes won’t get them anywhere. Instead, he gives a gentle smile. ‘Magnus, we’ve talked about this. Nephilim love once. You’re the only person I’m ever going to feel this way about.’ He moves his hand up to the small of Magnus’ back, rubbing small, reassuring circles. ‘But you’re a warlock, Magnus. You’re immortal. I don’t expect the same of you, and I promise, it doesn’t change anything.’ It had taken him a while, but he had eventually made his peace with Magnus’ box of memories, and the future it represented. It’s hard, knowing that one day, Magnus will love someone else – but the alternative would be a potential eternity of loneliness, and Alec would hardly wish that on anyone, let alone Magnus. ‘We have now. We have this lifetime,’ he says. ‘I don’t care what happens after that, as long as you’re happy.’

But the frown on Magnus’ face only deepens. ‘No, I… I need you to understand,’ he implores, leaning forwards. ‘You need to understand. When you made that deal with my father, when you left me so that he’d return my magic – I didn’t just mourn. I went to Brother Zachariah. I begged him to – to just take it all, all the memories of you, because you were everywhere I looked and it hurt. More than I could bear.’ Alec swallows hard. ‘I’m sorry, I-‘ But Magnus waves a hand impatiently, a lazy, presumably unintentional spark of magic jumping onto the stone railing as he does. ‘No, that’s not – that’s not what I mean, that’s all in the past now. I forgave you a long time ago. The only reason I’m telling you all this now is because I need you to know. You need to know what this, what you mean to me.’ His hands are bracing either side of Alec’s neck now, grip just light enough that it isn’t uncomfortable, but strong enough that Magnus can ensure he keeps Alec’s gaze. ‘In all my years,’ he says quietly, ‘nothing – no other loss, no other heartbreak – has made me that desperate. I’ve been tempted, of course, but I’ve never actually gotten that far, never actually asked to have the memories taken. But it’s like – it’s like you still see yourself as the norm. Like the latest in a long line of loves, easy to forget. I assure you, Alexander; nothing could be further from the truth.’

Alec’s jaw works as he tries to find the words to respond, to refute. ‘That – I don’t – ‘ He shakes his head; there’s a part of him that wants this desperately, wants to cling to Magnus’ words like lifesaving validation, but he knows that isn’t fair. He can’t ask this of Magnus, can’t ask to be this, not when Magnus might have hundreds of years ahead of him once Alec’s gone. And so he shakes his head in denial, and Magnus sighs. ‘Alexander,’ he says softly, his hands dropping to Alec’s shoulders. ‘Please. Please, believe me on this. You’re different to anyone I’ve ever met. No-one else has called my cat eyes beautiful, or so wholly accepted my greatest failures. No-one has ever wanted to change the world for me.’ He smiles a little. ‘In over seven-hundred and fifty years, you’re the only person I’ve ever married – because you’re the only person I’ve ever truly wanted to marry.’

A stray tear slips through Alec’s otherwise iron control, and Magnus cups his face with one hand, wiping the tiny drop away with his thumb. ‘You know my past, Alec. I’ve always been honest about it. I have loved before – I have loved passionately, and I have loved deeply.’ He takes a slightly shaking breath; but his gaze is fierce, certain, even as the alcohol hazes his focus. ‘But I have never loved like this.’ He kisses Alec, and it’s warm, rum-sharp and honey-sweet. It settles like a blanket over Alec’s whirling thoughts, and he doesn’t want it to end.

When they eventually break apart, Alec wordlessly leads Magnus to their bedroom, keeping one arm around his husband’s waist. A casual observer might not see the necessity, as Magnus still seems so clear-headed – but Alec knows better, knows how the intoxication hits Magnus’ co-ordination faster than his eloquence. He feels a gentle amusement remembering the last time Magnus indulged in drink; how he insisted he was fine in beautiful four- and five-syllable words, even as he clipped every doorway and piece of furniture in his effort to walk the short, straight path to the kitchen. Magnus is humming now, a tune that slips between major and minor in a way Alec faintly recognises, but not enough to name it. He barely seems to notice as Alec undresses him, coaxes him to drink a small glass of water. He settles under the covers with a heavy, contented sigh, his eyes falling shut – and Alec is just about to turn away, when he hears him mumbling.

‘Please believe me.’

Alec’s throat works for a moment, and then he bends down again, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ temple. ‘I believe you, Magnus. I believe you.’ He doesn’t know whether it’s a miracle or a tragedy, but he’s telling the truth.

***

Three days later, Alec finishes his work for the day, and doesn’t go home. Instead, he takes the elevator down to the lowest basement level, stepping out into the bright, soft lighting of Alicante’s largest and most closely guarded library. Magnus will be out late, having portalled over to Greenland to help resolve a leadership issue within the Warlock Council there, so Alec knows he has at least a few hours to kill and he plans to make the most of them. He walks with a sense of purpose, as if determination alone will make what he’s searching for easier to find.

There’s a strange sort of hum to the dark wooden bookshelf he approaches; an aura that whispers of the knowledge stored in these tomes, these ancient histories of almost-forgotten magic. It’s residual power from a time long passed, a time when the divide between the Divine and the Infernal was at its greatest – but also a time when the differences between those magics were so few as to be almost imperceptible.

Alec gathers the three oldest-looking books, the ones whose leather covers are worn hard and smooth and whose pages are aged yellow and sweet. He settles himself on the nearest armchair, and remembers what he said to Magnus in Edom, what seems like a lifetime ago now. I’m never leaving you again.

He opens the first book, and starts looking for a way to keep that promise.

~oOo~

#malec #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #shtv #shs #alcohol tw #mine #also yes magnus' balcony excursion is partly based on dr bartlet at her birthday lol #in that i noticed the similarity and went 'aw cool let's lean into it'

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