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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months ago

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fall, with you: part four - thanksgiving

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev

words: 2.3k

summary: the new world may be hell, but you still have things to be thankful for.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nate finds you exactly where he thought he would. In the kitchen of your new home, packing your backpack.

“No,” he says bluntly. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”

You turn on your heel and stare at him. “It’s not up to you.”

“Was he abusive?”

You’d fine back to packing and freeze to look up at him again. “No. God, no.”

“So what was it? Cheated? Ran over your dog?”

“No, it wasn’t anything. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spits, knocking your bag off the table.

You sneer. It’s not the first time you’ve butted heads like this. Neither of you has a great trauma response, given the whole apocalypse thing. “I decide where we go,” you snarl. “You don’t.”

“Not this time. Not when we’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere normal. I have never questioned you, I’ve never even complained. Just followed you across the goddamn country. But unless you have a good fucking reason, like he’s some psycho ex—“

“He was the love of my fucking life,” you snap.

“I mean it, sugar. I know it seems like I’m bein’ impulsive but I swear I got a ring waitin’ back home,” Joel said, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand cradled your face, thick fingers warm and gentle against it. “I ain’t ever been more serious. You’re the love of my fuckin’ life. Say yes, baby. Marry me.”

“What’ll Sarah say?” You blurt.

He grins, crooked and fond. “See, that’s what I mean.” He kisses you, slow and tender, and you melt into it, almost forgetting why you’re sitting on the ground in tears to begin with.

“Whaddya say, sugar? You gonna be mine? Gonna make us a family?”

As if you could say anything else. “Yeah, Joel,” you murmur, “I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” You wait a beat. “You really got a ring back home?”

“Sure do. Whole speech planned out ‘n shit, too. But I couldn’t fuckin’ wait anymore.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a crooked grin of your own. “Y’ain’t supposed to get me gifts on your birthday.”

He puts on a fake pout. “You’re my gift, baby,” he says, lip twitching as he fights the smirk.

You shove him away playfully. “Gross. You old sap.”

He laughs, head tipped back. “What can I say? It’s all for you, sugar.”

You’re horrified to find tears burning in the corner of your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you mutter.

But he’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. You can’t drag him back out into the wilderness, to another failing QZ, to inevitable death. This is a town, a community, a home.

A chill is just starting to settle over Jackson, the hint of a frost in the early morn, when Tommy Miller turns up on your porch.

You open the door after several beats of insistent knocking, and the man stands there in the flesh and blood, looking just the same but twenty years and a lifetime older.

“Does my brother know you’re here?” he says, eyes as wide as the early November moon.

“Who’re you? Does my brother know you’re here?”

You let out a strangled cry and spun around, sponge raised as if it would frighten the intruder. But you recognize him from the photos all around the house and relax, grimacing as soapy suds drip down your arm. “Nah, I like to break into houses and do the dishes,” you drawl. “You must be Tommy.” You introduce yourself and realization dawns on his face.

You fumble for a towel to dry your hand before proffering it. He takes it and matches your firm handshake before scratching the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the side in a mirror of his older brother.

You can’t say anything. Your mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. It really is him. Not that you really doubted it, because the evidence was kind of indisputable, but there he is. The man that was to be your brother in law getting mud all over your porch.

Finally, you just shake your head, stepping aside to let him in the house.

He comes in and starts pacing, tracking clods around the living room.

“Tommy Miller, you take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you scold.

He freezes and looks up at you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and suddenly you’re being smothered, stifled in the bulk of his jacket as he wraps his arms around you. “ Jesus Christ.”

Nate chooses that moment to clomp down the stairs like a herd of horses. “Is that him? Damn, he’s not your type at all.”

You start to laugh. It sneaks up on you, silent at first, shoulders shaking, until it’s bubbling out of you. Maybe it’s a little hysterical, but you’re allowed, you think.

There’s a plan. Tommy insists. As much as you’d like to pretend you can avoid running into Joel, the fact is that this town is small and collaborative. You can’t avoid anyone.

So. There’s a plan.

Tommy breaks the news to him gently at their weekly dinner. Ellie comes by later to swap comics with Nate and reports that Joel had stood up and left, bypassing his jacket and going straight out the door. No expression, no words, nothing.

It could have been worse. You expect fully that he doesn’t want to see you, doesn’t want any reminders of before. Of Sarah. And truth be told, you’re not that thrilled to have been forcibly dragged down memory lane, either.

But Tommy’s a persistent bastard, and so it happens anyway. He calls your name, flagging you down as you stand with your tray in the mess hall, looking for a seat. The man sitting across from him whips around, head turning so fast you can almost hear his neck crack.

Where Tommy Miller has grown into the apocalypse with relative ease, the same cannot be said of his brother. Joel wears each year, each loss, each kill in the lines of his face, the cold of his eyes, the set of his jaw. You stare for a moment into the hazel eyes that used to crinkle with laugh lines, that used to darken with hunger in the deep night, that used to be your safe space.

But there’s none of that now. The wrinkles on his face speak of more stress than a human body should reasonably endure. His eyes darken with something so anachronous to your Joel that you can’t even identify the feeling. And there’s no mistaking them for anything soft or safe. The lips that used to map every inch of your body are twisted in a scowl.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until your drink spills, knocking you out of his thrall. Abandoning your tray on the nearest surface, you bolt.

Born and raised in QZs, it became painfully apparent that Nate was terrified of animals. And seeing how that wasn’t really sustainable in a town like this, you’ve taken to slowly introducing him to the fluffier, nicer critters. But now it’s time.

You’ve got to teach him to ride.

Horses are the worst. They’re big and tall and wrong , he says, like someone was trying to put them together and kept messing up but was too lazy to fix it. “And they know too much,” he adds, standing four feet away as you saddle up the gentlest mare in the stable.

You snort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Look at their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes. They know things. Secrets.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure. They know secrets. My dad’s horse knew a secret,” you say with a conspiratorial grin. “He used to wait until my daddy turned his back and then he’d pick up his Coke between his big teeth and throw his head back.”

Nate stops in his fretting. “Your dad’s horse drank Coke?”

“Yep. Little conniving sneak, he was. Absolute troublemaker. But Penny here ain’t gonna give you a lick of trouble.”

It’s not long before he’s comfortable in the saddle, if not thrilled about it. When you finally join him on horseback, you’re a little more nervous than you want to admit. It’s been twenty years, after all.

But it feels familiar. “Just like riding a bike,” you mutter.

“Maybe I’m not the expert since I’ve never been on a bike, but like logistically, this has to be very different,” Nate says.

After your ride, you send him off while you untack and groom the horses. You’ve hung up the reins and are reaching for a brush when someone else’s hand bumps yours. “Oh, sorry,” you start instinctively and recoil when Joel pulls his gloved hand back sharply.

It’s too much, in the little tack room, this close, this distant.

Joel’s eyes on you, taking you in and trying to parse the you now from the you then.

Joel’s eyes on you, roaming, craving.

Joel’s beard scratching against his glove as he rubs his chin.

Joel’s beard scratching against your belly on his way down.

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter.

Your head is spinning. You take a staggering step back, wavering.

You wake up on a cot in the clinic.

Nate’s sat in a chair by your side, picking at his nail beds and trying not to look worried. He relaxes minutely before getting pissed when you confess to the doctor that you haven’t been eating much. You don’t keep much at home, nobody really does, and you’ve been avoiding the mess hall for reasons that you don’t need to say out loud.

They let you go with a scolding about the dangers of doing activities without proper nutrition, like you don’t know that, like you haven’t been starving in the wasteland like the rest of them at some point.

Tommy stops by with a frankly absurd amount of soup. “Heard you had a little fall today,” he says.

“Whole town know I’m a klutz now?” you joke half-heartedly.

He gives you a look. “Nah. A big grumpy birdie told me.”

You cringe.

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “Come by our place for the harvest, okay?”

“Come ‘round our place for Thanksgiving,” Joel says.

“I can’t intrude,” you protest.

“Ain’t intruding on anything, baby. We want you there. But I gotta warn you, we do things a little different. It ain’t your regular Thanksgiving fixins, okay?”

“What?”

“We’re doin’ a harvest dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving. There’ll be a lunch at the mess on Thursday but we’re havin’ family ‘round that night.” He sees you open your mouth and keeps going, ignoring you. “I don’t want to hear it. And just so you know, he suggested the invite. So.”

And then Tommy leaves you with more questions and more soup than you know what to do with.

On Thursday, you drag your sorry ass to the mess hall for the lunch, determined to give Nate another holiday experience. You didn’t need to work yourself up, though, as Joel is nowhere in sight.

You wish you had thought earlier to ask what to bring, but it’s been a long time since you’ve dined at someone else’s table, and food ain’t been for sharing in just as many years.

“What should I bring, if it ain’t traditional?”

He thinks for a moment. He wants to tell you to bring your sexy self and nothin’ more but he knows you won’t go for it. “Bring popcorn,” he says finally.

You had. And you do. Cooked on the stove the old-fashioned way. It’s a risk, god, you know it’s a risk. But you walk into Tommy’s house with a heaping bowl of lightly buttered popcorn.

You walk into Joel’s house with a heaping bowl of butter-laden, salty popcorn, and Sarah cheers. She takes a handful before retreating deeper into the house where Tommy is setting the table and Joel is in the kitchen, hard at work over the… toaster. There’s a stack of buttered toast on a platter beside him and he’s adding to the pile.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pulling you by the waist into his space, chasing your lips with a kiss. “Thanks for bringin’ the popcorn. Ain’t Thanksgiving without it.”

“If you say so,” you say. “Where do you want it?”

“On the table is fine,” he says.

It takes you a minute, as you stand in Joel’s dining room, staring at the eccentric assortment of what can loosely be defined as dinner. There are a few bowls out, overflowing not with stuffing or mashed potatoes or casserole. No, there’s little pretzel twists and what looks like candy. You set the popcorn down in an empty spot and it unlocks in your brain with a snap.

You turn on your heel and go back in the kitchen. For a moment, you’re distracted by the scene in front of you. Joel and Sarah are delicately swirling whipped cream in excess atop strawberry ice cream, taking turns squirting some in their mouths in between and then scolding one another playfully.

“Are we having a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving?” you ask.

Sarah beams. “I told you she’d get it,” she tells her dad.

Joel opens the door at Tommy and Maria’s. He looks down at the bowl in your hands, and you suddenly think you’ve made a terrible mistake. There’s a taut, hefty silence where you’re both just staring at the bowl.

He moves, both hands up toward you in a jerky, sudden motion that has you flinching back. It doesn’t deter him. It was like the action was pressed behind a coil and now that it snapped, he can’t stop. Newton’s Law, and all that.

His rough, calloused palms engulf either side of your face, his chapped lips smashing against your unexpecting ones. Your heart could be halfway to Dallas by sundown with how fast it’s galloping in your chest. It only takes a moment before your hands are on him, too.

“C’mon, not over the popcorn,” Nate gripes, snatching the bowl away and going inside to find Ellie, leaving you in Joel’s embrace.

the end

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou fic

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fics4you · 7 months ago

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Hii!! Since you write for Seventeen can I request a SVT Dino snz fic with either Hoshi or Seungkwan as caretaker?? Thank youuuuu!!

Sickie: Dino

Caretaker: Seungkwan and Hoshi

Hello everyone! It has been a hot minute since I've updated. I've been crazy busy lately. But I'm back and will hopefully be more regular with updates.

Chan sighed in annoyance as he stared at his phone. It was the fourth day in a row of high pollen count, but tomorrow was supposed to be the worst.

The past few days he had suffered through an itchy nose, an unending sinus headache, swollen eyes and sneezing, and tomorrow was going to be the worst. He glanced over the count once more as he shut his phone off and curled up in bed.

The next morning he woke up to Seungkwan shaking his shoulder, "Chan, sorry to wake you up, but apparently a few of us got scheduled on a variety show, but no one told us" Chan sniffled, and rubbed his nose, "okay hyung, I'm coming" he covered his head with the blankets, "het-chhu! Httchuh etchU!"

"bless! Are you alright?"

"my allergies are killing me. My nose, eyes, and throat are all so itchy"

"do you need to take the day off? Maybe we can get one of the others to go instead"

"no. I'll be okay"

"do you need allergy medicine?"

"it makes me really tired, so I'll only take it if I absolutely need to"

"I'm sorry kid, hopefully it will be quick."

Seungkwan, Chan and Soonyoung were the ones chosen, Chan was grateful to have the two of them because with their energetic personalities,it would be easier to hide behind.

Upon arrival at the filming location Chan was filled with dread when they informed the group they would be filming outdoors.

Chan could barely breathe through his nose without needing to sneeze. He blew his nose for the last time before the camera started rolling.

The first ten minutes of filming went okay, but then the maknae felt a tickle blossom in the back of his nose. He sniffled and rubbed his nose, but it didn't help, he turned away from the camera, "hktchu Ehh-ktchu ktch-cHU"

"bless you" as the maknae sniffled Soonyoung passed a few tissues to Chan, who shot him a grateful look, once he cleaned his face up he turned back to the camera, his eyes were watering and he knew he would need to sneeze again. "C-hh- can we pause for a second-" Chdn barely gasped before he moved away from the others, "hktchu Ehh-ktchu ktch-cHU hhtchhu eht-chu hktchhu eht-chhU etChu hh,-Ktchu" Seungkwan and Soonyoung quickly rushed over to the maknae, Seungkwan gently rubbed Chan's back. "Can you breathe for me?" Chan sniffled and took a shaky breath, letting out an itchy cough. "Sorry guys"

"it's okay Chan, Soonyoung hyung is trying to get the manager to let us go home" Soonyoung returned giving a thumbs up to Soonyoung, "let's get you home" Chan was so grateful. The car ride home was miserable, he was sneezing into the already soiled tissues and wiping his itchy eyes.

As soon as they got home he took his allergy medicine and lay down, putting a cool cloth over his eyes.

Sorry if it's not great I'm just trying to get back to posting

#sickfic #fluff #kpop #kpop sickfic #snz #seventeen #svt #svt dino #chan

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ericsonclan · 2 years ago

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Unending Love

Summary: Violet works to memorize one of Prisha's favorite poems to surprise her on her birthday.

Word Count: 2,921

Read on AO3:

Violet paced back and forth in her room as the morning light started to pierce through the boarded up windows. She wanted to get this perfect. It felt like the least she could do for Prisha.

“In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the-” Violet’s brows furrowed and she started to motion aimlessly. “What is it called again? Why the fuck can’t I remember the word?”

“Necklace,” Aasim calmly answered, his eyes focused on the piece of paper in front of him.

“Shit. Fuck. I’m gonna screw this up. Give me that,” Violet took the paper and slowly reread the poem. It was at times like this that she was thankful for the glasses or else this would be pointless.

“You’ll get it eventually.”

“Yeah, well ‘eventually’ isn't worth shit if I don’t memorize it now.” Violet took a shaky breath. God, why did she suck at memorizing shit sometimes? She tried her best to pull herself out of her self depreciation. It didn’t matter if she fucked it up now as long as she didn’t tonight.

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Prisha will love this regardless if you stumble a bit,” Aasim got up to his feet and took back the paper before motioning for Violet to start again.

She took a few deep breaths. She knew Aasim was right. Prisha would love this but Violet still wanted to not fuck up her wife’s favorite poem. Especially not on her birthday.

“Okay,” Violet took one last centering breath. “I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…”

After many, many more attempts Violet finally settled on her last one. It would have to do. She had other stuff that needed to be done to make today a great birthday for Prisha.

“Thanks, y’know, for helping me memorize this and for keeping track of the days. I don’t know how your brain works like a calendar but I’m glad it does.”

Aasim smiled at that. “Glad to help. Want to go over it one more time?”

“Nah, I can’t. I need to help Ruby in the greenhouse for dinner tonight.”

“Okay,” Aasim handed over the paper and Violet folded it and placed it in her back pocket. With a quick goodbye she was off towards the courtyard where she saw that everyone was already hard at work on today’s chores. Omar was busy tending to the fire while Willy scampered back and forth to get more firewood. AJ was busy talking to Clementine while they did watchtower duty together and Louis was strolling out of the admin building with Prisha. It seemed like it had paid off to ask Louis to help distract Prisha for most of the day. Both of them were excitedly talking about the latest song they had worked to preserve in written form when Louis suddenly noticed Violet. As soon as he did so he gave a wink that was anything but subtle. Pulled from the conversation Prisha followed her friend’s gaze and spotted her wife. Immediately a soft smile appeared on her lips.

“I’m going to go but it was really fun.” She started to make her way towards Violet when Louis quickly jogged over and held onto Prisha’s arm.

“Nope. Sorry, but you’re on fishing duty with me today.”

“But it’s my birthday and you don’t even enjoy fishing.” Prisha looked over at Louis who was struggling to find a good excuse to get Prisha to go with him.

“Yeah, well those fish are too fast for just me. We should just make a giant net or something.”

“Hmm, a fishing net would be nice. I’ll bring it up with Willy. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Prisha tried to take another step forward but Louis blocked her path.

“Nope.”

“Why not? It’s my birthday. Let me talk to my wife.”

“But the chores.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t care about the chores right now. Besides, I can take off one day of chores. It’s not like you don’t do the same.”

“Yep, but I’m me and you love chores. So too bad,” Louis tugged Prisha away and while Prisha was grumpily picking up a fishing bucket he snuck a thumbs up over to Violet. God, he sucked at this distracting thing sometimes. Violet could feel her annoyance grow. The whole point was to distract Prisha, not make her upset. Still she couldn’t change Louis’ plan and so Violet watched silently as he strolled out the gates with Prisha. After a few waves goodbye the pair were off towards the fishing shack.

“Hey there, Vi, ready to head over to the greenhouse?”

Violet glanced over and spotted Ruby then nodded. “Yeah,”

“Okay then let’s get a move on,” Ruby led the way, baskets in hand while Violet kept on the lookout just in case a walker had breached the wall. Her hand stayed gripped to the handle of her meat cleaver, ready to unsheath it from the protective case by her hip. After she was sure it was safe though she relaxed a bit and held open the door to the greenhouse.

“Thank you,” Ruby smiled then made her way over to one of the planters. “First we’ll grab all the spices we need then head out towards the garden to get the tomatoes. Omar told me we still have some onions and garlic so we don’t gotta worry about that.”

“Okay,” Violet grabbed one of the baskets from her friend and started to search for the right planter. It was crazy to think how much they were growing now. It didn’t seem like that long ago they didn't do anything to help really flavor the food much at all. It had been years since then though and Violet knew that both Omar and Ruby fought to make sure they got the best plants possible for the greenhouse from visiting caravans over the years.

“So, Aasim told me you’re memorizing a poem for Prisha,” Ruby smiled over at Violet. The lilt in her voice held an air of anticipation. It didn’t take an expert to see that Ruby wanted to hear it.

Violet sighed and crossed her arms. “I told Aasim to not tell anymore.” “Well I’m his wife so I don’t count. Now come on, let’s hear it.”

“I suck at it.”

Aww, Sug, I’m sure that ain’t true.” Ruby kept pushing and Violet knew she wouldn’t stop.

“Fine,” Violet grumbled then took a deep breath before she started to recite the poem. She worked alongside Ruby, picking the necessary spices and veggies needed for dinner tonight. The poem felt like she didn’t get a good rhythm on it and she forgot a word or two occasionally but after a while she finally finished.

“Wow, that’s grand,” Ruby sighed. “Oh, Prisha is gonna love it.”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so. Any gal would fall head over heels hearing those words but knowing that it’s one of Prisha’s favorites…” Ruby shook her head with a happy smile. ‘She might just faint.”

“Yeah right,” Violet glanced away and worked on picking tomatoes that looked ripe. A smile stayed on her lips though for the rest of her time with Ruby. She could feel her self confidence rising back up again. Maybe she wouldn’t fuck it up after all.

Time seemed to be working against Violet as she helped Omar with dinner prep. He kept being snappy about how things needed to be done. How in order to make this fish curry taste the best it could, it needed time to cook so the flavors could marinate together. Violet didn’t really get it but she just let Omar keep talking about the flavors and how he’d make sure it was better than the last time he had gotten a chance to cook Indian food.

“We’ve come back bearing fish aplenty!” Louis grinned as he held up a bucket that was filled to brim with the catches of the day.

“I can help with dinner prep,” Prisha offered as she set down her own bucket.

“Ah, ah, ah you’re the birthday girl so that means no helping out with dinner or other chores.” Louis tutted his finger before he caught the annoyed glare of his friend.

“Oh really? Because that didn’t seem to apply to me earlier.”

“Aww, who can remember things that happened earlier? It’s in the past,” Louis waved his hand dismissively despite Prisha’s expression.

“Alright well can I at least keep you company while you work?” Prisha looked over at Violet who nodded.

“Sure.”

“Wonderful,” Prisha moved to sit down when suddenly she heard her voice being screamed,

“Prisha! Prisha! Prisha!” Willy screeched to a halt and gave a toothy grin. “Come and see the invention I made for you!”

“Right now?”

Willy nodded enthusiastically. Prisha knew based on the way he was smiling and how he swayed as he bounced on the balls of his feet that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Alright. I’ll see you at dinner?” Prisha glanced back at her wife who nodded.

“Yep.”

Prisha gave one final smile before she was pulled away once more. Willy was talking a mile a minute while Prisha was struggling to keep up with him.

“William. William, this is really nice but please slow down.”

“Oops, sorry! I’m just really excited to show you the surprise!”

Violet watched them for a minute as they disappeared into the dorms before she looked back and saw Louis’ wiggling eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…”

Shit. Violet had put together the pieces.

“I wanna hear the poem too.”

“No.”

Louis looked shocked. “What? Why not? Aasim got to hear it!”

“He was helping me. How the hell do you know about the poem anyway?” “Aasim told Ruby who spilled it to Clem and there’s no secrets between me and Clem,”

Violet sighed in annoyance as she sliced through the last tomato. While Clementine walked across the courtyard she caught Violet’s gaze and mouthed a small apology before helping AJ with something.

“Soooo,” Louis leaned on his elbows and smiled over at his best friend.

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

Violet didn’t answer that and instead worked on some of the onions. “Help me cut veggies or go bother someone else.”

Louis pouted at that. “Fine. Wow. On a birthday too,” He got up and dramatically sulked away.

“It’s not even your birthday, dumbass!” Violet yelled then grumbled as she returned to the onions. After a few seconds she used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away some tears. Shit, cutting onions sucked.

“I can see you’re already regretting not sharing with me. I see the tears!”

“They’re from the onions! So shut up!” Whatever, he could be a baby about it if he wanted to. She’d just block him out and go over the poem in her head again.

It felt like dinner took forever to cook. Violet had been worried about the day going too slowly but now the time for her birthday surprise for Prisha was quickly approaching. She kept wishing it had already happened so this pit of nerves in her gut would leave.

“It smells wonderful, Omar,” Prisha smiled as a bowl of fish curry was placed in front of her.

“Thanks, I’m hoping I’ve improved since the last time.” Omar worked to dish up the rest of the servings then sat down himself. Dinner became as lively as it ever did but this time it all centered around the birthday girl. Louis had come up with the tradition to go around the dinner table and share things you loved about the birthday person whenever their birthday rolled around. Some of them got more invested in sharing as many things as they could while others were more reserved and quiet. While Willy was going on and on about how cool Prisha was - especially when it came to inventions - Violet was busy going over the poem again.

“Okay, your turn, Violet!”

“What? Oh ummm,” Violet rubbed the back of her neck and stared down at the picnic table. “I love how kind you are. Y’know, with your words and actions.” She was already overwhelmed and this was making it spike. She didn’t like being put on the spot much. Still she could tell that what she said had meant a lot to her wife.

“Okay, back to Omar! Go!” Louis pointed to Omar who looked up from his food.

“I like how hardworking you are.” A buzzer sound emitted from the other side of the table.

“Nope, Aasim already said that.” Louis shook his head and crossed his arms.

“Yeah he already said it,” AJ mirrored Louis which caused Omar to sigh.

The rest of dinner felt like a blur to Violet who was ready for it to be over with. Eventually she got what she wanted as Clementine and Aasim gathered the dishes to wash.

“So, what would you like to do after dinner?” Prisha rose up from her spot which made Violet do the same.

“I actually have a surprise for you.” Violet instinctively held her arm to the side with one of her hands and looked down sheepishly.

“Oh?” Prisha’s eyes shone with curiosity.

“Yeah, let’s go to the bell tower,”

“Alright,” Prisha followed alongside her wife, casually taking her hand in hers. The two of them slowly made their way over then worked together to pull themselves in the basket to the top.

“Here, let me,” Violet got out first and held her hand out to help Prisha. Prisha took her wife’s hand with a playful smile.

“My, you’re being quite the romantic tonight.” “Yeah, I guess.” Violet held onto her wife’s hand and led the way. “It’s just the beginning though.” She caught Prisha’s eyes light up again the way they always did whenever her curiosity was piqued.

“Now you’ve intrigued me. What kind of plans do you have?” Prisha asked as she sat down with Violet.

“It’s a surprise. I just need a minute,” Violet took a deep breath and felt Prisha’s thumb rub against her hand. “It’s really pretty tonight.”

“It is,” Prisha looked up at the night sky and all the stars that shone within its depths.

“I’m glad. It’d suck if the stars weren’t out for your birthday.” Violet stayed quiet after that. Prisha didn’t seem to push for an answer on what the surprise was even though her curiosity was practically palpable. Both of them were silent as they stargazed, letting the space between and around them rest with a calmness that naturally came with each other’s company.

“I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…” Violet continued to keep her gaze on the stars as she gently held her wife’s hand. “In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, that you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms. In life after life, in age after age, forever.”

“Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain, its ancient tale of being apart or together. As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time: you become an image of what is remembered forever.” Violet glanced over and held her wife’s gaze. It was then that she noticed how surprised and touched Prisha was by this surprise. It helped her have the courage and confidence to continue.

“You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. At the heart of time, love of one for another. We have played alongside millions of lovers, shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-

Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.”

“Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you. The love of all man’s days both past and forever: universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life. The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –

And the songs of every poet past and forever.”

Violet finished the poem, her face only a few inches from her wife’s.

“Violet,” Prisha whispered and lifted up her hand to caress her wife’s face as she captured her lips in a tender kiss. The kiss felt like it lasted forever and yet when it ended it felt like it hadn’t lasted long enough.

“Time and time again you surprise me. Although this very well might be the most romantic thing you’ve done yet,” Prisha smiled as she rested her forehead against Violet’s.

“So you liked it?”

“I loved it. You memorized one of my favorite poems for me. How could I not love that?”

Violet smiled at that and let out a shaky breath. “That’s good because I was scared shitless that I’d mess up.”

“It was perfect,” Prisha felt tears well up in her eyes. Words couldn’t seem to do justice on how much this meant to her. To have Violet in her life, to have someone who would surprise her with a romantic gesture like this for her birthday. It was priceless to her. She was so overcome with emotion that she initiated another kiss that turned into many more short and sweet ones. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Violet returned to resting her forehead against her wife’s. “Happy birthday, Prisha.”

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg prisha #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg omar #twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg willy #twdg privet #louis violet brotp #fanfic

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dr4cking · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Grade.

masterlist taglist

draco malfoy x reader | smut |

warning : professor!draco 🥵 reader is of age! and you can make up draco's age whatever you wanted.

y/n waited nervously in her class, she was early than the others and it makes her sitting alone in the class.

she had exams last week but she didnt really study for it and that was the exact reason why she was nervous today.

if she got a bad grades her parents would make sure to threatened her.

she looked up from her desk as a loud footsteps walking into the class, she found the youngest and the hottest teacher in hogwarts staring at her deeply, a smirk formed onto his face making her gulped.

"morning, miss y/n" she gets goosebumps when she heard his deep voice calling out her name.

"morning professor.." draco’s smirk get wider as he saw her body tremble in her seat, only his voice and she already like that.

"why so tense, miss y/n?"

"nothing, professor.." she replied, staying her gaze on her desk, trying so hard not to look up at him and get herself in more embarrassment.

draco clicked his tongue around his teeth making her turned her head at him instantly.

he raised his eyebrows at her sudden action.

but when he was about to taunt her more, the door burst open by the students filling the class one by one.

>>>>>

"miss y/n." she looks up at her professor as he called her name, her body jolted out at his voice echoed in the room.

"yes, professor?"

"come here, please." she gets up from her seat nervously, all her classmates already interrogating her by their eyes.

"care to explain to me why you get a P for my subject?" she swears she almost passed out at his intonation.

"i- i'm sorry professor, i wasn't study-"

"great, meet me after class, you need to fix your grade" y/n unknowingly rubbed her thighs together when draco said that, she secretly hoped he doesnt noticed that.

but he did and thats why he was trying to hide his smirk.

"yes professor, i'm sorry" she took her test and made her way back to her seat. hell, he's so intimidating.

>>>>>

after the class ended, y/n being the only one who stayed in her seat.

she sighs and stares at draco's back who was still cleaning the board.

"well, which part of my subject that you dont understand, miss y/n?" draco said as he takes a seat in front of her desk, opening her book.

"its the draught of living death potions, professor." she was trying her best to not let her voice getting shaky.

draco nodded and begin to explaining the subject to her, his fingers were pointing at her book.

but all she could think now is about the tension filling the air, and the more she stares at his fingers the dirtier her mind gets.

his hands-

merlin, even his hands are so hot. the veins decorating his arms suited him so much, and his long fingers are the perfect size to reach her spot when they're going inside her cu-

no.

y/n shook her head in disbelief at what she just imagined in her mind not realizing that draco has stopped talking.

"lost in your dirty mind, princess?" draco chuckles as he sees her cheeks heated in embarrassment, his eyes turned dark as he examining her face.

shit.

she forgot he has legilimency.

"i-"

"sshh.. i see you're not as innocent as the others think of you, yeah?" she gulped at his question, her face was flushed as the thick tension filling the room.

"no answer hm? tell me y/n, what is it that you want?" he rose up from his seat moving to stand beside her, looking down at her.

"tell me whats going on inside your dirty mind" he tilted her head to look up at him, his thumb running on her bottom lip making her shuddered.

"i- i want you, professor.." y/n said quietly not be able to look into his eyes much longer.

"want me? for what?"

"i want you burying yourself deep inside me, professor" she slapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened at what she just said.

"filthy little thing." draco chuckles lowly before moving down his hand and grabbed her throat.

"earn it." she nodded at him before her hands shakily unbuckled his belt and his trousers letting it falls down to his ankle making draco gripped her throat tighter.

she pulled down his boxers making him hissed when his semi hard cock hitting his lower abdomen.

she quickly wrapped her hands around his length and squeezes him tightly causing him to pull on her hair.

"dont play with me if you dont wanna face the consequences." she nodded before spitting on his cock stroking it with her hand making him groaned.

y/n wasted no time and pulled him all the way in her mouth moaning when his tip hit the back of her throat.

she starts to fucked him in and out of her mouth. her hand pumping on what she couldnt fit in her mouth.

she pulled out for a second to rest her jaw then she swirls her tongue on his slit making him groaned and bucked his hips. she gagged instantly when draco pushed his cock back in her mouth, tired of her teasing.

"you look so fucking filthy, y/n. sucking your professor's cock now, hm?" she let out a moan to answer him making him whimpered at the vibrations.

one of her hands gripping on the back of his thigh pushing him deeper down her throat as she continues sucking him. her other hand playing with his balls giving them attention too.

"fuck- gonna cum down your throat til you choked out, shit- y/n" he moaned out loud as he shoots his thick cum down her throat, y/n swallowed instantly moaning at the taste. some of it dripped down onto her chin but she quickly wipes it and cleans it.

"get up" she obeyed at his order, now facing her professor at the same level.

draco leaned into her face and capturing their lips together kissing her roughly as his hands roaming around her body.

"get on your desk." she immediately throw away all her things on her desk and get on top of it, like he asked.

"you're my good girl, dont you?" he asked as he stands in between her thighs, his cock rubbing her inner thigh making her clawed on the desk underneath her.

"yes prof-"

"its draco" she nodded as she starts to unbuttoning her shirt showing him her clothed breasts.

"yes draco, i'm your good girl" she said seductively and taking his hands in her guiding them to her breasts.

"please, touch me draco.." draco squeezes her breasts in his hands and snatches her bra off of her making her winced, now she was exposed in front of her professor.

"such a pretty tits, all mine?" he twirled her hard nipples in his fingers, pulling and pinching it making the owner hissed in pain.

"yes, all yours draco.." with that draco latched his mouth onto her left nipple as his hand playing with the other one.

"mmh.. yes draco.." she tugged at his blonde locks as he continues assaulting her puffy nipples.

draco plopped out her breasts of his mouth, her nipples now red and swollen.

he gives her a smirk and he pushed her skirt up to her stomach, taking off her panties placing it in his pocket.

"souvenirs." he grins cheekily at her confused face.

he suddenly inserts his fingers into her, stretching her out a little bit making her breath hitched.

his fingers pumping her faster and when he curls them inside she screams his name out loud.

her legs spasmed when she feels her high approaching her, she dug her nails on his shoulder deeper.

but before she could reach her high, he abruptly pulled out his fingers making her cried out as her aching cunt clenching around nothing.

he quickly shoved his fingers down her throat letting her tasting herself, he moaned when he sees her sucking on her fingers delicately.

pulling her hips closer to him and lining up his now hard cock again on her entrance.

"now be a big girl and lead me into you." y/n whines as a protest but she quickly grabbed his cock and pushing it inside her.

she wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked her hips to get him deeper inside her and finally all of him was inside of her. they both throw their heads back in pleasure.

"you act so innocent yet here you are, burying my cock deep inside you." y/n moaned at his words starting to fuck herself on him.

"i'm not innocent draco, for you i'm not.. please just fuck me already" draco chuckles devilishly at her attempts to bounce on his cock.

"cant even fuck yourself properly, such a dumb girl" he gives in to her, snapping his hips forcing his cock hitting deeper inside her and starts to thrusting at steady pace.

"oh my god.. yes yes please feel so good.." she moans loudly, her body writhing on the desk. she propped herself on her elbows to support herself as she rolled her hips to meet his thrusts.

"so fucking tight baby.. never felt this good before" draco praised as he pounding harder into her, he guides her hips with his hands to meet his thrusts making both of them moaning louder.

her eyes rolled back when his tip brushed her spot, he noticed and pounding into her spot over and over again making her seeing the stars.

"draco please.. i'm so close!" y/n wrapped her hands around his shoulder to pull him closer and kissing his lips to muffled her screams as the coil tightened in her stomach.

"cum on me, you- pathetic- little slut" draco snapped harder leaving no space between their bodies.

his hand slapping and pinching her clit making the girl squirmed letting the coil snapped through her body. her legs are shaking and her vision blurry.

her body burns when she realized she just cummed hard on her professor's cock, she looked down and see that her juices coating him. then looking up at him making eye contact.

"fuck- you're a mess, gonna cum inside your tight cunt, stuffing you up full with my fucking cum- holyshit-"

he came to a full stop with her name left his lips as he spilled all of his warm thick cum inside her, spraying all of it into her filling her up like he said.

draco stay inside her for a few minutes, both of them are still catching their breaths and he pulled out of her gently as he softened.

he looked at her flushed face before cupping her cheeks and reconnecting their lips again. the kiss lasted a minute before they pulled away to redressing themselves.

"i'll change your grade. but in all seriousness, study harder, baby" y/n melted at the nickname he gave her, pecking his lips one more time.

"of course, thank you professor" she shots him a wink before leaving the class, making him blushing madly.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

i dedicate this to @angelic-bitxh cuz we have a deal of sharing ghost pics 😊🤝

tagging : @dracoscum @hellounicorn @onyourgoddamnleft @whoreforgeorgeandfred @turn-to-page-394-please @underappreciated-spoon-321 @youreso-golden @silverdelirium @littlemissnoname13 @dracmalf0y-dm @dlmmdl @f4iryluvy @starstruckgranger @yiamalfoy @lieswithoutfairytales @drxcolvr @black-repunzel99 @seriouslyinlove @slut4dracoo @alexthealexthealex

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #professor draco #draco oneshot #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco smut #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter

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tootiredmotel · 3 years ago

Text

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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thebigbadbatswife · 4 years ago

Text

One Single Thread Of Gold Tied Me To You

Summary - Everyone is tied to their soulmate with a red thread tied to their wrist. All except Y/N’s, who’s thread is gold. Tired of waiting for her soulmate to come and find her, she decides to go and find them. It doesn’t go quite how she expected it to.

Warnings - A little angst

[A/N] - This is a soulmate au where you and your soulmate are attached by an unbreakable red thread (or, in this case, gold), tied to your wrist. This was inspired by the song 'Invisible String' by Taylor Swift.

Word Count - 4k

As the early morning sun slowly filtered into your room, through your blinds, you carefully examined the thread attached to your wrist. Everyone had one; it was your link to your soulmate. Yours was different to everyone else though. While everyone had red, yours was gold. As you turned your wrist, it caught the sunlight and glistened a little.

Everyone you knew had always been fascinated by it. As was nearly every stranger you met. Why was it gold? What exactly made you and your soulmate so different to everyone else’s? Questions you had often asked yourself as well. Why were you two so different?

Your family had a theory that whoever it was, they were rich. Very rich. That was surely the reason it was gold. Nothing else made sense to them. Meanwhile your friends were completely convinced that your soulmate was some kind of God.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Tracey said before taking another sip of her third glass of wine. Her usually bright emerald eyes were glazed over from all of the alcohol. “Why else would it be gold?”

“You gotta admit, Tracey might be drunk right now, but she has a good point!” Skylar joined in. She took her brown eyes off the blonde and looked over at you before continuing. “Oh! What if your soulmate is like Wonder Woman or Superman or something! How cool would that be?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your own glass of wine. “Stop it. You’re both being ridiculous,” you had told them because they really were being ridiculous. There was no way your soulmate was a member of the Justice League, let alone an Amazonian Princess or the Man of Steel.

You were, of course, curious of your soulmate yourself. Who wouldn’t be curious of the person they’re destined to end up with? But you didn’t think up the crazy theories your friends and family liked to come up with. Instead you wondered things like, what kind of hobbies do they have? What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Were they a cat person or a dog person? And other things like that.

Another thing about the thread that tied you to your soulmate was that, while everyone could see the thread around your wrist, only you and soulmate could see where it led. While you had always wanted to follow it, you had decided that it would be better to focus on having a decent job and place to live first.

During that time a small part of you had hoped that maybe your soulmate would come looking for you, but since they clearly weren’t, maybe you should? After all, you had a well paying job and a great apartment, so why not? Every job was legally required to allow people time off to go search, so that wouldn’t be an issue. It was paid time off as well so you didn’t have to worry about money. You also had a car so you wouldn’t have to spend a shit ton of money on travel. At least, you hoped you wouldn’t. In truth, for all you knew, your soulmate could be in a completely different country. Now that would certainly complicate things.

Shaking that thought away (because there was no way fate could be that cruel), you got out of bed and set about putting the wheels in motion that would allow you to start following your thread

‘ Welcome to Gotham City! ’ the sign read as you drove past it. When you had told those close to you, your plan, they had been super supportive. Now, if they knew where your thread had lead you, you doubted they’d be as supportive. Hell, even you were rethinking things now. Out of all the cities for your soulmate to be in, it just had to be this one.

How did you know it was this city that they resided in and it wasn’t just another stop along the way? It was hard to explain, but you had a feeling deep within your gut, almost like a sixth sense that just yelled “Yep! This is the place!”.

You felt extremely uneasy as you drove through the city. It was night-time as well which did absolutely nothing to help. Honestly, of all the times to arrive in Gotham, night-time was definitely the worst. Well, there was nothing you could do about that now, you just had to keep on going, so you did.

The golden thread snaked through the gothic city and went from the “posh” part of the city all the way to the worst part of the city. The buildings were run down and most of the windows were boarded up. Each turn you took there were shiftier and shiftier characters on every corner. You started to get the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. Plus you were starting to wonder if you really wanted to know who your soulmate was if they were hanging out in neighbourhoods like this.

You brought your car to a stop in front of a particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway. A particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway that your golden thread lead straight into. Coming to this part of this city was already a bad idea. Continuing to follow that thread to what had to be your certain doom was even worse. Yet, at this point in your mission, you were pretty much committed.

You couldn’t help out a quiet and very nervous laugh as you climbed out of your car. ‘ This is fucking insane ,’ you thought as you stepped out of your car. Before shutting and locking it (though you doubt that would do much to protect it in this area), you grabbed your pepper spray. ‘ I really hope your worth all this .’

As you followed the thread down the alleyway, you heard a sudden loud bang. A gunshot. You stopped in your tracks and you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your thread lead in the direction the shot had come from. ‘ I really hope you weren’t involved with that .’ Taking a deep breath, you continued down the alleyway.

The alleyway lead out onto another street. There was a small crunching sound as you stepped out onto the street. Taking a step back, you looked to the ground to see what you had just stepped on. The ground was littered with small shards of glass. Looking up, you figured the shards of glass were from the bulbs from the streetlamps. Something had broken them. It didn’t take you long to figure out what, or rather who ,was responsible.

Further down the street, taking on group of ten men, was none other than Gotham’s Caped Crusader. The Batman.

You quickly ducked back into the alley you had just left. You then carefully peered around the wall, so you could watch the fight. You were well aware of the fact that your thread was leading straight toward the fight. Which meant that your soulmate was involved.

You watched the fight intensely, both intrigued and terrified to figured which one of the men was on the end of your thread. There was a voice in the back of your head praying hardcore that it was the hero in the centre of the fight.

Batman was a blur of black and dark grey as he rapidly made his way through the group of men. With a variety of different punches, kicks and gadgets, he made short work of them. During his combat flow, you followed your thread with your eyes and a small gasp left you as you realised who the other end was attached to.

Holy fuck. You’re friends had, kind of, been right. While your soulmate wasn’t Wonder Woman or Superman, like they had suggested, he was apart of the Justice League’s ‘Big Three’. Your soulmate was Batman . At least now you knew why he hadn’t come looking for you. He’d been busy saving the world.

Now you had to figure out how to approach him before he ended up disappearing into the night.

Exiting your cover, you took your thread between your finger and thumb and gently tugged on it a couple of times.

Batman looked at his end of the thread curiously as your tugs had gotten his attention. Then his head drifted upwards, following where it lead till his eyes settled on you.

If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, his eyes never leaving you. Part of you wanted to cower away from the intense stare, but you willed yourself not to. He was your soulmate, and you weren’t a criminal, you had no reason to be afraid.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, finally ending the silence between you. His voice was deep and almost robotic sounding. Probably some sort of voice modulator to help hide his identity, you figured.

“In Gotham? Yeah, this place really sucks,” you replied, thinking about all the things you had heard about this city, “but I came here to find my soulmate; to find you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice was sharp and serious as he spoke. He also sounded irritated at your sudden appearance, which caused you to frown. That couldn’t be right… could it?

“What?” You hated how meek and pathetic your voice sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Wasn’t this supposed to be a happy moment? One of the happiest in your life in fact. Instead you felt like you were being scolded rather than meeting the person who was supposed to be your other half.

“I didn’t want to meet you. Now I suggest you go home. It’s not safe here.”

What? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. There was pressure behind your eyes and your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath as you took a step backwards away from him. It quickly sunk in that the man you’d been destined to be with, the man you had thought about since you were old enough to understand the concept of a soulmate, wanted nothing to do with you.

“I-I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Your voice broke as you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. You weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. You then turned around and ran back toward where you had left your car.

As fast as you could, you started your car up and made your way to a safer part of the city. It didn’t take you long to find a somewhat empty parking lot to park in. Once the engine was off, you screamed and aggressively slammed against the wheel as you let the tears freely fall.

You felt like a complete and utter fucking idiot. Of course he didn’t want you. You’d probably just get in the way of him saving the world or something like that. Besides, what was that article you had seen a few months ago? Something about Catwoman and a relationship between the two? While it happened very rarely, some people in the world had been known to reject their soulmate because they had found someone they deemed better. Is that what had happened? Whatever the reason, you could feel your heart breaking.

You had used to think that, out of all the members of the Justice League, Batman had been one of the cooler members. Now all you could think was that he was a massive jerk.

Maybe it was your own fault for romanticising the whole thing and thinking that your meeting would be something out of a fairytale. Apparently fate was far crueller than you could have ever thought it to be.

Bruce watched as she ran away from him, back down the alleyway she had come from. A small voice in the back of his head told him to go after her. To grab her, hold her close and apologise, tell her that he hadn’t meant it. He ignored it and headed off in the opposite direction, back to where he had left the batmobile.

Over his comms, he heard a barely audible sigh and he could easily picture his butler and lifelong friend shaking his head in disappointment. No doubt he was going to get an earful once he got back to the batcave. Well it certainly wasn’t the first time.

As the batmobile pulled up in the batcave, he could see Alfred waiting for him. ‘ Here we go ,’ he thought as he got out of his car and removed his cowl.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stated as he walked past him and toward the batcomputer. He set his cowl down on the desk. Even as the words left his mouth he knew he had wasted his breath. If there was one thing that Alfred had done consistently since Bruce had started down this path, it was letting him know when he disagreed with something he did.

“Was that really necessary Master Bruce? She’s come all of this way…” Alfred started, but ended up trailing off. There was a small moment of silence before he continued. “You know, I remember a small boy who couldn’t wait to go out there and find…” Before he could finish what he was saying, Bruce promptly cut him off.

“What would you have me do, Alfred?!” His voice echoed off of the cave’s walls and disturbed some of the bats still hanging on the ceiling. Bruce gestured toward his equipment and the display cases that held some rather badly damaged batsuits. All of them testaments to injuries that had come far too close to killing him. “Would you really have me force this life on to her? The dangers, the no guarantee I’ll come home…” He took a deep breath and rested both his hands on the surface of his desk. “She deserves so much better.” His voice was quiet, but still easily heard in the, almost, silent cave.

“With all due respect, sir, I believe she should be allowed to make that decision, not you,” Alfred replied before leaving the batcave, not giving Bruce a chance to respond.

He looked in the direction of the stairs that lead up into the manor. The direction that Alfred had headed in. Was he right? Should he be leaving it up to her to decide what she wanted? But with all the dangers he faced nightly… No, it was better for him to stay far away from her.

Over the following week Bruce found himself distracted. It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing, he couldn’t focus. And considering what he did once night fell over Gotham, to say being unfocused really wasn’t good was a complete understatement of the situation. He had been having far too many close calls recently.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. The way she had looked at him as he told her he didn’t want to meet her, that she should leave. Alfred’s words echoed in his mind and he found himself questioning the decisions he had made that night. Something that Bruce rarely, if ever, did. Everything he did was meticulously planned and there was never any doubt when he made a decision. Was this what happened once you met your soulmate and rejected them?

Bruce was sure that the rest of the Justice League had taken notice. With how off beat and slow to react to certain things, it would be hard not to. Of course, if they had, none of them had mentioned it to him. Apparently they knew better. For the time being, at least. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before they did try to pry into his personal life.

Which lead him here. On the roof of the building opposite of Y/N’s apartment building. He hadn’t needed to do any extensive research to find her, or learn her name, because he had been in this exact spot a couple of years ago.

Two years ago Bruce’s own curiosity had gotten the better of him. He blamed Clark and his soulmate, a reporter by the name of Lois Lane, for it. He had seen them one too many times in the Watchtower together and had found himself wondering who exactly his soulmate was and what they was like. As a result, he had gone looking for them. Not because he wished to finally meet them, but so he could make sure his soulmate was safe and happy. And she was, so he had left. Only ever checking up on her every now and then to make sure she had stayed that way.

He looked down at the golden thread that came out of his gauntlet and lead down toward the apartment he’d been watching. Both as Bruce Wayne and Batman he had made sure to keep it well hidden. With its unique colouring he couldn’t allow anyone to see it. It would be all too easy for his enemies to find her if they did see it.

He knew that by being here he was easily undoing everything he had done to keep her safe, but, then again, had she not done exactly that when she had tracked him down in Gotham? Besides, and while he would never say it out loud, Alfred had been right. It should be up to Y/N to decide whenever or not she wanted all the baggage that came with him being in her life. Baggage that had driven more than one person from his life…

He shook that thought from his head and got up from his crouched position on the roof. Bruce then leapt from the roof and allowed himself to fall for a couple of seconds before opening up his cape and let it catch the wind that was rushing past him. He silently glided over to her apartment’s balcony.

Y/N was in her apartment alone. She was sat on her sofa, the light from the tv was the only thing illuminating the room.

Bruce was unsure of how exactly to go about this. Back in Gotham he had originally thought of approaching her as Bruce Wayne, but quickly discarded it. Bruce Wayne showing up at an out of the way apartment building was sure to garner attention. As would Batman using the front door, so the balcony had seemed to be the best option. But now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure it was.

Should he just knock? That seemed like the best way to go about this. It was going to scare the everloving daylights out of her, but he could deal with that.

He gently rapped the glass of the balcony door with his knuckles. As he had expected, Y/N leapt up from her seat. A bowl and the contents of the bowl followed her and scattered across her carpeted floor. She spun around and when she saw him, the look of shock on her face quickly turned to anger. Her eyes narrowed and he swore that glare would be enough to make even the toughest of Gotham’s thugs would cower at its intensity. Maybe she would deal with his life better than he thought.

After a minute of glaring at him, she turned around and walked toward the lightswitch. At the same time, she gestured for him to enter.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded as soon as he had entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. The rage in her voice was evident and Bruce was sure he could cut the tension in the room with a batarang.

“I came to apologise,” he said, his voice gentle despite how distorted his modulator made it sound. Y/N scoffed immediately. He didn’t blame her. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe him either. After all ‘Batman’ wasn’t exactly known for making apologies.

“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m being truthful. I… I shouldn’t have said what I said. It wasn’t right.”

“Then why did you say it?” A fair question and one he had an answer to. Before he even said it, Bruce was aware how cliché it sounded.

“I wanted to keep you safe. This life isn’t for everyone.”

“So without even meeting me, you decided that it wasn’t for me.” She shook her head. “That’s not your decision to make!” she yelled at him.

“I know. It’s been pointed out to me before.” In fact that night in the cave wasn’t the first time Alfred had told him that. “But that’s why I’m here now. To give you all the information you need to make that decision.”

You listened intently as Batman explained the dangers of the life he was leading. The dangers that effected the people in his life in one way or another. He also made it a point to reiterate the fact that when he left at night or was summoned by the Justice League there was no guarantee he would return. You asked the occasional question, but for the most part you just listened to him to talk and let his words sink in.

You got it. You understood the very clear concerns that Batman had about this whole thing, they concerned you as well, but you weren’t about to let it deter you. You wanted to know your soulmate. Even if it ended horribly, like he was saying it would, you felt it in your core that you would regret not knowing him, especially if the worst truly did happen. And you told him so.

“Even if you’re not wearing a mask, this life is dangerous. Anything can happen.”

“Anything could happen to me when I leave my apartment each day.”

The superhero life wasn’t special in that regard. As you spoke, your voice was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. In fact, as he had spoke and explained you had found your anger slowly fading. You still wanted to slap the jerk superhero before you, but that was a considerable downgrade from your overwhelming need to deck him when you first saw him standing on your balcony.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge before.”

You admired his commitment to deter you, but it wasn’t going to work. You were too stubborn to let it. Something you were positive he was learning very quickly.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you that this is a bad idea, is there?”

“Nope.” You made sure to pop the ‘p’.

Batman sighed deeply. You watched as he looked away from you and toward the golden thread that linked the two of you together. You could almost hear the gears in his brain turning as he thought. Then he was looking back up at you.

“In that case then.”

You watched as Batman brought his hands up to his cowl. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help the small gasp that left you as he removed the cowl and revealed his identity to you. Bruce Wayne. While you didn’t live in Gotham City, you were well aware of Gotham’s favoured son. You would’ve had to have lived underneath a rock to not know who he was.

And apparently your family had been right on the money, literally. Not that you cared about the money, you weren’t superficial like that. Personality was far more important than the material items someone may or may not have. In your eyes, at least.

You both stood in silence, his blue eyes studying you, probably trying to gauge how you were going to react. To be truthful, you weren’t entirely sure how to react. Except maybe…

“Well, it’s… it’s nice to meet you Bruce Wayne. I guess this is the part where we forget about what happened and start over?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Yeah, sure, this was probably going to end horribly, but you were looking forward to the adventure that lie ahead.

#bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagines #batman imagines #soulmate au #my writing

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate AU Part 4 (final part):

Uther continues to be very OOC and Merlin is presented to the Kingdom; luckily enough, everyone already loves him. The Future starts to come together...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The summer passed in much the same way the previous year had; awkwardly polite conversation between Merlin and Uther, Leon panicking at everything, Gwen being exasperated, Morgana and Merlin pissing about, and Arthur watching it all with exponentially growing fondness.

Eventually, it was Yuletide again. Yuletide meant Arthur’s 18th birthday. Arthur’s 18th birthday meant revealing Merlin to the Kingdom; announcing him as The Crown Prince’s Soulmate.

There was an odd mix of feelings surrounding the upcoming event. Both Arthur and Merlin were ecstatic at the idea of not having to hide and sneak around anymore, but Merlin was a foreign peasant boy. The common people would love him, Nobles and Foreign dignitaries? Not so much. Granted, Arthur had a powerfully intimidating presence, when he chose to display it, Morgana could glare anyone into submission, and even Leon was known to be passive aggressively threatening when it concerned Merlin’s safety and respect, but not all could be daunted into compliance. Merlin would surely face discrimination.

That, and the growing spotlight meant that it would become much harder to keep his magic a secret. With Uther’s insistence that Merlin be... part of the family, they’d already had a few close calls.

Thankfully, not much else had changed, or it had changed for the better. Arthur and Merlin still scared everyone else shitless when they popped up to each other, but Morgana’s visions seemed a lot less terrifying now. Leon still had heart palpitations when Merlin and The King were in the same room, but Gwen, Gaius, and Hunith relaxed more; the Physician especially could see the pride glowing in Uther’s eyes, and the awkward fondness he held for Merlin (even if that wouldn't protect him if Uther discovered his magic).

Nevertheless, no ones’ fears or aspirations stopped the passage of time (though Merlin, in his increasing power, had put it on his “List of Things to Try Before I Die”), and Arthur’s crowning ceremony crept closer, day by day.

Hunith, Merlin, Leon, Gwen, and Gaius were gifted front row seats to the event, and as annoyed as Uther was at having the front row taking by commoners, a servant, and a young knight, he didn’t dare argue; he’d learnt that it was pointless now. Morgana was stood behind Uther’s throne at her own seat, giving Arthur a rare smile, not a hint of teasing in her expression, and Arthur returned it easily, comforted by the dream she told him she had the previous night (of adoring crowds and a grinning Merlin) despite his nerves.

The ceremony of course went of without a hitch, a rare smile on Uther’s face, and tears on all the faces of Arthur’s front row.

After an uproarious round of applause and chants of “Long Live The King, Long Live The Prince!”, the room cleared, leaving only Uther, Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, and a few faceless guards.

(Gaius, Hunith, Gwen, and Leon rushed off, wanting to be at the front of the crowds in the courtyard when Arthur and Merlin were presented to the Kingdom.)

Merlin didn’t hesitate in rushing up the steps to Arthur, wrapping his soulmate in a tight hug and whispering his pride into his blushing ear. For once, Morgana didn’t roll her eyes at the display of affection; Arthur may have occasional spurts of arrogance, and the two of them still acted like immature children occasionally, but she loved them both dearly. Uther did roll his eyes, though he could not hide his fondness from Morgana, who raised (yet another) teasing eyebrow at him. He glared at her half-heartedly before clearing his throat, and the boys jumped apart with a start.

He wordlessly nodded towards the door of the Throne Room, and walked out regally, his steps fast and heavy and his cloak billowing behind him. Merlin and Arthur followed quickly, hand in hand, and Morgana walked closely behind them, the guards bringing up the rear. The group finally made it to the large double doors that opened out onto the balcony above the courtyard, though it was two corridors previously that they began to hear the cheering and festivities below.

Arthur could feel Merlin’s hand shaking in his own, and squeezes it comfortingly, giving him a reassuringly soft smile as he murmurs, so Uther can’t hear them:

“Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes, then we’ll come back in. You’ll be introduced to nobles and such during the feast,-”

When Merlin begins to look even more distressed, Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly and continues before his Warlock can interrupt him:

“-yes, I know, we’ll have to mingle, but this evening, it’s just us and the others. We’ll take some food and wine back to yours, and we can have some fun and all fall asleep in front of the fire together. Alright?”

Merlin takes a deep breath and nods, but before he can say anything, Uther stops his conversation with one of the guards and abruptly turns around, his face tersely concerned.

He takes one look at the boys before tutting and stepping towards them. Arthur freezes in shock as Uther begins to run a gloved hand through his hair, neatening it out and flattening it properly under the newly placed crown before stepping back again with a satisfied nod of the head. Arthur’s wide eyes stare straight ahead, and Morgana (having snuck in front of them to watch the whole ordeal) has to stop herself from snorting at his face. If she thought that was funny... well.

Next, Uther’s eyes move to Merlin, where he gives an even more disapproving tut and steps forward once more. He removes one of his gloves quickly, wetting his thumb with his tongue before wiping it just a little too harshly along Merlin’s nose, muttering-

“How the hell are you always so Godamn grubby?”

-to himself. Morgana doesn’t manage to hold in her giggles at that, clamping a hand over her mouth as she dedicates this whole scene to memory forever. Arthur is staring at his father with not even an attempt to hide his bafflement, but at this point, Uther is too busy brushing invisible lint off of Merlin’s shoulders to notice the incredulous stares from the three teenagers (and all the guards).

He finally steps back, huffing out a sigh, and muttering-

“That will have to do, I suppose.”

-before turning back to the doors and gesturing to the guards. Morgana, and Arthur have only a moment to regain their composure before they are ushered out on the balcony; Merlin staying back as he had been informed to do that morning, though he can hear the cheers get impossibly louder as the three royals greet their people.

Arthur glances back, just quickly, giving him one last smile before facing his people and standing in support of his father’s kingly speech:

“My people! Today, on this year’s Winter Solstice, my son has come of age!-”

The crowds had quietened significantly when Uther began, but another cheer went up at his words, and he paused, holding a silencing hand up:

“-I now present him to you, as Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, my successor!”

His hand moves to gesture at Arthur, and the Prince steps forward as The King steps back, a wide smile on the blonde's face as his people cheer for him. He waves back, eyes searching the crowd for Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, and Leon; they meet gazes just as Uther steps forward once more, holding his hand up again:

“There is other news! It is...-”

He looks to Arthur, settling a hand on his shoulder and giving him a small smile. His voice quietens a little, but it can still be heard by the crowd:

“-it is with great pride, that I announce-”

The moment ended as quickly as it had started as Uther turns back to the crowds below, raising his voice again:

“-that my son has found his soulmate!!-”

Arthur had been expecting loud cheers, but their audience grows quiet and still at the announcement, as if frozen in suspense. As he peers over the stone barrier, he can see almost everyone in the crowd pairing off slightly, pulling their soulmates closer as they wait with baited breath to see their Prince’s partner.

Inside, Merlin takes a deep breath, but relaxes slightly when he sees Arthur unclench his own nervous fist, holding it behind him in preparation, invitation, for Merlin to take it in just a few moments:

“-I present to you, a close family friend of the royals,-”

(Morgana scoffs and rolls her eyes, but thankfully no one is paying her any attention.)

“-a skilled physician in training, and a trusted citizen of this Great Kingdom,-”

He gestures towards the door behind him, and Merlin takes his first shaky step forward, coming into line with Arthur as Uther finishes:

“Merlin, of Ealdor!”

Arthur and Merlin walk to the front of the balcony, hand in hand, as the loudest cheers Merlin has ever heard explode from the crowd. Despite the thunderous noise, Merlin can still pick out the cheers of his mother, uncle, friend, and older brother, and the leisurely applause from Morgana behind him, and he smiles in spite of his nerves. Arthur squeezes his hand once more, and they raise their joined fists to the crowds as they grin, struggling to hold in their laughter at the sheer amount of joy on the faces of everyone (bar Uther, of course, he just looked marginally happy) present.

Merlin has become even more recognised around the kingdom; normally seen trailing Gaius (who is also well-known, and well-loved) or, as inappropriate as it might be (at least according to Uther’s council), hanging around with Morgana and Gwen during the day. The castle’s servants and the majority of the knights had guessed that Merlin was the soulmate of either Prince Arthur or the Lady Morgana, what with how often he was with them and the way King Uther was apparently ok with that, and gossip spread like wildfire. But the loud cheers just drive home how well-loved Merlin is, and he tears up in response.

Merlin and Arthur finally step away from the edge of the balcony, and Uther continues his address of the people, though it passes by in a bit of a blur for Merlin, and he tunes out fairly quickly. He’s vaguely aware of Arthur running a soft thumb over his knuckles, and Morgana stepping towards him to clutch the edge of his tunic (loud crowds had never been her thing), but the speech and the cheering are drowned out by his racing thoughts.

Uther’s speech finally came to an end and the crowd dissipated. The King rushed off immediately, after sending what could almost be described as a respectfully fond nod in Merlin’s direction, but Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin luckily had nothing pressing to attend to before the feast, and had around an hour of time to waste (read: relax).

Despite Leon escorting the three of them to Merlin and Hunith’s home dressed in full armour, sword strapped to his hip, the journey took twice as long as it normally did, with various nobles and citizens alike wanting to stop them in the street and congratulate them. Arthur and Merlin were endlessly polite and extremely grateful for the support of their (now shared) people, but Leon’s forceful insistence that they “have somewhere important to be, My Lords, My Lady” went quietly thanked.

Hunith, Gaius, and Gwen met them at the house, and a round of tight hugs was shared; all staring fondly when Hunith wouldn’t let Merlin go for love nor money, whispering tearful exclamations of pride in his ear.

The hour felt like it passed in mere minutes, but it was enough time at least for Merlin to relax a little. Morgana and Gwen helped Hunith get ready, and Merlin definitely did NOT tear up when she came out of her room dressed like royalty, a string of Morgana’s pearls around her neck. Arthur and Morgana had deliberately stored a spare set of clothes here so they didn’t have to go back to the castle to change, and the Prince just about managed to force Merlin into a new jacket and cloak (”Why?!” “Because you have to, it’s protocol, you have to be dressed differently.” “That’s fucking stu-” “Merlin, I love you, but shut up and get changed.” “...Prat.” ) .

The seating arrangements weren’t too terrible. As per normal, Uther sat at the head of the table, with Arthur around the corner on the King’s right and Morgana to his left. Merlin sat in between Arthur and his mother; Leon was, unfortunately, on guard duty, though thankfully he was being assigned to Prince Duty (training, hunts, patrols, bodyguard, etc) more and more, meaning he was stood at the wall behind the two boys.

Thankfully, the only stranger anywhere near Merlin was a respected Camelot noble seated opposite him, and he seemed far more interested in boasting about his son to the King in the hopes of winning him a knighthood than he was in Merlin, and payed barely any attention to him other than the occasional distasteful glare (they did not go unnoticed by Arthur, and simply guaranteed that his prick of a son wasn’t going to end up anywhere near a sword).

So all in all, the feast wasn’t too bad. Merlin’s stomach was turning a little, but Arthur’s hand on his thigh under the table and his mother’s shoulder occasionally brushing against his own calmed him right down, though he still kept well away from any alcohol or too-rich foods, worried about making a fool of himself or turning his stomach even more.

The Gang also had Gwen serving them. Morgana had given up on her pleas to have her join them at the table fairly quickly; she could argue with Uther endlessly on many things, but she knew she was never going to win this one. At Guinevere’s insistence that today wasn’t about her, and Morgana shouldn’t ruin Uther’s tenuous good mood on Arthur’s birthday AND coronation AND soulmate-reveal-day, she gave in. But Merlin appreciated the feeling of friendly eyes, both Leon’s and Gwen’s, on his back for the course of the feast.

Just like during the celebrations of Arthur’s knighting ceremony, the tables were cleared from the room to make way for music and dancing, though this time Arthur and Merlin didn’t have to hide their partnership.

Merlin’s stomach turned more at the mingling he was forced to do, answering awkward questions about the purity of his blood and where he came from and his education and his understanding of social etiquette, almost all of which were phrased in condescending and/or downright spiteful ways. But the way Arthur’s arm, looped through his, tensed, and the scowl the Prince sported when Merlin couldn’t bring himself to, partnered with Leon’s comforting shadow (and even Uther’s, when the question’s strayed into cruelty) made him feel at least justified in his discomfort.

Morgana, at the quiet request of Merlin, spent the entire night by Hunith’s side, shielding her from the malicious glaring of nobles who felt cheated by her accidental winning of a position in the royal family. She was granted at least a little respect due to her being a relation of Gaius, who was highly respected and close to the King, but that was about as far as her favour went, and she was eternally grateful for Morgana’s steadfast presence and silent-but-deadly brand of defence.

The night passed slowly, but not so unpleasantly that Merlin was too desperate for it to end, though that changed rather jarringly when he found himself without Arthur for the first time. The Prince and Merlin had been stood next to each other, though involved in different conversations; thankfully for Merlin, he had been having a rather lovely chat about country-life with the wife of a knight. It was when she was pulled away by her husband to converse with another that Merlin realised that Arthur had also been pulled away by whoever it was he had been talking to.

Merlin tensed when he couldn’t immediately spot his soulmate through the crowd, but took a calming breath when he did spot Leon stood dutifully against the opposite wall, Guinevere next to him. That was fine, it wasn’t Arthur, but it was better than nothing, and he allowed his anxiety to swirl in his lungs for only a moment before he began his soft-stepped journey across the hall.

He caught Leon’s eye, thankfully, and the knight frowned slightly at the empty space next to him before sending a reassuring smile his way, nodding in encouragement and understanding.

Alas, he only made it halfway when he was stopped by a rather harsh hand on his shoulder.

He turns around, barely swallowing a gasp and a flinch, only to come face to face with the noble he had been sat opposite during the feast. The hand was uncomfortably tight on his shoulder, and Merlin wanted more than anything to push it away, but instead he forced a smile on his face and bowed his head respectfully, hoping beyond hope that Arthur would make a reappearance or Leon would see his discomfort and be able to come up with an excuse to abandon his post:

“Lord Otto, a pleasure to see you again.”

The drunken Lord let out a huff of sarcastic laughter, pressing his thumb even more severely into Merlin’s collarbone:

“Hmm, a pleasure indeed. Tell me boy, how is it that you, a peasant, think yourself worthy of such a magnificent soulmate?”

Merlin’s eyes widen in shock. No one had been so obviously disdainful, but the over-indulgence in alcohol, the Lord’s privileged seat at the table, and Merlin's lack of any sort of protector had evidently given him a boost in confidence. Merlin stuttered for a few moments, not quite sure what to say, before quietly coming out with:

“Well... I... don’t really know, I-”

He’s interrupted by a far softer hand on his other shoulder, but is even more shocked when, instead of Leon or Arthur, he found The King stood by his side, flicking an incredibly scornful gaze between Lord Otto’s hand and face. It does nothing to dissuade the Lord, and Merlin can’t disguise his wince this time when the hand once again tightens it’s grip.

Merlin had hoped he’d been subtle, but the clenching of Uther’s jaw tells him he had not been; before he can worry about what social rule he had broken and how Uther was going to punish him for it, The King finally settled his glare on Otto’s face:

“I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy’s person, and refrain from making such improper inquiries.”

His cold tone almost sends a shiver down Merlin’s spine, but the confusion of having Uther being in defence of him (a Warlock) stops the reaction before it even starts. The Lord glances up at the crown sitting strongly on Uther’s head, seemingly reminding himself of his company, before dropping his hand from Merlin’s shoulder as if he’d been burned.

He bows his head shallowly, making himself look as subservient as his pride could manage, and Uther gives him a barely restrained look of disgust when he looks up again, interrupting any quivering apologies he might have made:

“It’s getting rather late, and you’ve indulged enough for one night, do you not think? I suggest you end your evening here, Lord Otto.”

All three knew that it was not a suggestion, and Otto bows once more before muttering a humiliated, red-faced “Right you are, Your Majesty” and waddling out of the hall, towards the guest chambers.

Merlin let out a breath, his face just a little flushed as Uther spares him a quick, concerned glance before pushing him gently towards an on-going conversation between Arthur and a group of knights on the other side of the band. Merlin lets out a relieved breath when he sees his partner, but quickly frowns in concern when he then sees the tense line of Arthur’s shoulders and the way his eyes were darting around the room. He’s obviously paying only the shallowest of attention to the conversation at hand; but then they meet gazes, and the tension drains out of him as he sends a relieved smile Merlin’s way.

Arthur politely excuses himself from the conversation, using the blinding smile that only made an appearance when he was manipulating courtiers and nobles, before making his way through the crowd towards Merlin, evidently trying to disguise his desperation. Merlin was absent-mindedly aware of Uther keeping pace with him, the supportive hand on his shoulder-blade not leaving even when Merlin sped up slightly.

(If Merlin had been thinking about anything other than just being at Arthur’s side again, he would’ve found the odd mix of disgust and gratitude for Uther’s presence very confusing.)

They finally reach each other and Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand gently, pulling him to his side and landing a soft kiss to his cheek. Uther finally removes his hand from Merlin’s back, and it’s the absence of touch that reminds Merlin of The King’s presence. He turns quickly, hand safely in Arthur’s grip, to give Uther a flushed, timid smile:

“I... uh... thank you, My Lord.”

Uther gives him a tight smile, though you’d have to be blind to miss the slight fondness in his expression as he shakes his head:

“Hmm, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get Otto out of here for at least an hour, the man is intolerable, his incessant rambling about his unremarkable son even more so.”

Merlin nodded awkwardly and tightened his hold on Arthur’s hand, but before either boy can say anything, Uther lets out a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and settling hesitant hands on one of their shoulders each:

“I... am proud of you both, and I wish you all the happiness in the world. One day, this Kingdom shall be yours, and it will be golden under your rule.”

Merlin almost manages to forget the whole... unforgivable genocide thing, and gives The King a weak, though grateful smile, running his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles when he feels the blonde shake slightly. Arthur tears up at Uther’s words, but thankfully manages to keep his voice steady as he quietly replies:

“Thank you, father, we will do everything in our power to live up to your legacy.”

(An utter lie, considering they plan on undoing pretty much everything he’s known for the moment they come into power, but Uther doesn’t need to know that, and the sentiment remains.)

Uther gives Arthur one last gentle smile, before lowering his hands and straightening his posture, going from awkwardly doting father to detached mighty King within a second. He nods at each of them before turning and walking regally away, his cloak billowing behind him and his golden crown shining atop his head.

Arthur tilts his head in question and tugs Merlin’s hand slightly when he sees the small frown on the younger’s face:

“Merls? What did Otto do? He didn't hurt you, did he?!”

Merlin looked up at him in shock before blinking away the surprise and chuckling:

“Ah, no, nothing like that, just asked how a peasant ended up with such a magnificent soulmate.-”

Arthur looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended on Merlin’s behalf, so he settled for an odd mix of the two:

“-That didn’t bother me though, it was... Uther called me his boy.”

Arthur dropped his chin slightly in shock:

“He what?”

Merlin shrugged:

“He said “I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy”. It was very... disconcerting, and oddly endearing considering what he’d do if he knew what I was.”

He whispered the last part quietly, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise before chuckling quietly:

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day. My father being protective of a commoner and telling me how proud he is all in one evening, perhaps the world is ending.”

Merlin snorts, rolling his eyes and softly responding:

“Hmm. He may be a bit of a prat, but he does love you, and he has his moments.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at Merlin good-naturedly, a smirk dangerously close to breaking out on his face:

“You know Merlin, you may be right, but you’re still the only person I allow to say it aloud without sanction.”

Merlin just smirks and raises an eyebrow; Arthur laughs, and the world feels right.

It was late by the time Arthur and Merlin finally decided to call it quits. Morgana, Gaius, and Hunith had left around an hour ago, Gwen following them the moment her shift ended. Technically, someone had come to take over from Leon about halfway through the night, but he stuck around, patrolling the shadows of the room with one eye on Merlin always.

(The boys had insisted that he should go home and relax, but were quietly grateful when he stayed.)

They had been wanting to leave for hours, and normally they could easily get away with such an absence, but this particular celebration was in their honour, it wouldn't do to leave too early, so they finally made their way out of the hall when the crowds had halved and it was approaching midnight.

Uther gave them one last pat on the back when they said goodbye, and the tension practically melted off them when they stepped foot outside, despite the freezing temperatures of winter in the dead of night.

Leon stepped out just a moment after them, and the three of them make quick work of the journey to the house, not wanting to dally in the frigid air and just a little desperate to find themselves in the comforting presence on the family they had built.

They arrive just in time to find Hunith pouring out mugs of hot chocolate (a luxury that Merlin and Hunith never had in Ealdor), and Gwen adding another log to the fire. The next round of hugs was quicker than the last; everyone was tired and eager to settle down, to push the insensitive questions to the back of their minds and revel in the positive feeling of things moving forward.

Arthur had removed his cloak immediately upon entry, folding it precisely and leaving it on the table in the hall, his golden circlet following shortly after, cushioned by the soft fabric, but Merlin excused himself to their bedroom, changing into comfier clothes and washing his face. He had been looking forward to leaving all night, but now that he was home, he found all he wanted to do was collapse in bed and sleep, Arthur securely in his arms.

A knock at the door broke him out of his slow moving thoughts, and he frowned slightly, Arthur wouldn’t knock:

“Come in.”

It was Leon that opened the door, having rid himself of his sword and most of his armour (a pain in the arse, considering he’ll have to wake up early to put it all on again, but oh well), and he stepped into the room, quietly shutting the door again behind him. Merlin sent him a tired smile, but Leon saw through it and raised an eyebrow:

“You alright, Birdy? Anyone in particular you’d like me to embarrass during training or council meetings?”

Merlin laughed and shook his head:

“No, that definitely won’t endear me to people. Honestly, it was a lot better than I was expecting, and having Arthur scowling at people and Uther defending me was rather entertaining in the end.”

Leon snorted, muttering a quietly amused “yeah, I bet” before stepping forward and enveloping Merlin in a tight hug, one hand on his back, one in his hair, holding him close. Merlin melted into the embrace, clutching the back of Leon’s tunic tightly as the older man swayed on his feet slightly, murmuring:

“I’m proud of you, little brother. You handled everything just fine, the kingdom loves you; you’re doing great.”

Merlin lets out a deep breath and steps back, though was grateful to feel Leon’s hands still on his shoulders as he replies:

“Thank you. Honestly, I’m just exhausted, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this for the rest of my life, and I... I don’t want to disappoint Arthur.”

Leon rolled his eyes good-naturedly and ruffled Merlin’s hair:

“You could never. He loves you more than anything in this world, Birdy, you’re made for each other, after all. He would abandon all of this in a heartbeat if he thought it would make you happy.”

Merlin frowns slightly, clenching his jaw:

“Yeah, I know, that’s what worries me. We’re meant to... bring about a golden age or whatever, and we can’t do that if we leave, but I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at the... politics, or the court manipulation or anything that comes with... with running a Kingdom. I know it’s a long way off but...-”

Leon nods in understanding and squeezes Merlin’s shoulder softly:

“You’ve got plenty of time to learn. And hey, if you want to stay away from the politics? Fine, Arthur and Morgana have plenty of expertise in that area. You’re a physician, Merls, not a courtier, and the kingdom already loves you, not because you’re a good politician or anything like that, but because you’re a good person, and you’re worth loving. Just keep being yourself and you’ll be absolutely fine. And besides, you’ll always have us lot to fall back on when you’re unsure; you’ll never be alone, little brother, I’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods and sniffles slightly at Leon’s words, giving him another tight hug. They step back into the hall, and Leon gives Merlin’s hand a gentle squeeze:

“Ready? I can tell them you headed to bed, if you just want some sleep?”

Merlin smiles and shakes his head, pulling Leon to the living room, where everyone is undoubtedly crowded around the fire surrounded by blankets and pillows.

From that day forth, Merlin’s life becomes a lot more... official.

He was officially given sword-fighting lessons by a few of the older knights, though thanks to the lessons Leon, Arthur, and Morgana had given him already, he held his own pretty well, and they were more than impressed with the skill level of someone they had assumed was a complete beginner.

He was officially invited to the occasional council meeting (at least the boring, everyday ones). He was always a silent spectator, his participation discouraged, though his presence expected; Arthur always made a point to ask his opinions afterwards though.

His new duties and lessons, on top of his pre-existing duties as the Physician’s Apprentice, AND having to keep his magic hidden and his reputation intact, was all somewhat overwhelming for Merlin, but the steadfast support of Arthur and Morgana when it concerns politics, and Gaius talking Uther down when The King wants Merlin to be more involved in court life, definitely help him in everyday life. Gwen’s hugs and Leon’s hair ruffling are certainly God-sends as well.

The oddest thing was the way people addressed Merlin now. He wasn’t even of age yet, but people were calling him Lord, and servants bowed at him in the corridor. There wasn’t much he could do about the nobles without making some incredible social faux pas, but he always flushed at the servants and insisted they stop bowing and just call him Merlin, at least when no one else is around.

Thankfully, both visitors to the Kingdom and local nobles tone down the snootiness, especially when Uther publicly shows Merlin respect and rumours (correct rumours) spread of Arthur and Morgana’s protectiveness.

Merlin’s birthday was celebrated minimally, though there was, once again, a mix of feelings upon the realisation that he was now only one year away from being of age, and things would surely get even more intense when that happened. But they all tried to push it from their minds, at least for the time being.

As winter broke and the sun came up on what was undoubtedly a Spring day, Merlin felt the most refreshed he had in a long time, though his mood dropped instantly when he, Arthur, and Morgana were summoned to Uther’s private study... only to be given another mini, awkward “I’m proud of you” speech, and given a week off.

Of course, Arthur was still somewhat expected to keep up with his training at least a little, but really, there was nothing forcing him to.

They exited the study flushed with pride and excitement at the prospect of doing whatever the hell they wanted for a week, and met Gwen in the hall. She was worrying her lip between her teeth when they saw her, but she instantly relaxed and raised a questioning eyebrow when she saw the grins on their faces, and Morgana explained what had happened.

It was that evening, whilst relaxing in Arthur’s chambers, that Merlin heard the dreaded echo of “Emrys...” in his head.

He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, out of both frustration and the pain of another’s voice unexpectedly materializing on the inside of one’s skull.

It was just Arthur and Merlin in the room, and the Prince immediately moved from his own chair to kneel in front of his soulmate, running his hands up and down Merlin’s arms as he shakily asks:

“Merls? What’s wrong?”

Merlin just looks up at him blearily, one hand taking Arthur’s and the other rubbing his temple:

“Fucking... scaly arsehole.”

Arthur tenses and frowns as he answers:

“I thought he had given up months ago? Why is he calling you now?”

Merlin shrugs, slumping back in his seat:

“Who knows, he didn’t say, he just-”

“It’s important, bring your little... friends, if it makes you feel any better.”

“-never mind. He just said it’s important, and I can bring my “little friends” if I want.-”

He snorted in dry amusement before continuing:

“-as if I would’ve listened if he told me to go alone anyway. I really thought that me thinking “Fuck Off” as loud as I could helped him get the hint. Apparently not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes before looking to Merlin in concern:

“Well... do you want to go? Or do you want to just hope he goes away again?”

Merlin sighs, but before he can answer, the voice echoes once again:

“I will not go away this time, young Warlock. This is important, and I have very little else to entertain myself with, other than being an annoyance to you. Come.”

He huffs in frustration, standing abruptly and taking Arthur’s hand, dragging him to where their swords are kept as he grumbles:

“He’s not going away this time. Let’s fetch Leon and head down.”

Arthur dutifully follows, strapping his sword to his hip and locking the chamber doors behind them, not speaking until they were approaching Leon’s door:

“No Morgana or Gwen?”

Merlin halts, clenching his hands tightly as he thinks for a moment:

“Hmm. No, I don’t want to freak them out. We can tell them what happens later, but I don’t want Morgana to have to face him again.”

Arthur nods, and knocks quietly on Leon’s door. He opens quickly, and Arthur and Merlin are thankful that they didn’t wake him, though quickly notice his panic when he sees their grave faces and swords.

The explanation is quick, and within a few minutes the trio are making a stealthy journey down to the Dragon’s Lair. There are no dramatic appearances this time, the great lizard is already perched regally on the edge of the platform, waiting for them.

He tilts his head when he sees their tense forms at the gate:

“I’m grateful that you did not bring the Witch.”

Arthur and Leon look to Merlin in confusion as he bristles, tightening his grip on the sword at his hip as he speaks:

“Yeah, well, I didn’t fancy you trying to kill my best friend again. What do you want?”

The dragon does what the trio guesses is the closest to an eye roll and dramatic sigh that his great form can manage, before lowering his head and speaking in English:

“If you won’t listen to me, I suggest you use your new found, though temporary freedom to meet with the Druids. They have all relevant information on the prophecies, you can learn of your destinies from them. The closest camp is a day’s ride from the Eastern border of Camelot.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, but Arthur beats him to it:

“And how would you know that? How did you know we had time off?”

The dragon tilts his head and huffs out a dry laugh, the hot air making the trio sweat under their thick cloaks (it may have been Spring, but it was still cold) :

“I know a great many things, young King.”

Merlin and Arthur can practically feel the way Leon tenses, even from a few paces away. The man, ever the knight, was obviously incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that this dragon knew the goings on of the world, could listen in on conversations, all while being chained in the basement. Before either knight can say anything, Merlin tilts his head, a challenging look on his face as he regards the dragon:

“You... you keep saying destiny, but destiny is pre-written, the whole point is that it’s going to happen no matter what anyone involved does, no matter the interference. So why are you so desperate to have us know it, and work towards it? Us knowing or not knowing won’t alter things either way, unless it’s all a pile of shit and you’re manipulating us.”

Arthur smirks at Merlin’s quick mind and Leon looks impressed, the two of them turning their own challenging gazes on the rather thoughtful looking reptile. He mutters something along the lines of “you weren’t so bloody clever last time,” before lowering himself even closer to the ground, closer to Merlin:

“If I were manipulating you, then I wouldn’t send you to a third party known for being pacifist and unbiased, would I? Destiny isn’t completely certain, it is simply one of many likelihoods, the most... benefitting likelihood, is the destiny of you and your soulmate.”

Merlin scowls:

“Benefitting for who? Something tells me that one day you’re going to ask us for something, and we’ll be powerless to say no, thanks to all this... help you’re giving us, and it’ll be a mistake. So, benefitting who?”

The dragon shifts his jaw in such a way that resembles a smirk, speaking once again in the rasping language that Leon and Arthur don’t understand:

“Do you not want magic, yourself, your people, to be free, Emrys?”

He raises himself to his full height, stalking towards the ledge and stretching his leathery wings out. The trio manage to hold their ground in his dauntingly large presence, but their hands do tighten around their weapons:

“Go to the Druids, tell them Kilgharrah sent you.”

With that, he tips himself over the edge, falling for a second before snapping his wings out once again and shooting upwards towards the shadow-bathed ceiling, thick chain clanging loudly with the sudden movement.

Merlin huffs and turns to ascend the steps without another word, grumbling to himself about “stupid fucking dragons” and “my one week off and I have to deal with this shit” . Leon and Arthur look to each other with a shrug and a mix of genuine concern and mild amusement on their faces, before hurriedly following Merlin back through the castle.

Thankfully, it took almost no effort for Arthur and Morgana to get Uther to allow them to leave the Kingdom on their little vacation. It being under the guise of “visiting Ealdor” meant that it was perfectly within the realm of reasonable requests to have Leon tag along as “protection” as well. Guinevere was coming because they of course would need a servant whilst they were out and about (though Uther was definitely beginning to suspect that something more was at play between Morgana and the serving girl).

Unfortunately, Hunith was unable to get the week off work at such short notice (mother of the Prince’s soulmate or not), and there was no way they’d be able to justify asking The King for Gaius to tag along, so they didn’t even try. But they set out the next afternoon, having filled Gwen and Morgana in on Kilgharrah’s rather vague and annoying directions.

Neither of them were particularly happy that they had gone to see the Dragon without them or that they were just... doing what he said, but destiny or no, consulting the Druids on Morgana’s visions and Merlin’s magic was still a good idea, and they’d never get a better chance.

Just like Kilgharrah said, they found the Druid camp two days into their journey from the city, almost a day’s ride beyond Camelot’s border. They had to be careful, wear disguises, but they were travelling through virtually untouched wood so they didn’t run into anyone, not even a pesky group of bandits made an appearance.

When the first tents came into sight through the trees, the group stopped to take a breath and prepare themselves, giving each other one last round of dubious looks before beginning to walk again.

They barely make it to their third step when Merlin pauses and takes a stuttering breath, clenching his fingers around Arthur’s sleeve in a white-knuckled grip. The others crowd around him worriedly, but relax (only slightly) when he looks more confused than anything else. Before they can ask what’s wrong, he peers between them towards the tents:

“Uh... how are you- are you Druid? Is this one of you?”

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realises:

“Someone’s in your head again?”

Merlin nods distractedly but doesn’t move his gaze, speaking louder:

“Hello??”

Finally, a middle-aged man steps out from the camp; he wears floor length, dark green robes, and his silver hair almost falls to his shoulders. He gives the group a kind smile before finally focusing in on Arthur and Merlin, bowing his head slightly:

“My Lords. Our seers saw you coming some days ago, and we felt your presence the moment you entered our wood, Emrys.”

Merlin clenches his jaw slightly:

“Please don’t call me that, my name is Merlin... and... Kilgharrah sent us?”

He says it as if it’s a question and the Druid gives Merlin an assessing gaze, before nodding slightly. Before he can verbally respond, Leon steps subtly in front of the others. Morgana rolls her eyes at his protectiveness and Arthur huffs, but before they can challenge him, he asks:

“What do you mean, you felt his presence?”

He tilts his head again and smiles slightly, as though amused:

“Em- Merlin is rather powerful; we can sense him from miles away, his magic is incredibly... distinctive.”

Merlin frowns, holding Arthur’s hand protectively in his own as he side-steps Leon:

“What does that even mean? I’m not that powerful.”

The man shakes his head slightly and gestures behind him:

“Come. I imagine you have many questions about many things. The camp awaits your presence, My Lord.”

Merlin frowns at the title, but the Druid turns his back and begins walking back into the centre of the camp before he can challenge it. He gives a small shrug and a quiet “well, here we go” to the others before following his trail, Arthur’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

They all receive peculiar looks as they walk through the camp. Life seems to stop as everyone pauses what they’re doing to stare at the intruding teenagers (and Leon), but they keep their heads down, all letting out a relieved sigh when the man leads them to a tent, gesturing for them to sit around a table, and closing the fabric gently behind him.

He turns around with relaxed shoulders and an easy smile, not acknowledging that none of them are sat down and are instead gathered in a huddle by the table:

“My name is Iseldir. Druids don’t have strict hierarchies, but I’m considered the chieftain here, welcome.”

He looks at Merlin as he speaks, and the young Warlock nods slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it again with furrowed brows; Iseldir raises an eyebrow and Merlin hums thoughtfully before trying again:

“I was going to introduce everyone, but something tells me that you already know who we are.”

Iseldir smiles again and nods, the expression on his face looking something similar to pride:

“Yes, I know who you all are. I see that you are learning to trust your instincts, My Lord.”

Merlin grimaces:

“It’s just Merlin, please. It’s bad enough that everyone at the castle calls me Lord now, I’m not even of age yet.”

The Chieftain’s smile widens in amusement as he nods, and Morgana is the next to speak up, her hand clutched tightly in Gwen’s as her voice shakes only slightly:

“We were sent here to learn about our... destinies?”

Iseldir nods, politely ignoring the way Merlin reaches behind him to grab Morgana’s wrist comfortingly, and how Leon and Arthur rest their hands near their swords:

“I have everything we need laid out here; it isn’t too complicated and we should get through all of it by this evening.”

The teenagers finally move to the seats, but make no effort to hide the way they shuffle the furniture to be sat closer together. Morgana and Merlin are sat in the middle, Arthur and Gwen flanking them protectively; Leon remains standing, a hand on each of his magical kid’s shoulders and a blank, though slightly challenging look on his face. Iseldir raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, moving to sit on the opposite side of the table and shuffling a few papers around before looking up with a smile:

“Let us begin.”

The general mood of the room could be judged accurately by how tense Leon was at any one moment. Though he remained standing, he was relaxed and curious when Iseldir told them about the extent of Merlin’s powers (which Merlin looked incredibly dubious at), and he smiled proudly when they were told of Merlin and Arthur’s intertwined destinies (the nature of their soul-bond means he already knew they had some sort of great future, and this only proved it).

It was when Iseldir hesitated slightly as he gave Morgana a pitying look that Leon tensed up, and tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“You must all remember that destinies are... tricky. They are incredibly difficult to avoid, but it isn’t impossible; the future is not set in stone.-”

Morgana takes a deep breath and straightens her back, taking Merlin’s hand in her own and settling her face into a determined grimace:

“Just come out with it. Just tell me.”

Iseldir gives her a comforting smile as he nods, turning a sheet of incredibly ancient looking paper over and pushing it across the table towards them. On the scroll is a old, rough charcoal drawing of a woman with long, dark hair, her clothes somehow elegant and tatty at the same time. Her face is covered by a hood, but her arms are outstretched and violent looking flames extend from her hands, burning and destroying all the foliage drawn around the edge of the paper.

Morgana reaches a shaking hand out to touch the drawing but withdraws her hand before she makes contact, ignoring the tears gathering in her eyes as she looks up at Iseldir again:

“That’s me, isn’t it? Burning things?”

Iseldir nods slowly before speaking, his voice low and gentle, understanding:

“It is said that if you come into your full power, you will unite with The Once and Future King’s Bane. Your heart will freeze over, you will become consumed by hatred and fear and bitterness, and you will work tirelessly to bring about the downfall of Camelot, the downfall of Albion.-”

Arthur interrupts:

“Albion?”

Iseldir moves his gaze to the Prince, giving him a tight smile as he explains:

“The Kingdoms to be united under one name, Albion, with yourself as King.-”

He looks back to Morgana, his smiles turning just a little encouraging:

“-Like I said, the future is not set in stone. Arthur’s Bane came into existence several years ago, we’re keeping close watch on him; he has yet to show any... troubling, signs, nor have you.”

Merlin scowls slightly in though, before slowly saying:

“Arthur’s Bane is... a person?”

Iseldir raises an eyebrow and nods, letting out a breath of subtle relief when Merlin seems more genuinely worried than murderous.

Gwen is the next to speak up, her voice strong and her face determined:

“None of that is happening,-”

She reaches forward and aggressively turns the scroll over, squeezing Morgana’s hand as she continues:

“-not ever.”

Leon’s gasp has everyone’s eyes drawn to the overturned sheet, only to see a colourful image appear on the paper. The first figure to materialize is clearly Morgana, though in this drawing she is grinning, hood down, eyes golden and flowers in her hair. Next, Merlin and Gwen appear either side of her, Merlin’s eyes also glowing as he summons matching flowers in Gwen’s hair, Gwen who is pressing a kiss to Morgana’s cheek. Leon and Arthur appear next, in full armour with bright grins, a golden crown on Arthur’s head.

Iseldir chuckles, looking up at Merlin who is giving himself a satisfied nod as the golden glow fades from his eyes:

“Trusting your instincts indeed; you didn’t even need an incantation, very impressive.”

Merlin shrugs before turning to Morgana with a grin. She returns it with a shaky one of her own, once again feeling not-quite-so-scared thanks to the ever-comforting presence of her family.

They slept that night in a large tent that had been prepared for them, and were woken up early the next morning. They were given a proper tour of the camp and introduced to a few people.

Leon had questions about how the camp was run, in terms of enforcing rules and staying safe, so he was quickly introduced to a few of the elders. Whilst he had been reluctant to leave the others at first, Arthur’s teasing laughter and Morgana’s rolled eyes convinced him to spend the day away from them, learning about as much of Druid politics as he could.

Merlin and Morgana were quickly introduced to the strongest magic users, and whilst Merlin was taken aside to be given some lessons on healing using magic, Morgana was taught meditation techniques and breathing exercises by the camp’s most respected Seer.

Gwen sticks mostly with Merlin; whilst she had no magic to heal with, the herbal knowledge that was being shared was fascinating and she was eager to memorise as much of it as possible. She of course wandered over to check on Morgana occasionally, at first out of concern, but then out of pride, out of a desperation to never forget how relaxed and happy and at-home her soulmate looks.

Arthur spends the morning with Merlin, but quickly grows bored. Perhaps he should take more interest in healing considering how often he and the knights get injured, but he’s already got Merlin, Gaius, and now Gwen, so why waste the effort? Instead, he finds Morgana and the Seer. The sense of relief he feels to see his sister looking so at ease with such an easy smile gracing her face is almost overwhelming, but he doesn’t disturb them, sitting a little way away and silently watching them.

The Prince didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep until the tell-tale pop and the sudden shadow of someone stood above him jolts him from his nap. He opens his eyes blearily to see Merlin crouching next to him, an amused smile on his face and his hand out-stretched:

“Come on sleepy head, the others are waiting for us, it’s time to eat.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, allowing Merlin to pull him up before he stretches and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The sun was only an hour or so away from touching the horizon and he could see no one else in the little patch of woods Morgana had previously been sat in:

“Morgana?”

Merlin smiles softly, taking Arthur’s hand and leading him back towards the tents:

“Happy. She joined me a couple hours ago and we were practicing some simple spells, turns out she has more magic than just visions-”

At Arthur’s slightly affronted expression, Merlin chuckles and rolls his eyes:

“-You were exhausted, Arthur, don’t deny it. You got this holiday because of how hard you’ve been working, we didn’t want to wake you. We’ll show you a few tricks tomorrow alright?”

Arthur pouts and huffs slightly, fighting the smile trying to appear on his face as he nodded his agreement. Merlin just laughed at him again as they entered the meal tent, finding spaces with the other three.

The next morning was just as relaxed, though this time the five of them stayed together.

Leon, Arthur, and Gwen sat against a fallen log as they watched Merlin and Morgana show their magic off. A small audience of Druids had gathered as well, on account of Lord Emrys’ presence, and whilst Morgana tired quickly, not used to having such free access to the magic that had been inside her for years, Merlin could go for hours. He used few actual incantations, manipulating water and flowers and floating lights with just a little concentration and some imprecise waving of his hands.

Noon, unfortunately, came rather quickly, at which point Leon sighed and stood up, giving Merlin a sad smile before looking to Arthur:

“If we want to be home with a day to spare, we should start the journey soon.”

Arthur nodded in agreement and the rest of the group joins Leon in standing. The Druids disperse fairly quickly, but Iseldir stays with them, giving Merlin a pat on the back and a wide smile:

“It was a pleasure to have you here My Lor- Merlin.”

Merlin snorts in amusements but nods his appreciation, and the five of them wander over to their tent to gather their belongings whilst Iseldir collects the horses.

It’s only half a candle mark before they’re riding back out into the forest in the direction of Camelot. The teachers and elders, including Iseldir, wave them off with proud smiles, and whilst Merlin and Morgana are sad to leave this sanctuary behind, they were grateful for the freedom and safety and lessons they’d had, even if it was less than two days. Their utter faith that things would change when Arthur took the crown, that one day Camelot would feel just as safe, gave them something beautiful to look forward to as well.

Their journey home was just as uneventful as the journey out. When they finally pulled up into the courtyard with a day and a half of their free week left, Leon took everyone’s horses to the stable and informed a servant to tell the King of their arrival, whilst the others headed straight to Merlin and Hunith’s house. They had to wait for Hunith and Gaius to finish their actual jobs, but soon enough the whole group was crowded around the kitchen table.

Arthur and Gwen (who, though no one else would admit it, has the best memory of all of them) re-tell the prophecies and destinies.

Both Hunith and Gaius were furious once again at Morgana’s so-called destiny, but smiled proudly at her determined disposition, and the obviously magical drawing (the flowers seemed to move and the golden eyes definitely glowed off of the page) that Merlin pulled from his pocket. The others hadn’t even realised he’d kept it, but are grateful.

Next, Merlin and Morgana talk about their lessons. Gaius was intrigued by the healing knowledge Merlin and Gwen had gained, and after double checking that the door was locked and the curtains were drawn, they even showed off a few spells to their captive audience.

(There were times that Merlin showing off even the slightest bit of magic would give Hunith a heart attack and nightmares for days; she finds it doesn’t bother her so much anymore. She knows that Arthur, Morgana, Leon, and Gwen would never let anything happen to him, and the new stories of his apparent great power certainly helped ease her mind as well.)

Finally, Leon spoke about what he had learned from the elders; all bout how they keep camps running, their democracy, and how knowledge is preserved and passed on. It was a little boring, if any of them are being honest, but the bright grin on the knight’s face kept them from interrupting him.

Eventually, it came time for everyone to head to their respective beds and sleep. There was no denying that they’d had an amazing few days, but it was also a few days of constant activity and sleeping rough... they were all exhausted.

As Arthur and Merlin curled up under the covers, grateful for the slightly chilled night making cuddling easier, they let out simultaneous breaths of relief.

Arthur ran a hand through Merlin’s hair softly as he quietly spoke, aware of Hunith asleep in the next room:

“You think we’ll be alright?”

Merlin sighs and Arthur tries not to let the anxiety in his stomach swirl too violently at the lengthening silence. Finally, Merlin turns over to face his soulmate, shuffling even impossibly closer and giving Arthur a small smile. Arthur doesn’t comment on the nerves in the younger man’s eyes:

“There’s all this pressure on us to fulfil our destinies, to save the world, it’s a little... overwhelming. My whole childhood I tried to forget the fact that being Prince Arthur Pendragon’s magical soulmate would mean... everything, in one way or another, some day. And now that day is fast approaching, I can feel it, and I still have no clue what I’m doing. And that’s not even considering Morgana.-”

Arthur’s hold around Merlin tenses at the mention of his sister, and Merlin presses a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw before continuing:

“-I would give up all of it, everything, to save her. To see her happy. But... do I really have the right to make that decision? My people are counting on me, but you and Morgana and Leon and Gwen, you come first, and you always will.-”

Merlin rolls onto his back again, staring at the ceiling with furrowed brows as Arthur watches him mournfully:

“-I’ve spent so long being terrified of the fact that I know you would give up your crown if I just asked you to, and now I’m close to making the same decision myself; giving up everything for one person, to the detriment of the world.-”

He turns his head to face Arthur again, tears in his eyes:

“-I don’t know what to do, Arthur.”

The Prince clenches his jaw, having to push down the swell of anger at... everyone really. Kilgharrah, the Druids, the Gods, whosever idea this whole destiny shit was. Arthur often thought of himself as a fully matured adult whose place in the world was clear, but at times like these, he’s reminded of how young he is, and how Merlin is even younger.

He pulls the Warlock into a tight embrace, tucking his dark hair under his chin and running a soft hand over his back:

“I will stand by you, always, and we’ll figure it out, we always do. The future is fluid, Merls, we just have to keep an open mind and push through. We’ve all been through a little bit of hell, but that day? That you can feel approaching? That’s the day we change the world. I’ll force my father from the throne if that’s what it takes,-”

Arthur feels Merlin tense to argue, but rushes on before he can say anything:

“-not just for you, but because it will be the right thing to do, one day. This Kingdom, and then the world, will be golden, and the five of us, and Gaius and your mum, will be together every single step of the way. Ok? You don’t have to do anything, Merlin, not alone, not ever.”

Merlin relaxes again, and Arthur can feel his sigh of relief across his collarbones. The room goes silent for a while, and Arthur only just hears Merlin’s quiet words before he slips into a sleep filled with peaceful dreams full of meadows and flower crowns and golden eyes:

“Yeah... I think we’ll be alright.”

THE END!!

After thinking about it for a few days, and re-reading the series, I’ve decided that I actually like the ending here!

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, thanks anon for sending the idea to me all those months ago! :)

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whisperlullaby · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Over Do It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1766

Warnings: Violence, mentions of smut, mentions of disordered eating and over-exercising, explicit language.

Summary: Your boyfriend is an asshole. Bucky reminds you that you are perfect the way you are.

A/N: Listen apparently it’s sad girl Sunday over here. This is another story from a real life thing that happened to me with a Bucky twist! Thank you forever to @river-soul for looking over this story. I hope you guys enjoy and if I missed any warnings please let me know!

"Doll, you okay?" Bucky wondered. "You've been really quiet all morning."

When your eyes darted up, everyone around the table was staring at you.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You looked down at your soggy bowl of cereal. "Actually I'm gonna bring this back to my room. I'm a little tired."

You got up and left before anyone could object. You made it to your room and almost had the door shut before a metal arm pushed through.

"You don't seem like yourself. Did something happen with Sean last night?"

At the mention of your boyfriend, you flinched. Letting out a sigh you allowed Bucky to step into your room. You placed the bowl on the kitchenette counter and turned to face Bucky.

"It's nothing. Just dumb relationship stuff really," you chuckled but it was a humorless sound. "I'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."

Bucky looked at you skeptically.

"Okay, but if you need anything you know you can come to me. I'm here for you."

Bucky placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before he left. When you heard the sound of your door click shut, you grabbed your bowl and dumped it down the sink.

///////

The next day you were sitting in the shared kitchen picking at a bowl of blueberries while scribbling notes in your journal. You heard a chair scrape next to you as Bucky plopped down and leaned onto the table.

"Whatcha writing doll?"

You felt your face flush with heat.

"I'm just writing down what I'm eating. Making sure it's all healthy, trying to be better about what goes in my body, ya know?"

Bucky cocked his head.

"That seems like a lot of extra work. I don't think you need to keep track of what you're eating."

He paused, eyes roamed over your figure.

"You look great doll."

You snorted.

"Yeah okay, Buck whatever you say."

You closed your journal and stood up.

"I'm gonna head to the gym. You can have the rest of the blueberries if you want," you offered, leaving before Bucky could say anything to you.

/////////

Three hours later Bucky slammed open the door to the gym where you were dripping sweat on the treadmill.

"Steve said you've been here for hours, doll," Bucky stated an edge of anger in his voice. "You are going to run yourself straight to the med bay if you don't pace yourself."

You turned off the treadmill in a huff and stalked over to Bucky on shaky legs.

"I know my limit, Sergeant. I'm fine. Why are you being so nosey about my life all of a sudden? Yesterday, following me to my room. Today in the kitchen. What's your problem?"

"Yesterday you never made it out of your room. Did you eat anything for the rest of the day?" Bucky’s voice seemed to drip with concern. "You didn't even finish that poor excuse for a breakfast this morning and you've been here for three hours."

Your eyes dropped to the floor. You shifted uncomfortably under Bucky's gaze before your anger spiked again.

"It's none of your fucking business, Barnes. I need to lose a few pounds and how I do that is absolutely none of your concern."

You started to shove past Bucky but stumbled your vision blurring.

Bucky caught you as you fell into him.

"Sweetheart let me help you to your room, please."

You looked up at him and nodded. He helped you into your room and placed you on the couch. You watched him disappear into the kitchen and return with some water before sitting next to you and pulling you into his side.

"Doll, you need to tell me what happened. What's making you do this to yourself?"

You took in an unsteady breath.

"Yesterday Sean and I were making out in his car. It was getting pretty, um, hot and I went to get on his lap but he pushed me away. He said I was too big to have car sex with, that if I lost a few pounds we could try but he would be uncomfortable with how I looked now. That he couldn’t even attempt to maneuver me in such a small space."

You picked at a loose thread on Bucky's shirt. You didn't realize he had stopped breathing until you looked up at him and saw how red he was.

"He told you to lose weight. Because he couldn't figure out how to fuck you in a car?" Bucky seethed.

You shot up.

“I don't think he meant it like that. I mean I've been meaning to slim down anyway. I know I put on a bit of weight since starting fieldwork."

Bucky cupped your face in his hands.

"You've put on muscle, doll. You need it to kick ass, lord knows you can knock me to the mat like a pro. Your body is perfect exactly how it is. You do not need to put yourself through any of that shit to slim down."

Bucky’s thumbs brushed away your tears as they fell.

"He's not a bad guy Bucky I'm sure he didn't mean to upset me. He's coming over tonight. I'll talk to him about it."

Bucky sighed and shook his head.

"If you need me I'm right next door," he offered, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve having someone like you in my life."

You looked into Bucky's eyes and saw them flash with adoration.

"Oh, doll, you don't need to do anything. You deserve everything I can give you and more."

Bucky pulled you close and hugged you. You melted into his embrace with ease.

//////

"Hey, Sean! You're just in time. I just finished up dinner."

"Smells great." He looked at the table full of chicken parmesan, pasta, and garlic bread. "This all for me?"

You laughed. "Well, not all of it silly. I'm going to have some too."

"Don't you think this is a bit much? I thought you were trying to lose some weight. So we could, ya know, have fun anywhere."

When he pinched the skin of your hips you sucked in a deep breath, willing the tears that pricked your eyes not to fall.

"I just thought maybe this would be okay? I didn't think I looked that bad."

"Not bad babe just, you can tell you've put on some weight. I'm just trying to help you, do you have a salad? Maybe that'll be better for you instead."

Just as Sean made his way towards the fridge, your door burst open to reveal Bucky. His chest was heaving and his eyes were shooting daggers.

You looked shocked as you watched him rush over to Sean with malicious intent. "Bucky stop, what are you doing?"

Bucky paused his movements but never took his death glare from Sean.

"I was walking by and I heard what he said to you."

Before you could react Bucky had Sean dangling midair.

"You are a pathetic excuse for a man and you're lucky I don't beat the shit out of you right here. Have you ever taken one look at Y/N? She is perfect. And you don't appreciate her, she's over here pouring herself over dinner to make you happy and all you can do is worry about her weight."

You were stunned as you watched Sean struggling in Bucky's grasp.

"Babe, are you going to tell your guard dog to heel and let me down," Sean gasped frantically.

Bucky growled as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Bucky let him go. He didn't mean anything by it.”

Bucky slowly placed him on the ground. Sean moved around Bucky to face you.

“Babe of course I didn’t mean anything by it. You look beautiful, I just thought you would want to lose some of the baby fat so we could be more adventurous.”

You heard the metal plates shift before you saw Bucky pull back to knock Sean out. You gasped as Sean collapsed on the floor unconscious.

“What has gotten into you!? You heard him, he didn’t mean it he is just trying to look out for me.” You pushed Bucky back. “Why can’t you just listen to him?! He’s right! I just need to watch what I eat. Once I lose the weight I’ll be...I’ll earn his love.”

You looked into Bucky’s eyes and saw his heartbreak in real-time.

“Y/N. You do not need to lose a single inch on yourself. Sean is a delusional asshat who wouldn’t know a gorgeous dame if she punched him in the face. You do not need to earn a person’s love.”

You stared at Bucky for a moment before you crumbled to the floor sobbing. He rushed over and cradled you to his chest, soothing you with his hands, drawing gentle patterns along your back. Sean started to stir and Bucky gently pushed you off his lap to stand and grab Sean by the collar.

“You are gone. Don’t contact her again and if I hear you’ve been around I’ll make sure you stay out a lot longer than you were,” Bucky threatened before throwing him out of your apartment.

He returned to you and helped you up. You offered him a gentle smile.

“Why did you do that Bucky?” You held your breath while you waited for his answer.

Bucky looked softly into your eyes.

“Because you are the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing inside and out. Hearing what he was doing to you, warping your perception of yourself into something dangerous, I couldn’t live with myself if I stood back and did nothing. I had to protect my best girl.”

He reached out and wiped a stray tear off your face. You smiled from ear to ear and grabbed his hand to press a soft kiss on the palm.

“Thank you,” you told him, eyeing the table of food. “Well I cooked all of this and it’s probably going to get cold if we don’t eat it soon.”

“You asking me to dinner doll?” Bucky smirked.

“Well, it’s a start to thank you for everything you have done for me over the last few days. Besides I’m starving.” You started to turn around to grab the plates off the counter when Bucky grabbed your arm spinning you into him. He kissed you breathless and you were quick to deepen the kiss.

When Bucky pulled back he was grinning.

“Let’s eat, then maybe I can show you how real men are able to fuck in a car.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #james barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #marvel fic #tw disordered eating

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 2 years ago

Text

The Construct of Time, Chapter 08

Pairing: HotchReid

Written For: The HotchReid Valentine’s Day Trope Challenge, Trope Assignments = Historical AU, Time Travel

Summary: The year is 1924, half a decade after the first World War, and a few years before the Great Depression would devastate the nation. It is a time of contradiction: the modernist uprising of science and innovation, met with a traditionalist, fearful desire to cling to the past in a fast-evolving, urbanist society. And on this morning in Washington D.C. an unmarked package is left outside the office of Aaron ‘Hotch’ Hotchner, P.I., with a note simply telling him to find the rest, and a substantial price tag attached. What he finds in this package is something he has never seen before, hundreds of years old, and he barely knows where to start trying to find more like it. Ultimately he is pointed towards someone that may just have a clue what to do with his charge: a Classics Historian working in the basements of the Smithsonian, Dr. Spencer Reid. Together, what they discover sends them on a break-neck chase across the city, searching for a mysterious collection of powerful artifacts, and the people that are trying to sell them. Forever changing everything they know about the world, the people in it, truth, lies, love, and the fragile construct of time.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (to be determined)

Chapter CW/notes: lots of mentions of blood and wounds and some wump/first-aide type stuff. And so much sexual/romantic tension. I also finally got to use my "here's looking at you, kid" Humphrey Bogart reference. So when Hotch calls Spencer 'kid' in this chapter think Bogart and not the age difference. 🙈 Shorter chapter because otherwise it would have been like 6k and this story has shorter chapters so... enjoy and look forward to the next chapter later this week/weekend. C: it’s already written lmao.

Word Count: 2317

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

–

Chapter 08: A Quiet Place

–

It's not the first time that Hotch has had to break into his own office building after hours, but it is the first time he's had to do so while dripping blood all along the hallway carpets. The wound really isn't as bad as it seems, he just bled like a stuck pig when the blade had been pulled out of his side – so now he looks like he works in a slaughterhouse. Spencer, in particular, is very worried about it, and in turn Hotch is worried about him. Blood splattered across his face, his shirt and soaked into his sweater. It can't all be Hotch's. The blood was on him before he'd been stabbed.

They make it into his office, Hotch turns on a desk light that barely illuminates the darkness at such a late hour while Spencer scrambles for the first aid kit. They have to move fast, not knowing how much time they have before someone comes knocking.

It's clear Spencer is panicking, but so is Hotch, and when they come together the first thing he does is tug off Spencer's jacket and pull the shirt-tails loose from his trousers. He needs to see how bad the wound is, preying the younger man hadn't been grazed or pierced with a stray bullet.

"What are you doing?! Stop moving so much, you're injured!" Spencer protests, but even shaky from the post-adrenaline of the fight Hotch is stronger than him. He pulls the soaked sweater up to try and pry it off where the blood has begun to dry and grow tacky, making the layers stick together. God, it's everywhere.

"I'm fine! You're the one that's hurt," Hotch insists.

"Aaron, he stabbed you!"

"And you're drenched in blood!" He gets the sweater over Spencer's head, and the moment it's off the young doctor gets his bearings and grabs Hotch by the hands. Surprisingly strong, trembling in his haste.

"It's not mine!"

Hotch freezes at the tone, the words, and looks at him – really looks at him. Tears blurring his eyes, red speckled on his face in a distinct splatter pattern, what looks like a thumb print on the swell of his cheek. Tenderly placed.

The locket had been in his hand when he appeared. He'd used it. He'd gone back in time.

Slowly everything aligns and begins to make sense. The possibilities tick off as the seconds tick by, and Hotch feels his heart thumping loud and hard in his chest.

"Is it mine?" he asks.

Spencer swallows thick, a flicker of emotion so strong that it almost breaks their eye contact as it crosses his face. There and gone in the blink of an eye. Devastating as a hurricane. "I don't know." It's the truth, and yet it's not – Hotch tries to read behind the guarded veil of the man's eyes, his stare unblinking and pleading and everything Hotch wants to drown in. He reaches up and touches the side of Spencer's face, brushing back wild curls, hovering just above the smudged print. It's the same size and shape as his own thumb.

"And this?" he doesn't have to voice it, but it makes something shatter in Spencer's expression. He looks like he's about to cry. Hotch almost regrets bringing it up.

"Can I patch you up now?" Spencer asks, quiet and shaky.

"It's not bad," Hotch tells him, almost reassuring in the face of what he's just learned. "The bleeding stopped before we got out of the taxi–"

"Aaron," Spencer pleads.

And how could he ever say no?

Hotch strips out of his jacket and leather holsters wrapped around his shoulders, wincing at the pull of his muscles against his injuries, and then peels off his dress shirt bit by bit. The dried blood sticks to his skin, and it's as he lifts his undershirt that he realizes the change in the air. The charge of it. So distracting he forgets the old wounds now exposed among the new.

Spencer goes from maudlin to flustered within seconds, the most gorgeous shade of pink warming his skin, and he makes himself busy with the bandages and stitching thread from the first aid kit. But his gaze keeps darting up, skittering along every inch of the older man's torso. Hotch sports more than his fair share of scars from the war, the stab wound would just be one more, and there are spots blooming from bruises all along his sides and chest beneath the dark chest hair. Even roughed up as he is, Hotch can't help but wonder if his thumping heart is visible through his endorphin-damp skin.

"I know they aren't pretty, but you don't have to avert your eyes for my modesty," he tries to tease, to get the man to look at him once more – with only half honest intentions. Hotch still is not entirely certain Spencer isn't hiding an injury.

"It's not that," he mumbles, and Hotch leans against his desk with Spencer standing close to reach his wound in his side in the dim angled light. Knees knocking, Hotch's body curved like a question mark towards the man, as if he can't stay away for the life of him. "I just thought it was the shoulders of your suit jackets that made you look so… broad." His eyes flick up and then back down to where he's still trying to peel bandages apart with trembling fingers.

Hotch grants him mercy by not playing too much into that. Allowing Spencer to breathe, calm himself enough to stitch his side closed and clean it, his touch gentle on his bare skin, his scent enticing the closer they stand. Gravitating towards each other, inch by inch. The younger man thrums with contained adrenaline, energy, both spent and excess. What he must have seen that made him dare to use the artifacts, to go back mere minutes and keep it from happening.

There's no question in his mind, now, what happened.

"You saved my life," Hotch rumbles into the quiet buzz of the office. Dark and intimate. Spencer's honey hazel eyes catch the faintest traces of light, making them golden when he looks up to catch and snag with Hotch's own. God, but he is beautiful.

"You saved mine first."

"But not to your liking." It wasn't barbed, the way Hotch points this out, but it's enough to make the other man's strong will falter within his gaze. "You used the necklace. When you swore you wouldn't, again."

Spencer licks his lips slow, looking aside in the smallest show of shame. Guilt – for breaking his promise. But not sorry he did, not in the slightest. "The cost was too great to bear." Hotch frowns, then.

"You think my life is worth more than yours?" he accuses, more harshly.

"I don't think anyone's life is worth that."

Hotch huffs in disbelief, lightened by amazement and something much heavier making his heart still beat thickly against his bruised ribs. "Tell that to the guy you whacked with a silver tray. You're a hell of an ace in a firefight." He couldn't help but be impressed, at least on that front. It's Spencer's turn to let out a dubious sigh of laughter.

"You'd be the first to say that," he says, incredulousness weighing down his voice.

"Hey." Hotch tilts Spencer's chin up, daring to break that contact before he can think better of it. Skin on skin beneath both their hands, with Spencer's on his waist and Aaron's on the delicate dip of his chin beneath those parted lips. "I mean it. You had my back, I had yours; that's what partners do."

"Partners?" Spencer asks, breathless.

"Yes," Hotch sighs, smiles the smallest and easiest smile. He feels light as air. "Me and you, kid – we're in this together."

The last of the bandages are applied, and Spencer's touch is slow and hot along Hotch's bare skin. Burns right through him, to his core and further.

"See? Good as new," Hotch tells him. His voice heavy and dark. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Promise?" Spencer still sounds spooked, and the barriers between them have officially broken down to rubble. Nothing to hold them back. They're standing so close, barely any space between them. Spencer leans in, rests his forehead against Hotch's. It makes his heart thump loud and devastating against his ribs.

"Cross my heart."

He's not sure when he'd dropped his hand before, but Hotch's fingertips tingle with the loss of Spencer's flushed cheeks beneath his touch. So he reaches up again, cups his jaw, feels the younger man's pulse thrum and race in his throat, and Hotch tilts his face up once more. Their lips hover, Spencer's breath is soft and sweet as he exhales shakily, and Hotch wants to kiss him so badly it aches worse than the bruises. No, more than a kiss –

Hotch wants to inhale him like smoke, drink from those lips – taste him – and his last inhibition falls away as he succumbs to how much he wants and…

The phone rings. So loud and jarring Spencer flinches back, nearly jumping out of his skin. Hotch exhales in frustration – almost doesn't answer the shrill call. His fingers linger on Spencer's face, dragging along the younger man's jaw longingly. Spencer all but leans into the touch. As drunk on the moment as Hotch is. God, they'd been so close.

He reaches for the phone. Begrudgingly answers without looking away from Spencer's flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "Hotchner."

"Hotch, it's JJ," comes the reply, tinny and far away. "I've been trying to reach you all day. Glad I tried your office again."

"Yeah, impeccable timing," he murmurs, sulking. It draws a small smile to Spencer's lips, which lessens the blow not being able to taste them seconds ago. "What have you got for me?"

"I found your auction." That gets his attention right away, and Spencer's, too. He's still standing close enough to be able to hear JJ through the receiver. It takes more self-control than Hotch is willing to admit to not pull the other man into his side. See how well they fit together with less clothing between them. "Just one problem, it's already happened."

" – Wait, what?"

"Last Tuesday," JJ informs him. "On the upper side, private showroom and not a lot of above-board dealings. The numbers I heard were thrown around could buy a city block."

"Jesus Christ," Hotch runs a hand through his hair, thoughts whirling as it tries to get back on a business-minded track. "A week ago–"

"Sorry, Hotch. Everything you're looking for is long gone," JJ says, and does indeed sound sorry for it. "Probably halfway across the world, by now."

"Yeah," he agrees, scratching through his dark locks at the back of his head, and resigning himself to the fact he and Spencer had been chasing their tails for days. The artifacts had left the country before Hotch ever received that puzzle box outside his office door. "Thanks for the legwork, JJ. I owe you."

Hanging up throws the office back into silence, nothing but the buzz of electrical lights and a fan spinning by the window. The mood from before dissipated along with their goals for this case.

"What now?" Spencer asks, quiet and soft. Hotch looks at him, they're still less than a foot apart. He can feel the heat of him, still dressed in a blood splattered dress shirt and his hair ruffled from Hotch undressing him so quickly. Bags under his eyes – he hasn't been able to sleep with all their running around – and Hotch knows he probably isn't much better off. Roughed up and bruised, and still on the run from whoever hit the cigar lounge.

But that didn't make any sense. Why would someone be after them just for asking a few questions, if the artifacts were already out of the country? Just for the necklace and the box?

"We need to regroup," Hotch decides. "There's still too many puzzle pieces, and no place to lay them all out." Spencer nods in agreement, looking around the space as if assessing what was there to be used for such an endeavor. Hotch can already picture it; his secretary's bulletin board rolled out and pieces of paper strung up bit by bit as they worked the case out with their hands. And wouldn't that be wonderful, if they could. "No, we can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"My home and office will be there first place whoever's hit squad has our numbers will be looking for us." Hotch doesn't miss how Spencer's eyes trail over the cuts and bruises on his chest, the ones on his sides blooming to the exact size of the man's brass knuckles who got the better of him once or twice in Dave's office. They were really in rough shape, and Hotch was sure the Smithsonian and Spencer's place would be out of the question, as well. He sighs, unsure. "Any bright ideas?"

Spencer chews on his lip, that distant look in his eyes that Hotch was beginning to recognize. The wheels spinning in that brilliant, gorgeous mind. "One," he murmurs, surprising Hotch once more. "My mentor – the eccentric one? We can go to him."

"You'd risk that?" Hotch asks. Thinking of Spencer's friends, how lovely and helpful they'd been. He knows both Srgt. Morgan and Ms. Garcia would give them shelter and aid in an instant, but neither he nor Spencer would want to put them in that kind of danger.

"We'll be safe there," Spencer assures him. "He is discreet, when he wants to be, and holds a lot of academic and political pull over a lot of people. More favors than he'd ever admit to." That sounded slightly ominous. "And his home is a fortress."

Well, God bless for small favors.

"Sounds perfect."

—

tbc…

—

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Tagged list so far: @physics-magic @thaddeusly @sideblogforcrimpy @anxious-enby @t4tpoisondamage

(To be added to the taglist just send me a message via comment, reblog, ask, or DM!)

#short chapter very sorry #it was getting too long winded #and yes I know I'm known for that but this story has pretty short concise chapters and I wanted to keep that going #but good news lol chapter 09 is already written so that'll be up very soon #HotchReid #Heid #The construct of time #cw wounds #tw blood #whump and first aide stuff #katyswriting

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authoressofdarkness · 3 years ago

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I saw that you're taking prompts, from the dialogue list. Can I get number 20? “I’ve never had someone taking care of me before.” for starker obviously. I'm excited, I love reading your works. Thank you in advance!

Hi anon! That means so much to me and I’m v glad to be taking this as my first prompt. Thank you 💙

I kinda want to try some new things with some of these prompts, so I’m gonna go at this with omega Tony and alpha Peter and see where it goes. I hope that’s okay with you anon and that everyone likes it 😘

Same age college AU, omegaverse, alpha Peter Parker, omega Tony Stark, some angst and some fluff at the end.

—

It’s a well known fact that Tony Stark has a shitty family.

Well, at least to anyone who knows him, it is. They know how he’ll do anything to not be at home when his father is around, to get out of the endless pressures of social events and promotional things and questions of mating and management and all of the things that he hated about being born an omega and being attached to the last name Stark to top it all off—

For years, it was just him. Some flings, mainly to piss his father off, but he never had his attention for longer than the time it took to scold him or order him around, and his mother was never much help, either. He had precious few friends growing up, never really made any real ones until college when he met Rhodey and Pepper — an alpha and a beta respectively that helped him manage things there and that were the first people to truly understand the depths of struggles he had going on at home.

And they were great friends, still are, but there was never anything more there between them. They helped him float through the first year of school, and then—

And then came Peter Parker.

Tony doesn’t hate all alphas on principle, although he is often rather tempted to try to, what with how they were shoved in his face most of his life. They were great for a good fling but most of them were meatheads. As horny as Tony was, he couldn’t allow just anyone to be close to him, nothing too get to serious, because he’s got a lot of responsibility coming down to him and he needs the right partner — alpha or otherwise — to be willing to deal with that. Not that he’s particularly interested in mating right now but he also isn’t going to allow someone close enough to potentially mark him knowing the repercussions of that.

He’s the heir to Stark Industries, sure, but he’s still an omega. An alpha will have significant legal power over him once they’re mated. And he wants to be the one to run SI, to take on his legacy, to build, to create, and to run his business, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, even if that means flings forever.

(Not that that’s legally going to fly because he can’t take over until he’s considered qualified which implies a certain amount of stability that translates into having an alpha that’s more than just a fuck buddy but—)

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters after he meets Peter.

Peter is a year younger than him in school, technically, but biologically they’re the same age. Peter just started a bit later than most — and for good reasons, as Tony comes to find out.

He’s in one of Tony’s engineering classes and his organic chemistry class and the omega would be lying if he said he wasn’t immediately taken with him.

He can’t help it. Peter is cute, with his overgrown curls and slim form and silky skin and shy little smile and—

The other man is all alpha, there’s no doubt about it. He exudes it without even trying, but there’s a shyness to him, too. He’s not a meathead; he’s a sweetheart. From day one he’s respectful of Tony in class, kind when he sees him around campus, and that makes them the perfect lab partners in chemistry, and after knowing that, it’s just the natural choice for them to partner for the project in engineering and then—

Then things spiral, and Tony doesn’t even care.

He’s seeking the alpha’s attention, and Peter, the innocent, shy thing he is, is happy to give, to dote on Tony in ways that he would resist if they were coming from anyone else.

They’re not even fucking, but it’s intimate, so intimate that he can’t even explain it, and he loves it, scarily so. It both soothes and sets all his instincts on edge at the same time.

By mid semester they both have keys to come and go freely from each other’s rooms. It’s more common to see them together than it is to ever spot one of them out alone. The whole school probably thinks they’re a couple, and even though they’ve never made it official — and he’s never allowed himself to even come close to considering it before — Tony can’t bring himself to mind.

As midterms approach, though, Tony locks himself in to focus on his work. He doesn’t mean to, really; it’s just that hours studying slip into full nights and then he hasn’t eaten and he hasn’t left the room, even missing one of his classes because he doesn’t realize the time.

Peter hasn’t come by in days and except for the occasional check in text, Tony hasn’t heard from him, either. But they’re both busy with midterms so he really isn’t surprised. In fact he barely has time to eat, let alone check his phone, so even if he was texting him regularly Tony probably wouldn’t be answering.

Except mid terms or no, of course Peter notices when Tony misses class. And when his texts go unanswered by the absorbed omega, he doesn’t hesitate to show up and let himself in.

Tony doesn’t even realize anyone is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps so hard he nearly knocks the chair back, and when he turns around he sees Peter, stepping back and holding his hands up in the universal “I surrender” gesture, clearly not having meant to startle him.

“I’m sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer so I let myself in. I just— you weren’t in class, and I was worried… are you okay? When was the last time you ate?” It takes all of two seconds for Peter’s sheepishness to melt into concern, and he steps forward again, closing the distance between them to tilt Tony’s chin up, looking at the shadow stretching across his jaw where he hasn’t shaved in a few days. “You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over Tony’s cheekbone tenderly — which, yeah, is definitely more prominent than it was at the beginning of the week.

Tony’s eyes flutter and he leans into the touch for a moment before refocusing and shaking it off. “I’m fine. This is normal, Peter. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“It’s Saturday—“

“It’s Monday, Tony. 1pm on Monday, at that. You missed engineering this morning and you haven’t answered my texts all weekend.” Surprise flits across Tony’s face at that, because — yeah, last time he checked it was Saturday, and he had no new texts from Peter, so— “When was the last time you ate?” Peter continues to prod, voice gentle but insistent.

Both aspects only serve to spark irritation in him, though. Tony bats Peter’s hand away from his face, frowning. He doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. “I ate a little while ago. I’m fine.”

“You don’t even know what day it is—“

“It all kind of blurs together when you’re not doing anything besides working, okay—“

“Two days is a lot of blur, Tony—“

“And just because I need a shave doesn’t mean I haven’t left my desk or that this isn’t totally normal for midterms—“

“You’re the one saying you haven’t left your desk, not me—“

“That’s not what I meant! I’m just saying—“

“I’m just saying you need to take a short break, it’s not that big of a deal—“

“I don’t need a break, I know my limits—“

“Tony, I really don’t think—“

“Jesus fucking— You’re not my alpha, Parker, would you fuck off?”

The words come out before he can stop them, and he flinched himself at the hurt on Peter’s face, the way the alpha physically recoils, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not— god, I know that, okay? I’m just trying to help you, Tony. Please, this isn’t sustainable. You need to eat. Just— let me find you something, and then I’ll leave, okay?”

Leave? No, he doesn’t want him to leave. But the only thing that comes out is a quiet “whatever,” and he watches Peter escape to the kitchen with a ball of guilt growing in his chest.

Peter is just trying to help. He likes Peter and he doesn’t want him to leave, he just— he panics, and then he snaps.

Because what if Peter wants more? What if he really likes him? And Tony is a fuck up that does shit like this when he feels emotions and has so much baggage attached to being with him and—

And Peter knows that, at least some of it. It’s been a few months of seeing each other nearly every day, now, and his family situation was never a secret.

So why is he still here? Oh god, did Tony just ruin it?

The thought, for reasons that he’s refusing to immediately think about, is almost too much to bear. He stands up, fumbling his way out of the chair and into the kitchen.

The smell hits him almost as soon as he enters, and he sucks in a deep breath. His traitorous stomach growls, loud and demanding.

Soup bubbles on the stove as Peter works at the counter, chopping up some fruits and vegetables. He’s already managed to put a few little storage containers of food together for him, and something in Tony’s gut feels warm at the sight. But it also drops — preparing premade meals most certainly means that Peter isn’t intending to come back.

He looks up when Tony enters, expression wary. “The soup was the quickest thing you had, and since I had to be here for as long as it takes to boil anyway I thought I would just—“

“Peter.” His own voice sounds remarkable calm for how shaky he suddenly feels, lurching towards the alpha at the countertop. “It’s okay. I… thank you, for this. I’m sorry.”

Peter looks taken aback by the apology. “Tony, you don’t have to apologize. You’re right; I’m not your alpha and it’s not my place to give you orders. I just… I care about you, okay? I just want to help. I know you don’t think about me that way, and I’m sorry I overstepped, but—“

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” The words draw Peter up short.

Tony takes a breath, looking down. He focuses on the alpha’s hands, watching him chop instead of looking at his face. It’s easier. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t think of you that way. The problem is… that I do. And I… I’m not used to this. I’ve never had someone take care of me before. Not really, not in any way that mattered. And what I feel for you… it scares me.” He takes a little breath again, looking down at his own hands. “I want you to be my alpha, Peter. But I’m not really a good omega, and I just have so much shit that comes along with being with me. The thought of asking you to do that… what that could do to us… I just don’t think I could handle that.”

He hears the knife ting against the countertop as Peter sets it down, and the pitter patter of footsteps as the alpha crosses the room. He’s suddenly being drawn into a pair of lanky but surprisingly strong arms, surrounded by the musky, relaxing scent of alpha, and he practically melts into it, nestling his nose into the spot between the collar of Peter’s sweatshirt and his throat almost automatically.

Peter’s hand running up and down his back is soothing, relaxing him the rest of the way, and the press of the alpha’s chin against his head is just the perfect weight to be comfortable, reassuring.

“Tony… I’m not an idiot,” he says gently. “I know who you are. What you’ve done, where you came from, what’s expected of you — and yeah, I’m sure there’s more that you haven’t told me and that’s not public, but— I get why this is a struggle for you, and why you feel the need to put so much pressure on yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you for that and it is most definitely not your own fault that you’re not used to being taken care of. And you’ve no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted to be your alpha.” He pulls back a little to look down at him, fingers scratching Tony’s scalp gently as he works his fingers through his hair. “But that doesn’t mean that this kind of behavior — towards yourself or others — is good or acceptable. It’s okay to let me take care of you — at least in small ways. I know you’re scared of losing your independence, but that’s not what I want for you, either. I just want to help.”

“Help,” Tony echoes, eyes drifting to the pan on the stove and then back to Peter. “I… I think I’d like that.” He bites his lip, looking up at him. They’re about the same size and height, but this close, wrapped in the alpha’s arms and scent, with his steady gaze on him, he can’t help but feel small by comparison. “You really want to be my alpha?”

“Only if you want me to be, but…” Peter looks down at him and cracks his shy little smile. “I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

“I’d like that,” Tony admits. He shifts to press up against him, putting a hand on his chest. “I’d also really like it if you’d kiss me.”

Peter looks a little surprised, but not unpleasantly. Still, he shakes his head, giving him a little push back. “Tony, you didn’t even know what day it was. God knows when the last time you brushed your teeth is. No offense, but… ew.”

Tony just laughs a little, unable to help himself. “If I brush my teeth…?”

“Maybe. If you eat your food as well.” Peter moves back to the counter, finishing up the container he was working on. “We can’t be doing anything that’s going to burn you extra calories when you don’t have enough to begin with, hm?”

Tony finds himself grinning. “That’s an argument I can get behind. Literally and metaphorically.”

Peter flashes a grin in return, voice back to that gentle but insistent tone that he knows so well when he says, “Go, Tony.”

And for once, Tony is all too happy to obey.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #prompting #my prompts #my writing #kris talks #kris answers #omega tony stark #alpha peter parker #starker omegaverse #fluff

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

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heyy sal ^-^ i know this seems a lil sudden but do u mind givin some comfort hcs or somethin with tsumu n an s/o wif overbearing family who's been feelin really shitty and unmotivated lately?? am sorry if this is a lil much but i have been feeling . Not good as of late ... and i really miss tsumu idk :( maybe a lil bit of hurt/comfort and cuddles and a night out 2 mcdonalds or something would be nice if ur up to it <3 ur writin is so amazing ilysm !!

hi lovely!! found it hehe,,, here’s your comfort fic! i hope you like it! mwah <3

miya atsumu is a great texter.

not just in the sense that his ability to hold conversations is immaculate, and not just because your messages between him are overflowing with extravagant voice notes and an endless amount of objectively unattractive up close photos of his face. it’s because he always, always, without a shadow of doubt, no matter the hour, day, week, month, replies within the second. you’d jokingly accused him of being addicted to his phone, until you realized, aside his brother, you were the only exception — that’s also because he has some ridiculous ringtone for your calls and messages, but you pretend to be oblivious of that fact.

as you grip your phone with shaky hands and stare at your screen through bleary eyes, you watch as your message gets delivered, then read almost immediately after.

can i please be with you right now?

a grey bubble appears, hovering at the bottom of your screen, three dots rolling evenly within it. it then disappears, and in its place a message materializes.

of course. should i pass by or leave my window open?

already, your chest feels lighter.

fifteen minutes later, he’s before you, donning a simple shirt and sweatpants, sneakers on his feet. his smile is bright when his eyes meet yours, and his arms are home when they come to wrap around you, pulling you in close, embracing you tightly. your own arms easily slip around his waist, the feel of him beneath the thin shirt grounding and steadying. you release a shaky breath just as he squeezes you reassuringly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“heya, gorgeous,” he softly greets you, leaning back slightly to take a look at you. hesitantly, slowly, your head lifts off of his chest, arms still wrapped around him. his smile visibly falters at the sight of you, it saddens and softens, but it doesn’t disappear. although a little forcefully, he urges his smile to widen, and brings a hand up to the string of your hoodie, tugging and teasing, “nice hoodie.”

against all odds, you scoff amusingly, rolling your eyes. “yeah, you’d think so,” you retort, and he laughs lightly.

gently, he twists you around to pull you to his side, an arm tossed around and over your shoulder. “so, what’re we thinkin’?” he wonders aloud. “convenience store ramen?” atsumu tilts his head towards you, and when your nose scrunches in disapproval, his does too in mimicry, and then he shakes his head. “convenience store ice cream?” he says it as if it’s a genius idea, a victorious grin on his face, until he’s met with another disapproving look.

“m’not really hungry, ‘tsumu,” you begin to argue, despite knowing how fruitless the attempt is.

“tha’s not what i’m askin’.” he feigns offense as he says this, before he tilts his head back, thoughtfully humming. you watch him in both slight amusement and endearment. he’s really cute, you think, with the slight pout to his lips and the messiness of his hair. it’s obvious that he’d just rolled out of bed after having taken a shower, if not for his hair then for the comforting smell you sense. he’s sturdy by your side, body easy and relaxed against you, leaning into your touch just as much as you lean into him. he hums again, speaking to himself in hushed tones, and you think again, he’s really, really cute.

“you’re really cute, ‘tsumu,” you voice, and atsumu stops his deep and thoughtful monologue about the importance of a decision like choosing where to eat at eleven pm. when he turns to face you, you offer him an easy smile, before urging him arm tighter around you again, and continuing your walk.

“ya think i’m cute?”

“well, i am dating—“

his arm falls from around you to his side, and he halts in his steps.

“cute?!”

you pause, turning to the side to fix him with a humored, confused stare. he’s wearing a shocked expression, eyes wide and mouth slightly parting. it makes you want to giggle. “is that a bad thing?” you wonder.

with a whine, atsumu deflates, his arms tossed to his side, hands slapping his thighs as if he were a toddler throwing a tantrum. “yer cute,” he begins to argue. “yer cute ‘n pretty n’ gorgeous ‘n very hot.”

you quirk an eyebrow. “thanks?”

“but i’m handsome, babe. devilishly han’some if you will. sexy. charming. hot—“

“thought i was hot?”

“m’not taking you to mcdonald’s anymore.”

you gasp, reaching out for his forearms and gripping them tightly. atsumu runs warm, always has and possibly always will, that it’s always a welcome feeling touching him. unless you were in the middle of summer beneath a thousand blankets, but that’s not your current concern. “how did you know i was craving nuggets?” you wonder, exasperated and in awe.

he lifts up a finger and tilts his chin back, as if prepared to make a very important note. “not only am i devilishly handsome—“

“‘tsumu.”

“you’re always craving nuggets, doll.”

a fair argument, you guess.

“— and i’m psychic.”

you smack his arm.

“finger. guns, babe. finger guns!”

you lift your hand up in motion of a gun, but instead, you flip your boyfriend off, sipping slowly through the staple yellow and white straw. condensation from the cup in your grip drips to your knuckles, slowly trailing down your hand.

your gesture is met with a deadpan expression before atsumu twists around away from you. he’s facing a bench in the middle of an empty public park, his phone propped up against the back of the bench and opened up on the camera app. in the small lower left corner of the screen is a small preview of a picture you’d just taken together: it’s cheesy and honestly a little cringe, with atsumu doing a ridiculous pose with finger guns, and a you with a hesitant peace sign. it’s what led you to this moment— he just really wants you to do some finger guns with him.

facing the phone, atsumu bends down and clicks on his screen, while you take another long sip. upon buying a ridiculous amount of fries, nuggets, and two burgers, the two of you had walked for a few moments, not so quietly because atsumu has the long lived habit of never knowing when to quite stop talking, until you’d reached the park. beneath a dying tree, the two of you sat and ate, watched the stars through the branches of the aged tree while atsumu explained you the ridiculous justification behind punching his brother earlier in the day during practice. after a while, he’d gotten the great idea of taking pictures together, despite the terrible lighting, obscure setting, and not the most fitting choice of outfits.

you’re slightly lost in thought, and honestly atsumu is a little too fast for his own good, that you don’t notice him barreling towards you until he’s right before you. you’re too late, and suddenly he’s kneeling, arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting you up high. he leaves you with no choice but to quickly wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in close until your cheek is pressed to his. he holds you tight to him and you barely see the flash turn off before you’re lifting yourself up again, staring down at him with a fake scowl.

“why would you do that?” you scold him, pinching at his arm as he drops you to your feet again.

he mumbles a small ouch at your pinch, rubbing at his sore arm as he defends himself, “well ya weren’t doing the finger guns!”

“finger guns are stupid.”

“yer face is stupid.”

“your face is stupid.”

“like hell it is.” rather stupidly, atsumu spreads his arms wide, showcasing himself. “i’ve got so much to offer.” to humble him, you reach out, hand splaying on his stomach and fingers wiggling. he’s quick to react, curling in on himself slightly and grasping your wrist tightly, fixing you with a warning, cold stare. “do not.”

you giggle wickedly, and wiggle your fingers again. atsumu shrieks, holding your wrist away from his stomach.

it’s a good thing you’ve got two hands.

it’s nearly two in the morning when he first yawns. unintentionally, guilt starts to creep up your spine, settling heavy on your shoulders and chest. atsumu notices, as he always does, but instead of mentioning it, he shuffles down on the bench, and leans slightly towards you until his head rests on your shoulder. with the feel of him against you once more, you will yourself to relax, and reach for the hand closest to you, intertwining your fingers with his.

“yer so fun,” he mumbles, and you feel the vibrations from his voice. as he sighs contently, you finally do properly relax, and shuffle low until your head rests above his.

“you are too,” you respond. “only when you’re not doing finger guns.”

he scoffs. “ya love me ‘n my finger guns.” he lifts up a hand, and clicks his tongue as he motions a gun. jokingly, you slap at his hand, pushing it away.

the wind whistles softly, calmly, and atsumu’s hair tickles your cheek.

“i don’t wanna go home,” you admit with a small voice, smaller than you’d wish.

atsumu presses himself closer to you, thumb tracing at the back of your hand. “we can jus’ stay here,” he offers. “sunrises are pretty.”

you hum thoughtlessly.

“we can watch it from my room too, if ya’d like.”

your heart stills, and you swallow thickly. “you sure?”

he nods. “you’ll always have a home with me.” it’s not an offer, but a fact.

twisting your head, you place a kiss to the top of his head, the familiar scent of his shampoo overwhelming your senses for a moment. “i do love you and your finger guns,” you whisper against his hair, reveling in the loud laugh that leaves his lips as you twist your head back to rest it against his again.

quietly, sincerely, you laugh with him.

#miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu comfort #miya atsumu comfort #atsumu comfort #atsumu x reader #sal's fluff tag <3

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

like a peach. kth.

pairing. taehyung x reader genre. fluff, established relationship warnings. mentions of alcohol, oc is sloshed and clumsy while drunk but otherwise cute word count. 2.5k note. this was requested by @pars-ley under #14 #57 #60 from this prompt list, i know the numbers were listed under angst but somehow this became fluffy so im sorry asksjak

The hallway in your complex is completely quiet besides the metallic clanks of your keys jingling against the door knob that echo out, your double vision making your hands miss their target as you once again try to unlock it. With a small laugh you rest your forehead against the door, lips pressed together tightly to hush your drunk giggles.

A shaky breath leaves your mouth as you press your palms flat against the door, refusing to look at the keyhole since that hasn’t been going well, instead you feel it out, index finger guiding the key against it until it finally slides in.

“Hell yeah,” you cheer in a whisper, turning the lock and smiling as your front door gets pushed open and reveals the interior of your dimly lit apartment. The creek of your floorboards makes you grimace, only being made worse when you lose the grip on your keys and they clatter on the ground in a sound you swear is deafeningly loud.

You were doing an absolute horrible job at keeping quiet, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughs as you bend over and grab them, wobbling around ungracefully and unintentionally slamming the door shut once you stepped inside.

Taehyung groans from his spot in bed in the room a few feet away, having heard you the minute you rammed into the front door ten minutes ago as you failed to unlock it, trying to block it out in order to get his eight hours of sleep needed before his shift tomorrow morning. He remains in bed though, trusting you enough to know you’d be able to get from point a to point b on your own.

Just as he flips over and tugs the sheets above his head, you enter your shared bedroom, going in totally blind in order to not turn the lights on to prevent disturbing him further. His eyes are shut as he listens to your movements, a small smile on his lips when you start to mumble to yourself as you attempt to recall the layout of the bedroom in your inebriated state.

“Okay,” you whisper as you inch forward, mentally calculating how many steps it took to get to where you wanted to be, hand outstretched to swat in front of you to help guide you in a fool proof method. “That's the nightstand,” you decide when your palm smacks the hard surface, a small giggle filling the air before you hush yourself once more, finger pressed against your lips.

If you were right then your bathroom door should only be a few feet to the right, close enough for you to be able to enter with ease, but seeing as you decided to throw back two more shots before leaving the bar you’re not as coordinated as you’d like to think.

With a confident step, you’re ramming your knee into the corner of the nightstand, the pain flashing up your thigh as you bend forward to clutch the area that throbbed. “Ow fuck,” you wince, loosing your footing and tumbling onto the ground with an even louder thump, unable to conceal the laughter from escaping you full force.

Taehyung can’t pretend to be asleep any longer now that you’re laughing in pain, sitting up in bed and flicking on the table lamp on his own night stand, the room flooding with that warm familiar glow and it grabs your attention. With a muffled yawn he’s rubbing at his eyes before looking to the side where he sees you laying on the ground in a heap of limbs, absolutely defeated as you continue laughing to yourself.

“You okay?” His voice is laced with sleep, deep and gravely but you can hear the hint of a smile that you know is on his lips and as you lift your head up to stare back at him you see that much is true. He looks tired beyond belief, eyes squinting at you but the curl of his lips makes you smile back at him, sitting up to rest on your butt instead of sprawled out on the carpet.

“I think my knee is broken,” you slur with a tilt to your head, eyes looking down at the knee in question, the dull throb still felt from earlier pulsing through the joint. It aches as you stretch it out, wiggling your toes to make sure you weren’t somehow paralyzed now from the force of the impact.

Taehyung chuckles at that, shuffling out of bed and stretching his arms out as he does so, his shirtless upper body out for you to ogle at without a care. If you thought your knee was broken that just wouldn’t do, not on his watch. You observe him quietly as he rounds the bed, his grey sweats hung dangerously low on his hips, bed head leaving his curls fluffed and nearly covering his eyes, looking just as beautiful as he always did.

“Did you have fun?” Taehyung wonders as he approaches you, smelling the alcohol from you now that he was closer. The glazed look in your eyes spell it out for him, the cheeky smile on your face despite the tumbles you have taken entering the apartment alone not putting a damper on the small buzz coursing through your veins, you had clearly had an amazing time.

He sighs gently as he crouches down to your level, knees bent as he softly cradles your face in his palms, thumbs soothing your face when you lean into his touch. “No,” you surprise him with your answer, bottom lip pillowing out as you bite down on it, eyes falling shut briefly as you enjoy finally being with your boyfriend.

“No?” He repeats, leaning forward until his lips met the skin of your forehead in a sweet kiss and you swear your heart squeezes in your chest at the action, more so when he takes it upon himself to start helping you get ready for bed, smiling when he hears the cute way you mumble about him being too good for you under his breath. His hands are tender as he unclasps the hooks to the necklaces you have layered on, your earrings and rings being next to slide off and be placed on top of the nightstand that was the reason for your tumble.

“I missed you too much, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” It comes out as a whine, knowing that although you did have a great time with your friends on a much needed outing, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, wanting to text him every hour to see how he was doing at home, desperate for any update despite how mundane it was. He appeases you always, sending you selfies as he rewatches episodes of Criminal Minds, answering your drunk phone calls just to hear you ramble about how good the salted tortilla chips you were eating tasted before abruptly hanging up when your friends handed you another drink.

“Yeah, I think you sent me around fifty I miss you texts,” he teases you, kissing you quickly before standing up to grab one of his shirts from your shared dresser for you to change into. Taehyung would never mind the abundance of messages he’d get on your nights out, preferring that to radio silence and wondering when you’d be home, the love spelled out in typo filled texts leaving him excited for your return home.

“I always miss you.” You breathe out a sigh, smiling wide when he reaches his arms out for you to grab onto, hauling you up onto your unsteady feet once more. The throbbing from your knee was long gone but the wobbling remained so he wraps one of your hands around his shoulder so you could keep yourself steady, not willing to let you tumble once more now that he was around.

“I always miss you too baby.” His admission makes those same butterflies swirl in your tummy, wings flapping so hard you think you might pass out, choosing to grip his shoulder tighter to prevent that from happening. You feel like a love sick puppy whenever you’re around him, sporting permanent heart eyes that are crystal clear despite the beer goggles strapped tightly to your face.

Taehyung has to hold in his teasing when he sees the way your eyes stay glued on him despite how your head lolls to the side the longer you stand there, allowing him to tug up your simple black dress up and off your body, unhooking it from the hand holding onto him before it fell to the floor in a pile.

With the new exposure of your skin, his eyes zero in on the slowly forming bruise on your hip, a splotch of red that was sure to blossom and spread out into shades of purple and blue tomorrow morning. He can’t stop himself from reaching forward and allowing his fingertips to prod at it, apologizing when you wince at the small flash of pain.

“What happened here?” He wonders, knowing very well that you didn’t have that on your body before you left. The only purple specks that coated your skin were nestled in between your thighs, victims of his wandering mouth, but he knew that his lips hadn’t traveled this high up.

With a confused pout you stare down at the area he was now circling softly, eyes widening in realization before you begin giggling. Taehyung simply watches in confusion as you break out into a fit of laughter as you recall how you had gotten that nasty bruise, having rammed your drunk self right into the metal pole outside of the bar. “Tequila happened.”

He just smiles in understanding, unhooking your bra for you before sliding the top of his shirt over your head, he knew very well how clumsy you were without alcohol in your system, witnessing first hand how many times you’d taken nasty falls with the help of Don Julio.

“What, were you ready to square up with someone because I bruise like a peach?” The flash of possessiveness in his face as he spotted the bruise was evident enough, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks with a dopey smile when he tries to play it off with a huff and roll of his eyes.

Taehyung doesn’t fool anyone though, the creeping smile on his face calling his bluff when his eyes meet yours once more. “You know I’d hurt anyone who left a mark on you.”

“Oh yeah?” you giggle, pressing a loving kiss against his lips, feeling him smile through it, not minding the way you taste like tequila. “Well there’s a pretty sturdy light post outside of the bar that you’re more than welcome to go punch for me you macho man.”

Taehyung laughs now, that hearty laugh you love so much and it warms your chest as he pulls away fully, large hand coming up to cup under your chin, fingers pushing into your cheeks until your lips pucker out obnoxiously. “I’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning,” he presses a rough kiss against you, the wet smack making you snicker in his grasp. “But for now it's bedtime.”

Your lips attempt to pout in the pursed position he has them in, only cheering up when he kisses you once more, releasing his grip and continuing to help you get ready for bed now that it’s been established that your knee was in fact not broken.

This had to be your favorite part of going out, getting to come home to your boyfriend and being taken care of like a spoiled princess, he knew how much he personally enjoyed it when you would baby him when he came home wasted and giddy, so he always took the time to ensure you were comfortable enough to not go to sleep feeling gross. You’re pliant in his grasp as he hauls you onto the bathroom counter, allowing him to peel off your fake lashes and set them aside with care, removing your makeup with a wipe as carefully as he could, taking the time to not yank at your skin because he knew you’d lecture him about wrinkles.

He only gets a small noise of complaint from you when he brushes your hair, bristles catching onto a knot that he attributes to dried up alcohol that was surely splashed onto you earlier in the night. He decides then to call it quits with that, setting the brush aside and getting your toothbrush ready for you to use, something you were adamant on doing on your own.

Taehyung can just watch you with those same heart shaped eyes you wore as you brush your teeth, eyes droopy as you stare at your reflection, foamy toothpaste escaping from the corners of your mouth and dripping down into the sink as you stick your tongue out to be brushed next.

“What?” you mumble after spitting it all out, eyes narrowed at his own reflection in suspicion before gargling water.

“Nothing, you’re just really pretty.” You don’t fight him on the compliment, always loving how he confidently shot them out to you so often you had no other choice but to accept them even when you felt anything but. He smiles as you avert your eyes and dab at your mouth, mumbling a cute thank you out to him before swiftly exiting the bathroom, cheeks burning from the alcohol and flutter of your emotions.

He allows you to escape without teasing you further, cleaning up the splash of water you had left around the sink as you make yourself cozy in bed, breath minty fresh and face moisturized. Just as you’re about to complain about him being missing he slips into bed beside you, shuffling under the sheets until he feels your skin pressed beside his, wasting no time you nuzzle against Taehyung’s body, arm slung across his stomach with your leg hooked over his hip to keep him close.

“So, tell me again how I’m a macho man.” The laughter that bubbles out of you makes him smile as he stares down at you through the dim light the moon provides, seeing the way you bury your face into his chest to conceal the giant smile.

“You want an ego boost at 3 in the morning?”

“Hey you started it,” he shrugs, a yawn escaping him, showing you just how tired he was, not once complaining about being woken up by your drunk antics despite desperately needing sleep.

“You’re right,” you sigh, tightening your hold on him and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder, “love you my macho man”

Taehyung hums in appreciation, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you even closer, a kiss pressed to your forehead making you smile the way it always did. “Love you more my little peach.”

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #bts fluff #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #bts fics #taehyung smut #new

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teiasviago · 3 years ago

Text

Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

#txf #fanfiction #msr #mine #wahhhh!!!!!#i love: them #i had so much fun writing this ksdjhfkjs like an inordinate amount

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