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loudenver · 1 year ago

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Louis was starting to think authors back in the day had it pretty good. Whenever he thought about his favorite writers, he didn't think about their press tours, or their instagram posts. No, his favorites, the greatest minds of their generation, all wrote and fucked in the fifties. They took a lot of drugs, slept with everyone in their friendship group and had a very loose definition of the term 'heterosexual'. Sure, most of 'em died young and weren't always appreciated in their time, but at least they didn't have to sign what felt like hundreds and hundreds of books for the next few hours.

Still, he shouldn't be ungrateful. He was pinching himself every damn day, and it was sweet of Billy to put everything together on such short notice. Louis would've dropped everything to come support Billy's bookshop and see his old friend again, but it just so happened that A Novel Idea was on, more or less, his front doorstep. It was a great space, although Louis had it on good authority it didn't normally look like this. He scrolled through their instagram this morning over a cup of coffee, smiling at the cluttered, put-togetherness of it, winding tables and towering bookshelves. It reminded him of the bookshops back home, although, the staff were ruder and Ginsberg remained firmly in the restricted section.

Shaking out the stiffness in his wrist, Louis smiled up as another happy reader, or would-be reader, approached his table. She was a young teen in a red beret, blonde curls just touching her shoulders, nervously clutching his book to her chest. Pinned to her denim jacket was a pink, orange and white badge. It was only then he noticed the girl behind her, giving an encouraging shove. Her girlfriend, no doubt.

"Hey, sweetheart." Louis chirped, holding out his hand for her book. She hesitated for a moment, as though forgetting the exchange, before passing the book over with flaming cheeks. "What's your name?"

"It's Bridget." she said, her voice so quiet Louis barely heard her. "B-r-i-d-g-e-t."

With a flourish of his pen, Louis scribbled a quick message on the title page of her book, signing his name in the scribble he'd been practicing for the past year and a half. Handing the book back to her, the girl paused, unwilling to move on. Louis paused, wondering if he should say something. He hadn't really got into the habit of this whole author-fan thing yet.

Bridget's girlfriend prodded her, and she took her book.

"I read an early copy of your book. I reviewed it on my blog. James and Topher's relationship is written so beautifully. Sad, though. Do you think they end up together?" she gushed.

Louis paused, at once taken aback and deeply, insanely touched. He beamed up at her. A queer kid, reading a book that he'd written. Who'dve thunk?

"I think... it's up to you whether or not they end up together."

Bridget nodded. James Marlon, an Italian-born New Yorker with bright blue eyes, was a painfully obvious stand in for Wardo. But Bridget didn't have to know that.

"I think they do. Topher says they're soulmates, right?"

Louis ducked his head, suddenly feeling shy, the weight of this young teen's gaze on him.

"Yeah, he sure does. Thanks for reviewing my book, sweetheart."

Bridget skipped off, excitedly showing her girlfriend Louis' scrawl. Watching them depart hand in hand, Louis didn't even notice the next person had stepped up to the table.

"Hey, darlin', what's you-" Louis started his spiel, only to be cut off by a familiar voice. Eyes travelling upward, he was met with the gorgeous, welcome face of none other than Max Hayashi.

He bounded out of his seat abruptly, knocking the chair back in his excitement to get out of his chair. He launched himself over the table to pull Max into a tight embrace, laughing brightly in his ear despite the obstacle between them.

"You're a sight for fuckin' sore eyes." Louis murmured low, his lips accidentally brushing the shell of Max's ear.

Unwillingly disentangling from the hug, Louis held the other man at arm's length, drinking in the sight of his friend. Still bright eyed and beautiful, a warm feeling unfurled in his chest at the sight of Max. He was a reminder of his happiest years, writing in his aunt's cafe, catching sight of Max, handsome and bouncing off every customer in the place, drawn into his orbit.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Louis asked, pressing a kiss to Max's cheek.

The engine of Max’s motorcycle was cut off in a noisy gurgle. That was something he’d have to look into later. Kicking down the stand, he pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm, stuffing his gloves into it and hoping that A Novel Idea was as friendly and secure as Ava had promised him it was. She’d told him it would be fine to leave his bike in the tiny parking lot behind it and he only hoped he wouldn’t have to regret trusting her. That being said, given the sorry state of the bike right now, he didn’t think that any potential thieves were going to get very far with it. You know what, he’d be impressed if they did.

He was further impressed to see that there was already a line of people waiting outside the door of A Novel Idea, and although he momentarily flirted with the idea of swanning right up to the front, armed with a cry of “I know the author!” he held back. Manners and all. He had spent years trying to instill them in Tommy; he’d be a hypocrite for doing something he’d forcibly pull his little brother back by the collar of his shirt for attempting.

Instead, he joined the line of people, finding himself sandwiched in between an elderly gay couple who informed him they always loved to come to signings for new, queer authors, and a young woman who was blatantly scrolling through Louis’ Instagram.

Max couldn’t necessarily blame her. When he’d gotten wind of Louis being in New York, he’d all but stalked the man’s social media up until he’d found a list of all his book signings. He hadn’t made the very first one, but after sending a few covert messages to Ava, he’d landed himself a last minute ticket to this one in the cute little book store. All without breathing a word of it to Louis. Sue him, he wanted to surprise his friend.

It had been way too long since the two of them had seen each other, what with Max’s move to New York forcing him to leave San Fran behind a long time ago. He still visited from time to time in order to see his aunt, but now that Tommy was here on the east coast with him, there was little for him left back in California. Louis, however, was part of that.

Excitement fizzed under Max’s skin as the door finally opened. He gave a smile to the handsome-looking owner and took a seat near the back row, nearly getting taken out by a brunette barreling by him, muttering something like the eagle has fucking landed, I guess into her hand. Taken aback by the near-collision, his eyes followed her for a moment before he shook his head and turned back, finding himself sitting next to the two men from before. They both sat up attentively when Louis appeared at the little table at the front. Immediately, Max mirrored them, a wide and proud smile on his face as Louis introduced himself and his book and began reading.

He’d always known that Louis could write. He knew that from the various occasions where he’d pleaded with the man to let him read some of his first drafts. True, he’d had to be a little sneaky about it, sometimes downright pickpocketing the other man and holding his notebook aloft from where he’d plucked it from Louis’ bag. But it was only because he knew his friend was talented, and now he was just glad he had a whole room of people to back him up. The only thing that threatened to pull Max’s attention away was the sight of a man fully army-crawling across the floor on his stomach, a crumpled looking envelope held tightly in his fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the guy eventually jumped up upon reaching the same brunette woman from before, the two of them spilling out the door and quickly scarpering. Weird, Max thought, before quickly returning his focus to Louis.

As soon as he finished reading the Christopher Street excerpt, the whole room burst into rapturous applause, Max clapping wildly along with them. Then, there was a flurry of chaos as people stampeded towards the front of the room, hoping to be amongst the first to get their book signed. Max was happy to hang back at the end of the line though, grinning when, at long last, he could approach Louis’ table.

“Holy shit, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he teased, reaching out to clap his hand on Louis’ shoulder in the hopes of pulling the man into a hug.

#ft. max #thread: max1

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gretavanlace · 2 years ago

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Poppins (part 3)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, angst, dirty talk, fingering (fem rec) umm, I think that’s about it…for now

A week later, after a beer with Josh on the porch in the dark that should’ve felt more awkward than it did, you find yourself at Karen and Kelly’s, enjoying a get together. A last laugh before Jake heads back out on whatever road he plans on wandering down next.

You’ll miss him painfully, though you’d rather die than readily admit it.

You’ve ducked away to slip into the bathroom, but instead, have landed in Jake and Josh’s childhood bedroom.

It’s a cluttered mess, but it draws you in…a curious moth to a time capsule flame. Standing silently, shoes sinking into the carpet, a thought crosses your mind…I could stay here forever. In this little room that was once their world. Forever.

Thoughts like these come far too often. They make you uneasy…it’s as if they occupy your heart equally, and that makes no sense.

A voice, quiet and inquisitive, invades your reverie “Lost, poppins?”

Jake. Of course he would find you. Josh leaves well enough alone. Jake doesn’t care for being left behind, no matter how trivial the circumstances.

He meanders through the room silently as you soak in your surroundings. Band and movie posters litter the walls, corners sagging lazily over the thumbtacks pinning them in place. Gold plated trophies bearing faceless figures kicking soccer balls scatter across shelves and dressers, an old pair of converse wait patiently in the corner, never to be worn again. They make you feel sad for some inexplicable reason.

The space smells of lemon pledge and them. They’re so alike that way…the way they smell. It makes you wonder, is that just because they’re brothers? Raised together under the same roof, slumbering beneath the same ceiling night after night, scraping their dinner plates clean of matching meals, trudging identically across the lawn each morning to catch the school bus? growing and changing together? Together, together, together…always together? Or more so because they’re twins…split from one egg, nestled, tangled up tight in the womb, until their mother labored them into the harsh light of the world?

You look right, and you’re surrounded by Josh. Left, Jake. Perhaps if you spun in circles long enough, they might merge into one…wouldn’t that solve all of your problems?

“It’s like a shrine.” You murmur, wonderstruck by the way their parents have left the room intact and untouched aside from Karen’s dusting and swapping clean linens for their counterparts to keep them fresh.

“Yeah, well, we’re the twins. The beloved gruesome twosome.” Jake is only teasing, but he’s right. “They turned Ron’s room into a gym almost right away. My mother thought she needed one one night after too many daiquiris. It’s Costco storage now.”

He’s perched on what you assume was once his bed, a prince returned to the throne of his kingdom. You switch your focus from the various objects dotting the shelves, to his flawless face, and find him watching you carefully.

“I like having you in here.” He muses softly. “Makes me feel like I’m young again.”

You fight a smile, but it comes anyway. “You’re still young, Jake.”

He leans back with his elbows digging into an ancient quilt, legs splayed wide. “Makes me feel like I’m really young though. Like I’m back in high school with a pretty girl in my room who won’t sit down because she’s nervous I might try and put my hand up her skirt.”

Leaning back against a desk you assume to be Josh’s (Jake, having never been studious from the stories you’ve heard) you attempt to adopt his casual air. “My guess is that Josh had more girls in this room than you ever did. Theater girls are crazy…or so I’ve been told.”

He laughs loudly, head tipped back to expose the perfect column of his throat. When he refocuses on your face, the look in his eyes nearly steals your breath. It’s beautiful, and predatory. “So you’ve been told, or do you know that first hand?”

“Are you asking if I was a crazy theater girl,” You feign confusion “Or if I’ve let theater girls go crazy on me?”

He hums as if amused, “I know what you’re doing.”

Running from the room seems like an excellent plan. Instead, you stay in place, gaze lingering everywhere but upon him. “And what am I doing, Jake? Because I just happened to find my way in here, you’re the one who…”

“You’re avoiding me.” He interrupts.

“Avoiding you?” You scoff, stunned by how far off it is from what you had expected him to say. “We’re in the same room, bud…I’m failing to see how…”

“You always do this,” he has risen gracefully to his feet, closing in on you step by step. “You push me away with stupid jokes, or flippant comments…and I know why. Do you?”

“Do I what?” You whisper as he nears.

“Do you know why you do that?” He’s in front of you now, so close you feel warm in his radiant heat.

A small shake of your head is your offering, cornered like a quivering rodent with a sleek, ravenous, alley cat bearing down upon it.

“It’s because you want me,” he moves nearer, hands circling your waist as though he owns your body…and perhaps he does. “Maybe not as badly as I want you, but you want me. Tell me you don’t.”

“Jake…”

His grip tightens. “Go on. Tell me.”

The silence is deafening, until he breaks it softly. “Stop. That’s all you have to say.”

“Stop.” It hushes out of you, hardly a whisper, but he releases you and steps away as if you’ve shouted.

A quiet apology is offered, but you shake your head. He wasn’t wrong, and he needn’t be sorry.

“So, who is this?” You ask, scrambling to return to innocent ground. “Her face is everywhere.”

You scan the snapshots littering the wall, waiting for his reply. It doesn’t come, so you offer an apology of your own.

“No, you’re good.” He assures, brushing off his silence for something less than it feels like it was. “Just someone who used to matter.”

“Pretty.”

“Yeah.” He grins, gaze flitting over your features. “I have a type, I suppose.”

“Did you love her?” The question comes from nowhere, and you long to take it back. What business is it of yours?

“Yes.”

“Did the road drag you away, free bird?” You joke, hiding your unease with his candor as you settle down on the bed opposite his. Josh’s bed.

“No.” He sounds offhanded, but the moment feels heavier. “My brother fucked her. He was drunk and she was somethin’ else, and I couldn’t blame him.”

“So you blamed her.” You ask, after a stretch of shocked silence.

“So I blamed her.” He confirms with a gentle nod of his head.

“I’m sorry.” It comes as a whisper. You feel badly for him, and worse for bringing her up, for causing the dull flash of pain in his eyes.

He shakes it off as quickly as it came. “I’m not. Better to see the truth of someone’s heart before they get their hands on yours.”

“That explains the girl in every port.” You ponder aloud, mostly to yourself.

The aged mattress creaks under his weight as he sinks down beside you. “A girl in every port?” His fingers begin toying tenderly with your own. “That sounds suspiciously like Josh. Did he put that idea in your pretty head?”

“Is it not the truth?” You wrap your fingers up with his, though it’s the last thing you should do.

“He tells you those things because he knows there’s something here.” He points to you, and then to himself. “He’s in love with you. Can’t say I can fault him for that.”

Though stunned, in love with you?, you march right by it like it hasn’t been said. “Doesn’t automatically make it a lie. Is it? True, I mean? Girl in every port?”

“I like sex, poppins.” He shrugs casually, like he’s just confessed his favorite flavor of ice cream. “So, I indulge as often as possible…that’s all.”

“Well,” you pull your hand away as if stung. “I’m not an indulgence, Jake.”

“Ah,” the sexiest of smiles graces his sinful mouth. “That’s where you’re wrong, babe. You’re the sweetest indulgence of all. You’d be like grapes, warmed under the sun, ready to burst on the tongue, fed by angels.”

He’s close now…so fucking close. Leaned in, stealing all the air from the room while humming poetic nonsense into your ear, breath tickling along your throat as his lips tease, barely there and feathering over your thrumming jugular.

“What if I stand up and close the door? Turn the lock and spread these gorgeous legs? Will you feed it to me?”

“Jake…” You loathe the way it moans softly out of you, but it’s too late to right that wrong.

“Oh, that was nice, poppins…” his teeth have found your earlobe, drawing forth a shiver you can’t conceal. “Say my name like that one more time for me, all soft and sweet. You sound like you’re begging.”

Now those nimble fingers of his are popping the buttons on the fly of your jeans one by one, allowing for the protest you can’t seem to muster.

“Jake, everyone’s downstairs and…”

“We’ll hear them.” He promises quietly, nuzzling at your temple as his mouth kisses the apple of your cheek sweetly. “Are you wet? Have you soaked through your little panties? Trembling for my fingers, or my mouth, or my cock?”

You're lost now. Completely…and you couldn’t give less of a shit if you actively tried. And, when his hand slips inside your panties, you forget to stifle the moan of surprised relief that gasps out of you.

“Yeah?” He teases, circling the pads of his fingers over your wet clit delicately. “Does that feel good?”

Hands in his tangled hair, you turn in close, lips resting against his mouth, breathing in his ragged breaths. “Jake, please…”

“Please what?” He coaxes, still loving on your cunt like he’s never been more devoted to anything in his life.

“I…” he chooses that exact moment to bury a finger inside you, huffing a breath of a laugh when you lurch forward, further into his arms. “Fuck…more.”

“Poppins wants more…” he sighs, slipping a second finger in to join the first.

He curls into that special little place that makes your muscles turn weak just as the sound of footsteps begin to ascend the stairs.

Moving to push him away, he tugs you in tighter, “It’s him, can’t you tell by the walk? Let him see. You’re mine. C’mon, let him see.”

“Oh my god, Jake…stop!” you shove at him again and he backs off.

Josh appears in the doorway seconds after you’ve finished yanking your shirt down to cover the buttons you haven’t had time to fasten. Jake looks casual, running his still slick fingers over his lips, but you’re flushed with shame and adrenaline.

“Mom’s looking for you.” He informs his twin with a hard edge to his tone. “Says you promised to man the grill.”

“That I did, brother…” Jake rises, taking no concern to hide his very obvious erection as he ambles out of the room. “That I did.”

Josh waits until you’re alone in the suffocating quiet.

“Interrupted again,” he tilts his head with a somber, inquisitive stare. “I seem to be making a habit of this.”

“No,” you reach out to smooth his curls, but then retreat, worried he might smell his other half all over you. “We were just…”

“Please don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He manages a sorrowful smile. “That makes this so much worse.”

You're left with that, in a room surrounded by the relics of the boys they once were, with a heart stuffed full of the men they have become.

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#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #greta van fic #josh kiszka #gvf fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka smut #jake kiszka smut #gvf josh #gvf smut #gvf jake #josh gvf

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reikuto · 3 years ago

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⋆ฺ｡*:･CONTENT! college!au, mutual pining, cursing :: oikawa tooru x gender neutral reader. A/N! sorry for any grammatical errors, i was excited to post!!･: *｡ฺ⋆

SPARING A FAKE SMILE TOWARDS THE COUPLE AS THEY LEFT the establishment, you waited until their backs were turned to roll your eyes in annoyance. wiping the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, you mentally cursed the summer heat for making your shift utterly unbearable. catching sight of the busboy, you point to the cluttered table before moving on to attend the next group.

with a sigh, you walk up to the table and put on your best smile as you set their menus down. “hi, welcome! what can i get for yo—“ your smile drops when you meet his eyes. “what are you doing here?”

“hi, yes, could i get a birthday kiss, please?” oikawa smiles cheekily, innocently tapping his fingers against the menu. he looked painfully good; with his soft, styled hair, flushed cheeks, and dewy skin. “i’ll consider it my birthday gift, since you obviously forgot.”

“oh is it your birthday? i couldn’t tell.” you deadpan, staring at the birthday themed badge with a big, bold “I’M 8!” pinned to his shirt. “congrats, you’re almost at double digits.”

“they ran out of eighteen, i had to improvise.” iwaizumi shrugs, picking up his menu and flipping it open.

you scoff, crossing your arms. “they didn’t run out of birthday badges for an eighteen year old on a random tuesday afternoon.”

iwaizumi smirks smugly as he browses his menu. “come on now, the birthday boy asked for a kiss.”

“don’t change the subject.” you narrow your eyes at him. “why are you entertaining this?”

“birthday privileges,” iwaizumi says as he sets the menu down and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “that and he’s paying, so could you please get the big man and i get some water? lots of ice, thanks.”

“and a kiss,” oikawa quips.

“the two of you are insufferable,” you shake your head. “are you sticking with your usual orders or what.”

“yeah, the usual for me.” iwaizumi confirms before quickly adding, “extra pickles.”

“great,” you take their menus, paying no mind to the way oikawa pouted in his seat. finally facing him, you placed a hand on your hip and raise your eyebrows expectantly. “you ready to actually order now, oikawa?”

he breaks out into a grin at your attention—fuck he’s so cute—and straightens up in his seat. “have i ever told you i love the way you say my name?”

"oh give me a break.” you roll your eyes, spinning around before he could see the smile break out on your lips. leaving the two of them to pass their orders to the chef, you catch yourself staring at the floor and smiling like a doofus. jeez, what am i doing? get a grip. bringing yourself back to reality, you keep yourself busy while the cook works her magic.

oikawa’s eyes trail off of iwaizumi and onto you when you emerged from the kitchen. watching as you attended another table, he found humor in the way your face lit up when a child tried to order for themselves. mostly because you had recently expressed your disdain for parents who let their barely articulate four year old try to order during a lunch rush.

“could you be any more obvious?” iwaizumi asked, snapping in fingers in front of oikawa’s face. “you’re drooling all over the fucking table.”

“in a funny mood today, aren’t you?” oikawa shot back, “i can assume as much seeing as you bought me this.” he rolled his eyes, tapping his birthday badge.

“it was cute, i thought it suited your mature and distinguished personality.” iwaizumi teased annoyingly.

“ha-ha,” oikawa said dryly. “what happened to my birthday privileges.”

“oh believe me, they’re still there,” iwaizumi scoffed. “i’ve let a lot of things slide today, but that’s besides the point.”

“what exactly is the point?”

“the point is that this constant back and forth between you two is killing me.” iwaizumi groans, “when are you gonna grow a pair and ask them out?”

“i have a pair, thanks.” oikawa glared, catching a glimpse of a waiter approaching their table with a tray. “oh, would you look at that? someone’s already bringing your shit sandwich over.”

“this conversation isn’t over.”

“what conversation?”

“oikawa.”

“i obviously plan on doing it, just not today.” oikawa stated, watching in disdain as iwaizumi’s plate was placed in front of him. how on earth does he eat that. “it’s a total dick move.”

grabbing the nearby ketchup bottle, iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow at the statement. “i’m not following, why exactly is it a dick move?”

“cause it’s my birthday, iwa-chan.” oikawa rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. “what if the pressure of not wanting to hurt my feelings on my birthday is the only reason they agree.”

iwaizumi hummed, squeezing a dollop of ketchup onto his plate. “you know what i think?”

“what?” oikawa asked, hopeful that his best friend would provide him with some much needed insight.

“i think you’re making excuses.” or not.

“shut the hell up and eat your disgusting sandwich.”

by the time you’re done taking orders and dealing with bullshit, iwaizumi was already more than halfway done, nodding occasionally as oikawa talked his ear off. you practically skip over to the kitchen, poking your head inside and clearing your throat to get the cook’s attention.

“is it ready, ‘suri?” you ask with a hopeful tone. the last thing you wanted was for them to leave before the surprise was done. smiling when she nods over to the plate sitting prettily on the counter, you rushed over to pick it up. “thanks, you’re the best!”

exiting the kitchen, you hide the plate behind your back and compose yourself before making your way over to their table. ok so yes, you may or may not have asked her to make milk bread in honor of oikawa’s birthday but in your defense, oikawa has been going on about his birthday since before it even turned july. besides, the two of you are friends, of course you’re gonna get him something!

and while it might seem like an insignificant gift, ‘suri’s desserts held a reputation for being downright heavenly and expensive. plus, it was extra special because milkbread wasn’t even on the menu, ‘suri only made an exception because she loved you.

reaching his table, the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before oikawa caves. “did you come over just to stare at my pretty face?” he muses. you let the smile take over your features, revealing the plate and setting it down in front of him.

“happy birthday, tooru.” you hummed, leaning down to place a quick kiss on his cheek. straightening up, you place a hand on his head and affectionately ruffle it a bit. “i can’t believe you’re already starting the third grade, i’m so proud of you, bud.”

“they grow up fast don’t they?” iwaizumi sighed, “seems like just yesterday he was having a meltdown over his haircut.”

“that’s because it was.” you laugh.

“that’s right, it was.”

oikawa’s still blinking in shock at the dessert before him and the fact that you brought it for him and holy shit, your hand is still in his hair. “well don’t just stare at it, try it.” you urge, sliding the plate a little closer.

oikawa cleared his throat, looking up at you with a tiny smirk. “are you gonna feed it to me too?” it took you a second to register what he was saying because all you could focus on was the pink hue to his cheeks and ears.

“as if,” you snorted, reluctantly taking your hand out of his hair. “now if you’ll excuse me, i have to get back to work.”

oikawa’s hand smoothly reached for your own before you could walk away. “you’re still coming tonight right?” please say yes.

forcing yourself to look away from your joined hands, you nodded dumbly. “to your party right?”

“yeah, i know you get off late but—“

“yes, yeah, of course i’ll be there.” you cut him off, mentally punching yourself for sounding so eager.

“great, i’ll see you then.”

#oikawa torū #oikawa fic #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!!#hq drabbles #hq x reader #hq fluff #gender neutral imagine #gender nuetral reader #pining #sfw #[🍹] haikyu!#[🍹]#[🍹] oikawa!

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

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Of bees and bonnets - Chapter 2

So, a bit more background on different characters...

-> Part 1

Summary: Victorian AU - love, social conventions, secrets - Explicit (but not yet) - many characters

Words: 1,5 k

Characters: Thorin, Dís, Kíli, Fíli, Ori, OCs

Upon entering the main salon, Lilly was first struck by how static everything looked; the room was painfully clean but cluttered with things that looked ‘disused’ and abandoned.

The settees were upholstered in colours and styles that had been démodé for too long a time to have gone unnoticed and there were knickknacks strewn around that seemed incongruous in the home of a middle-aged widow and her older brother. These were the things of a young woman, Lilly thought and – immediately – she wondered if her future Mistress would be one of those wilted beauties crying about their first season every other week.

As her eyes slid over silk and velvet, exquisite in quality but pale with age, she had to admit that this first room was intriguing her by containing this many hints of information without telling her anything definitive about her employers.

The centrepiece of that strange three-dimensional painting of faded glory was undoubtedly the man standing by the fireplace though: tall, stiff, and handsome in a sharp way, he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life.

“Mistress Elisabeth,” he bowed slightly, his demeanour a melancholic blend of military and anachronistically formal.

“Lilly,” she corrected, “you may call me Lilly.”

He blinked a few times before nodding slowly, “very well, Miss Lilly then.”

So, this was the man who had advertised to find a companion for his sister, Lilly thought, surprised by how good-looking he still was; she had expected a decrepit old man – maybe even infirm with age already – rather than this very serious middle-aged nobleman eyeing her calmly.

“I have picked out your references amongst many others,” he spoke, “and I think you will get along great with my sister.”

Lilly wondered if the woman in the huge painting over the fireplace was said sister, but that dainty creature looked nothing like the man facing her now; she was pallid and slender, fair-haired and pale-eyed, with a mouth like a spring rosebud and tiny, white hands folded neatly in her lap.

She was right.

The sister was an imperious woman with raven locks bound impatiently into tight braids that were pinned haphazardly at the back of her head and eyes the colour of woodsmoke.

“Dís, this is Miss Lilly,” Thorin introduced the women, and the usual gestures of greeting and respect were executed with habitual precision but profound disinterest.

“Tell me something about yourself that shocks me,” Dís demanded, waving her brother out of the room; if she was to have a companion forced upon her, she wanted her to be at least somewhat entertaining lest she completely defeat the purpose.

“I will die a spinster most probably,” Lilly replied, “and I don’t mind the lack of a husband – they seem to be rather tiresome creatures – but I regret never having been kissed.”

Dís cocked her head, waving at the younger woman to go on.

“My needlework is excellent, but I hate it; my singing is not as excellent, but I love it,” Lilly obliged her employer, thoroughly enjoying the spark in the other woman’s eyes that spoke of wit and humour beyond what was seemly and acceptable in a dignified widow of the upper classes.

“I have two sons,” Dís said, getting – rather ruthlessly – to the heart of another worry of hers, “did you come here with designs upon them?”

“How could I?” Lilly replied, “I’ve never seen them. My dear spinsterhood – decided as it is – shall not be threatened by anything other than true love.”

She pressed her lips together to stifle the undignified chuckle making its way to her lips and flinched when Lady Dís threw her head back and broke into roaring laughter.

“Come child,” she invited, the mask of the perfectly well-bred and soft-spoken lady sliding back into place as she led Lilly down a gallery until she pointed at another huge painting.

“The one on the right is Fíli, my oldest, and the other one is Kíli, my youngest,” she said in a tone that betrayed worry and deep love at the same time.

How many had there been between them, Lilly wondered, but this was not a question one was allowed to ask any stranger, let alone an employer one had only just met.

“They are handsome,” she complimented in a soft, polite voice for they weregood-looking men – tall and stately – who would bring great honour to their house and name if there was to be another war.

“They are on their way back home,” Lady Dís informed her.

There was something else in her tone now, Lilly noticed, but she was unable to really pinpoint it. Apprehension? Nervousness? A guilty conscience?

“They’ll throw debutantes at Fíli as soon as he comes through the door,” Kíli laughed between two swigs of watered-down ale, earning a sour look from his older brother.

“And you’ll be spared?” Ori asked soberly; he had done his schooling on a stipend due to his studious nature and he was not entirely sure if he should envy Fíli or not.

On the one hand, his friend was guaranteed a thing that might well be a chore to him and that would have been an extraordinary but rather unattainable luxury to Ori: a wife.

On the other hand, he was not entirely sure if he would have wanted women to be forced into meeting him, but that might also have been linked to the fact that the fairer sex usually seemed rather uninterested if not outright disappointed whenever they made his acquaintance.

“It will be great fun,” Kíli tried to cheer his brother up as well as he could; young and impressionable, he still hoped for an epic love story to unfold before his very eyes.

“He has been away for years,” Victoria muttered, her rosy lips settling into a moue that was both charming and disheartening to her dear mama.

“You liked him well though,” the older dame prompted her oldest daughter encouragingly; Fíli was a good match, and the connection would bring great honour to the house.

“You have to think of your younger sisters as well,” she pressed on, setting aside the bonnet she had been decorating painstakingly for her youngest daughter and giving Victoria a stern look.

“I know,” the girl sighed.

It was true, when she had met Fí – back when they had been naïve children – at picnics and dances, she had found him to be charming and always in good spirits, but that was neither here nor there when it came to securing an advantageous match.

She resented the idea of being pushed upon a man who had just returned from extensive schooling that was entirely unreachable to her on grounds of her sex.

There would be so many young debutantes desperately vying for his attention as it was, and the mere thought of the indignity to be suffered in the name of her family made her stomach churn.

“We shall call upon them as soon as they are back,” her mother declared in a definitive tone, “I have heard from the baker’s wife that they might already have set out.”

Victoria had not seen the oldest son of the forbidding widow on the cliff for years, but she would have been lying if she said that she was not in the least curious to see if the dandelion boy had grown into a golden man.

As the days melted into the rocky earth around her, Lilly – who had grown up in bustling crowds and big cities – learned to love the rolling hills and the sharp cliffs.

Often, she felt as if she had been dropped into a completely different world and she would stand for minutes on end merely watching the wind chase its tail through the rough, high grasses or the sun filter through the dense clouds with stubborn persistence.

She was a fish on land, she knew, but she was also eager to discover this new and unhospitable environment and claim beautiful discoveries that soothed the heartache of being alone in the world.

Her hosts revealed themselves to be kind underneath their slightly rusty politeness and – much to her surprise – Lady Dís was a woman of great verve and impeccable wit.

Most of all though, she relished in the relative freedom she had found in this house; whenever Lady Dís did not need her, she was free and welcome to sit in the library or to go for walks along the cliffs.

“Oh,” she said one day, her brow darkening, “that oaf of a brother of mine!”

Hastening her steps, Lilly joined her in the hall to find her mistress holding a pristine white envelope.

“I told him to take this letter to the post office when he leaves,” Lady Dís mumbled in that annoyed tone that was reserved for private conversations; Lilly always felt that it was a privilege to share her most visceral reactions and her most private thoughts.

“I can take it now?” she offered; after all, her mission was to support and aid the Lady in all things within her might.

“Oh no, child,” Dís laughed, “Thorin has taken the carriage…and Dwalin.”

“I can walk down to the village,” Lilly insisted with a warm smile, “it is a fine day.”

And so, she made it to the post office – where another letter was waiting for her mistress – and was on her way back when she found herself confronted with the most unexpected danger.

So, I hope this is still enjoyable :D

Love you all <3

Taglist:

@blairsanne

@narniaandthenorth

@fizzyxcustard

@laurfilijames

@myselfandfantasy

@legolasbadass

@linasofia

@lathalea

@midearthwritings

@guardianofrivendell

@clumsy-wonderland

@fckmini

@tharan-duil

I am sorry, I have not checked exactly...If you want to be added to the taglist (or removed) please let me know 💖

#the hobbit #fanfiction #ori #ori the dwarf #thorin #dís #fíli #kíli #victorian au #mystery #drama?#meet the characters #tension #first clouds at the horizon?

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misstinfoilhat · 6 years ago

Text

The Boy in the Belfry Pt. 4, a Bungo Stray Dogs fic.

The structure was still as ominous as ever. It didn't help the grim picture that he was standing in the middle of a storm. The thunder and lightning made his scars ache as a reminder of what had transpired inside of this church, many years ago.

But, he wasn't here for nostalgia.

He hobbled carefully towards the locked gates of the black-painted fence that protected the graveyard surrounding the run-down church. In one of the lockers in his hospital room, he’d been relieved to find his tan coat, cleaned and hanging nicely on a wooden hanger. Luckily, the old brass key he’d received in the letter was still in one of the pockets.

He picked it up.

Once again, like the week before, he turned the key in the rusted lock, though, with a bit more trouble. It released the chains keeping the gate together and fell to the ground.

Dazai cursed under his breath at his failed attempted to catch it. The strain had been a little too much for his back, and now he would have to bend down to pick it up when he left. If he left.

Well, he would have to deal with that later.

He closed the gate behind him to the best of his ability with his limited range of movement, not wanting to raise the suspicion of anyone else that would possibly venture by at this time of night. Idiots like himself.

The short stairs to the large wooden door also proved to be a challenge in his weakened state, but with a little bit of patience (that he truly didn't have right now), he managed to get up, only to be greeted by a very much bolted-up-door.

'No, why did he bolt it shut?' The familiar anger started to clutter his vision. Despite himself, he tried to knock.

“Hey!” He knocked harder. “Hey! Come on out, you... you... fuck!” His voice broke as his knocks against the door grew to desperate thunder. With one hand. Then two. “You're such a fucking coward!” Crutches fell from armpits and landed on the stone flooring with two separate clangs. Instinctively, Dazai lowered his broken leg to keep his balance , bones still attached to the external fixation device.

The amount of pain that shot from his leg through his entire body was inhumane. The moment his leg touched the ground, he collapsed. He couldn't keep himself from screaming out from the agonizing sensations and violent spasms, as he thrust on the ground in anger and hurt. ...

After some time, he was able to calm himself. He had finally managed to execute his stupidest stunt yet. Probably. It definitely was up there.

The rain was pouring, and every inch of the pitiful man was soaked. If the fall hadn't killed him, pneumonia was a pretty good contender right now. He needed to get out of this mess.

There was no way he could get up by himself. His back opposed to any movement, and his leg seemed to have pinned itself stuck in a crack in the stones he was now, miserably lying on.

'I have to do it... I don't want to. But, it's not the best time to die right now. It would be rather inconvenient actually... Goddammit.'

Painfully, he was able to reach into his pocket and retrieve his phone, mindlessly scrolling through numbers until it came to a stop in the last part of 's'.

Slug.

... Chuuya's phone was ringing. It was in the middle of the night, and the high buzzing sound and a default ringtone woke him from a deep sleep. Hazy, blue eyes looked at the display- which said; Mackrell.

Nope.

He went back to sleep.

A few minutes later, his sleep was again interrupted. This time by a text message.

“Fucking bastard,” he growled and picked up the phone to see what could possibly be so important that his mortal enemy would text him in the middle of the night. If it was another fucking video of a cat playing the piano, he would (secretly be pretty amused) unleash his ultimate power on that stupid walking roll of toilet paper and he didn't even care if he'd die if he could just...

- I need your help.

Chuuya pressed his face brutally against his pillow and groaned audibly.

He texted back and pressed send.

- Fuck you.

Then he turned around on his back, phone in hand and waited for some whiny and annoying response or some 'witty' reply with an invitation to do just that.

A couple of minutes went by. 10 minutes. 15.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Great, now I'm getting worried.'

He reluctantly opened the message again and texted.

- Where?

A couple of moments went by before his phone rang. Chuuya pressed on the accept button so fast, that he got embarrassed for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, placing the phone to his ear.

“What? Why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night! I swear to God, if you're not already dying, I'll personally make sure that you-”

“I might be dying,” Dazai's hoarse voice cut him off.

Chuuya kept silent, a bit set back by the deadpanned reply. A guttural cough was heard on the other end.

Chuuya let out a deep breath. “Where are you, bastard?”

“Church,” was all he said before the connection got cut.

“Church...? No. No, no, no. Dazai? Dazai!” Chuya looked furiously on the screen and tried to dial back, He waited. No reply.

“Fuck, Dazai, you stupid...” he sneered to his phone and got up from the bed, pulling on the first pieces of clothing he could find and sprinted out the door.

The big black landrover was almost comically opposite its small red-haired owner. There was nothing comical about the man’s expression of absolute terror though, as he sped through the dark street towards the church that he usually planned his trips to avoid at all costs.

He was about to pass it before he stepped on the brakes, and he jerked forward, only stopped by the seatbelt. The rain was pouring down so heavily at this point, that he could hardly see through the windows. He opened the car door and ran outside.

He saw him. Dazai was lying on the ground, right outside the door. 'What the fuck is he even doing here?'

The gate was slightly open, so he had no problems pushing past it. He looked wearily to each side, as he jogged the couple of feet between the gate and steps.

“What are you doing, you scrawny idiot?” he tried calling out, hoping to get a response.

He didn't.

Shit.

He kneeled by the limp man's side.

“Hey, Dazai. Come on.” He slapped his cheek tryingly. His cheeks were so cold. Chuuya looked him over quickly, only then noticing the metal sticking out of his left leg.

“Jesus Christ, you really are an idiot,” he mumbled.

Dazai was still holding his phone, so Chuuya took it from his hand to make sure it wasn't already broken from all the water. To his surprise, it lit up when he touched the screen, only to realize that it was a message for him there, that he apparently hadn't been able to send before falling unconscious.

No hospital

Hatrack :-)

“You rather took the time to... fucking bastard.” ...

In spite of his moderate size, Chuuya was more than strong enough to carry Dazai from the car to his dormitory. There was no way in hell that he would show him where he lived.

Chuuya was a man with a plan. He had already found Dazai's keys while in the car, and without too much struggle he retrieved the right one and got them inside.

He didn't bother to show the courtesy of taking off his shoes before grimy loafers stepped inside, aqua eyes scanning his surroundings.

Dazai had a modest apartment. It was a small kitchen corner with an island for eating, a brown leather couch placed to face an old-looking bookcase and a kotatsu in the opposite corner. A sliding door lead into what Chuuya figured was the bedroom and lifted Dazai inside.

The bedroom was even more modest, only decorated with a futon and a small dresser.

He walked across the wooden floor and carefully placed the passed out man on the bed, lifting the blanket up and threw it on top of him.

Then, he stood up and looked around. There really wasn't much to look at. The dresser had endless boxes and rolls of bandages on top of it, and a pair of glasses. Chuuya chuckled and lifted them up, trying them on.

“Jeeze, Dazai. When did you go blind?” He proceeded to squint around the room, realizing that there wasn't a single mirror. Of course, there wasn't.

Chuuya placed the spectacles back onto the dresser before he heard something stir behind him.

He turned to look at Dazai, now with eyes half-lidded, peering up at him.

“Look who finally decided to wake up. Pretty conveniently after I've struggled to drag him up the stairs.”

“Just wanted you to carry me over the threshold, chibi,” the weak voice snickered, before letting out a painful sigh. “Chuuya, would you mind handing me some clothes from the dresser. Whatever's fine.”

“Glad you're finally ready to listen to my fashion advice.”

“If I wanted to join the circus, perhaps.”

Chuuya grimaced but opened the first drawer. The only thing laying there was a grey cotton shirt and a pair of black joggers.

“You literally have one shirt and one pair of pants.”

Dazai shrugged and forced himself to sit upright with his teeth clenched.

After a short break dedicated to catching his raspy breath, he started to take off his soaked jacket.

Chuuya turned with the clothes in his arms, first now noticing that Dazai was wearing a hospital gown. With the back showing, he could see that the ties in the back had come undone, and the soaked bandages underneath had started to loosen.

“Did you... escape from a hospital or something?”

“Yeah,” Dazai breathed and disposed of the gown. The bandages were completely loose now, and Chuuya could clearly see the familiar disfigured back. The scarring that embroidered every inch of Dazai's body.

Dazai couldn't reach around to cover it back up. His fractured spine made his movements very limited, and he had realized that it just wasn't going to happen.

Chuuya noticed the fresh surgical scar in the middle of his back.

«I can't reach,» Dazai said silently, but suddenly turned his face towards Chuuya with a cheeky grin. «Hah, it must be nice hearing someone else say that for once.»

Chuuya snorted but finally chipped his shoes off, returned to the dresser to pick up some new bandages and crouched behind his former friend, giving him a slap across the head and not holding anything back.

Reaching for a piece of gauze, he peeled off the protective layer and carefully placed it along the scar.

«Do I even need to ask what happened?» he mumbled, reaching for a set of fresh bandages on his right.

«I didn't try to kill myself,» Dazai answered with a faint smile.

«Really? Are you telling me that you're finally maturing?»

«Tch, never.»

Chuuja continued his work in silence, covering every little blemish on Dazai's back, as he knew he needed.

«Are you in pain?» he finally asked.

«I'm fine,» Dazai sighed.

«That bad, huh?»

A melancholic smile appeared on Dazai's face. Chuuya had always been able to read him like a book. He probably knew him better than he knew himself.

«There, is that okay?» Chuuya asked, fastening the last piece of the bandage.

«Sure. Thank you, Chuuya.» Dazai hesitated and turned to face Chuuya. «So, about today...»

«Yeah, I'm kinda curious. Spit it out, patchy.»

«He's back.» The small red-head looked thoughtfully on the slender man on the bed.

“Fuck... Yeah, I kinda figured. And I'm guessing it has absolutely everything to do with your sorry-ass-state?”

Dazai didn't answer. Chuuya sighed.

«I need alcohol. Do you have any wine?»

«Aren't you driving?»

Chuuya shot back with a venomous stare, telling him not to go there.

«In the kitchen cabinet. Do you mind bringing me some sake?»

«Aren't you on pain medications?»

Dazai gave him a stare, telling him not to go there right back.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #fanfiction #Boy in the belfry #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #dazai centric

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wykart · 6 years ago

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The Only Person I’ve Ever Truly Loved

Chapter 3 of my Klaus x Dave fic (chapter 1) (chapter 2) ao3

Summary: Allison and Klaus are having a girls night (basically some fluff to follow the previous chapter)

“I wanted to have a girl’s night, like the kind they have on those TV shows. You’re supposed to do each other’s nails, eat cookies, talk about boys – that sort of thing.” It was Klaus’ sister Allison. She’d asked him up to her room that evening after his other sister, Vanya, had shyly dodged the question. He loved watching the way Klaus interacted with the brothers and sisters he’d only mentioned in passing remarks, and never elaborated upon when Dave pressed him further. The children were trapped together in a strange situation; all of them simultaneously held in isolation, and pinned under the public spotlight.

Klaus chuckled, “Wait a minute, and you asked Vanya?”

“Well of course I did, she’s the only other girl here.” Allison replied, pulling a glitter-plastered box off the vanity. Inside was an array of makeup supplies, cluttered together in a heap of half-empty tubes and stray clouts of nude powders.

“I can’t believe I was your second choice when I love literally all of the things you just listed.”

“Actually, I asked Ben first,” she admitted.

“You what!” He feigned distress, draping his arm over his forehead. Allison giggled, that bubbling, contagious laughter that seemed to spill out of her like sunshine. Dave couldn’t help but grin as well. He was standing in the corner of the room, there were other two, silent observers that lurked on the edge of Klaus’ perception. They were quiet, and easy for Klaus to ignore. Dave didn’t make a habit of these little excursions, and, more often than not, the situations he found weren’t of happy sibling bonding like this. It was nice to see them re-creating some semblance of a normal childhood.

“Well it’s okay, the two of them are probably down in the library with Five right now, doing whatever it is that they do.”

Klaus stifled a cough, “nerds.” Allison grinned, and pulled out a plastic-wrapped dish from under her bed – a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies.

“Well, they don’t get any of these cookies – I asked Mom to make them especially for us, and she put raisins in as well this time.”

“Raisins are a crime, dear sister,” he shook his head solemnly.

Allison punched his shoulder lightly, “are not.”

“Are too,” he stuck out his tongue, teasing.

“Ok, so I wanted to do the eyeliner first, I picked it up from the mall yesterday.” She grabbed an unopened sleek black tube from the box.

“Where’d you get the money for that?” He asked, feigning ignorance, “I know for a fact you spent all of the chore money Mom gave us last week when you bought all those dresses and magazines.”

Alison gave a sly grin, a mischievous look that Klaus loved. “It was on sale, I only had to haggle a little.”

Klaus cleared his throat loudly, “stealing,” he coughed again.

Allison rolled her eyes, “I think Dad would call it… adapting,” she winked.

“Well I think Dad should go trip over a melon,” he grumbled, trying to suppress a chuckle. Allison raised an eyebrow, he’d have to come up with something more outlandish to get a rise out of her. “See, why can’t I have a power that lets me get discounted make up at the mall? All I get is this guy watching me put on eyeliner,” he pointed at Dave, “no offence man,” he added. Dave was surprised that he’d even noticed him there. Klaus had gotten better at ignoring the ghosts when he was around his siblings. He didn’t want to give them any cause for concern.

“None taken,” David replied, simply.

“Ghost?” Allison asked. He nodded, and she was glad to see that he wasn’t distressed. Allison worried about him all the time, that far-off look in his eyes, that deep, churning terror that seemed to follow him everywhere. She wanted him to know that he was safe. There were times when he’d be so overwhelmed by their voices, their demands, that his siblings would yell into thin air for them to go away. They might’ve felt a little crazy doing it, but Klaus was always grateful. Sometimes, the ghosts even listened.

Dave stood there, shifting in and out of existence as Klaus’ attention waned, watching as Allison meticulously applied the eyeliner. She was gentle, and Klaus actually kept his mouth shut long enough for her to finish the job. “Ok,” she muttered, “I think you’re all set.”

Klaus blinked and suppressed the urge to reach up and touch his face. “Feels itchy,” he admitted.

“Here,” she held up a mirror to his face. Klaus posed, angling his face in every direction, winking at himself. Allison laughed. He stood up and grabbed a pink feather boa that was slung around the door nob.

“Alright Allison, how do I look,” he spun around with it draped over his shoulders. He winked and blew a kiss at her, and she doubled over with laughter. He put one foot up on the bed, hands on his hips. He whispered in that way that twelve-year olds think is seductive, “I heard a rumour –“

“Stop it,” she forced out between fits of laughter, “you’re putting my looks to shame!”

He laughed and got down from the bed, swishing the feather boa around in the air. “You know, when you become a famous movie star you have to let me be in all your photoshoots.”

“But of course,” she said, with only a hint of sarcasm, “we’ll be a famous modelling duo.” So this was where he found his footing, Dave thought, the man who somehow managed to wear eyeliner and a cropped military vest in the trenches of Vietnam. It was sort of impressive, actually.

“What about you,” Klaus said, looking towards Dave again, still swishing the feather boa around in circles “what do you think?” There it was, the way he held himself, light and whimsical, as if he were floating through the air. Dave was reminded painfully of the man he’d lost, and the one that this boy would become.

He grinned, “tell her she did a great job on the eyeliner.”

“Well, there you go Allison,” she looked at him, confused, “this dead guy thinks you did great on the makeup.”

“Err, thanks,” she said, unsure. She beckoned Klaus to sit down, “come on, I have to do your nails too.” Klaus grinned and sat eagerly on the bed, crosslegged with his arms outstretched.

Seeping in and out of his life, a spirit in between the world, Dave saw all the things that made Klaus into the man he would eventually become. He saw him bond with his sister Allison over shopping and fashion, saw him train alongside his siblings, always trying to make them laugh, even at his own expense. He saw him with his brother Ben, who was the only one that understood what it was like to have a power that was terrible as well as great, that was a burden more than it was a gift. He saw him beginning to rebel more and more against his father, saw him kissing a boy round the back of the academy after one of their little victory parades. And then, he got a little carried away with one of his cat-walk routines while wearing some ridiculous high heels. He fell down the staircase and cracked his jaw open on the polished marble of the entrance hall.

That moment changed Klaus’ life forever – and not just because he had his usually-talkative mouth wired shut for nearly two months – but because they had him pumped full of painkillers and all sorts of drugs that muddled his thoughts and numbed his emotions. They suppressed his powers. For the first time, Klaus learnt what it truly meant to be alone, and he loved it.

#tua #the umbrella academy #klautz #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klaus x dave #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fluff #allison hargreeves

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soft-sarcasm · 7 years ago

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mark lee: almost-almost.

33. “Be a little quieter, I’m trying to take your makeup off.” + 44. “I can hear your smile through the phone.”+ 15. “I love just being around you.”

Pairing: mark lee x reader.

Request: Anonymous: Hello, i know youre not writing for the dreamies but do you write for mark...? If so can i request a drabble with prompt 33? Thank you so much and have a great day! + @anothernctzen: Helllooo can I have mark lee with 15 and 48 for the drabble game? Thanks in advance! 💞

Genre: fluff, sleepy and pouty mark.

Word count: 2+k.

a/n: so obviously I don’t know what a drabble means because I literally am only writing pieces over 1k but oh well, hopefully you guys aren’t sick of them yet. I had yet to do one of these drabbles with over two prompts so this was definitely an experience but when I was writing the storyline just seemed to meld together. Anyway, hope you guys like it and feel free to request if ya’ll want. (also i’m tagging you @kaylee-jade-camp and this has it’s own title because three pompts is too long.)

request a drabble.

In theory, it is far too easy to say you’re going to do a multitude of productive things. The difficult part is even the completing of these tasks but rather conquering the ever-menacing foe of procrastination and actually gearing up to do the 101 productive things you list for yourself to do every day. The feat is made especially difficult when one is not just combating laziness but also the struggle of being pinned down by another human onto the bed you’re already having to coaxingly convince yourself to leave. Everything becomes even more strenuous and taxing when the aforementioned human looks incredibly peaceful as they continue to sleep on, most likely oblivious to how inconceivably difficult they’re currently making your life.

Just the peaceful expression on Mark’s face was enough to make you want to throw in the towel and just stayed curled up with him in bed for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, despite the endearing, unconscious pout on his lips and the smudges of day-old makeup that was a side effect of him coming straight to your apartment (and in turn straight into your bed) after a music show; you needed to get up. As reluctantly as ever, you extracted yourself from his grip as carefully as possible, wincing at each and every creak you made as you tip-toed away from the bed.

Wednesday was the only break in your class schedule which meant that it was also the only day you had to catch up on all of the non-school related work that you had otherwise been neglecting. This meant the mundane things like washing and folding clothes, scrubbing your apartment of the dirt that Mark always teased was ‘nonexistent’ due to your near obsession with keeping your living spaces permanently immaculate and food shopping because your fridge was just depressing at this point. Thankfully for you- you had always been an earlier riser which meant it was usually easy to lug yourself out of bed at the latest 7:00 in the morning. However, as previously stated, adding Mark into the mix usually made the parts of you that wanted to be productive so you could relax and the conflicting opposition that much rather procrastinate and cuddle with Mark battle it out in the early hours of the day while he simply slept peacefully on; unaware of the internal war that was happening within the person he had cuddled to his chest.

Today productivity had won which meant you were grabbing a discarded hoodie from the floor over your oversized t-shirt and leggings that you most definitely had not worn to bed the night before, never. After having something to shield you from the cold that you were now so painfully exposed to due to the lack of having the perpetually warm Mark Lee wrapped around you, you grabbed for your phone that had been dutifully charging throughout the night before scampering out of the bedroom as quickly as possible so to not further disturb it’s unconscious inhabitant.

Your next course of action was attempting to fill your washing machine and clean the lingering dishes in the kitchen sink with as little noise as you could muster. Every small clutter of plates or silverware made you cringe and your spine prickle as you cursed the paper thin walls of your shoe-box apartment. Finally, you pressed the button labelled ‘Regular Cycle’ on the machine and listened carefully for the quiet mechanical wire before sighing in relief as no noise of consciousness emerged from your bedroom. Now that the most pressing and time-conscious tasks were done, you were able to complete your venture in acquiring the true necessity of life; food.

You could only hope as you scrambled to grab your handbag and slip out of your apartment that the previous day’s workload would be enough to keep Mark asleep until you returned home from the shop that was thankfully in walking distance from your building. There had been once when you had snuck out to grab two lattes from a coffee shop on one of the few mornings he had actually slept over and you had received a stern talking to when you had returned back as Mark had awoken to your absence. It had been a tedious thing, taking him seriously that day while he stood before you, shirtless and hair ruffled by sleep as he attempted to berate you for giving him no warning of your departure. His gripe was made all the less convincing when he had conceded to your lax apology of a pout and a kiss on his lips.

Your body was half but half inside the seemingly endless meat-filled freezer as you painstakingly searched for the cut of beef you both wanted and could actually afford. Your fingers pried petrified package from petrified package only to be halted by the shrill sound of your ringtone that made you instantly recoil from the frost-bitten produce. Instinctively, you grappled for the cellular device, mindlessly running your near frozen finger over the ‘Answer’ button with no inherent caution.

“You left without telling me again.”

You could almost feel the sulky pout that accompanied Mark’s opening statement and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, going back to surfing through meat packets as you kept your phone pressed to your ear, “I’m getting you food.”

The pout most likely increased, “But you didn’t tell me- I would have gone with you.”

“Yeah right,” You scoffed, having to concede to a cut that was not in your usual price-range for the sake of your sanity and your fingers, “And have my trip take at least twice as long because you’ve gotten distracted? No thanks. Besides, you were asleep.”

“I’m not anymore,” He further brooded and you could hear the distinct rustling of sheets that meant that he was still in bed, “And I take great offence to that previous comment about getting distracted.”

“Good,” You snarked, a taunting smile twisting like smoke at the corners of your lips as you reached for a bottle of Mirin, checking the price only briefly before throwing it into the cart that carefully peddled along under the guidance of your hand. “But anyway- you had no reason to mope, I’m almost done anyways.”

“Almost done or almost-almost done?” Mark pestered like the persistent idiot he was and you had to suppress the chuckle his adamant childishness summoned, “And stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” You instantly rebuked, attempting to smoother your grin to no avail as you joined the line that thankfully only contained two other sleepy-eyed customers besides yourself.

“I can hear your smile through the phone.” He stated all too dryly and you could help but squawk out a laugh that resulted in you getting side-eyed by the clerk who was busy restocking the shelves to your right.

“Don’t worry love,” You soothed, placing your chosen items onto the counter, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better- otherwise I’m leaving you.” Mark declared adamantly, “But only after I eat breakfast, might as well get some sort of compensation.”

“Honey,” You crooned as you pushed open your door, a task that proved rather difficult as your hands were currently occupied by heavy-weight shopping bags, “I’m home.”

Mark’s only sign of recognition from his spot at you the tiny table you had purchased for the sole purpose of not being falling into the student trope of eating dinner at your coffee-table was a disgruntled hpmf. He scowled at you as he further cocooned himself in the comforter he had completely wrapped around himself, nursing the cup of coffee you had left for him in the microwave in the hand which was also the only part of him besides his face that was visible.

“Finally,” Was all he curtly grumbled out as you shuffled past him in the direction of the adjoining kitchen, “I see you meant almost-almost instead of almost.”

“Is that a Canadian thing or is it just a Mark thing? Because I have no idea what the difference between almost and almost-almost is.” You questioned as you began to distribute your purchases into their designated positions.

“Almost means that I’m two minutes away, almost-almost means that I’m almost, almost ready to leave.” He clarified while begrudgingly trailing after you into the kitchen where he took a seat on the counter.

You took a moment to glance back at him, placing down the sugar you had been busy pouring into its container so that you could quickly scamper over and press a kiss to his jutted out lip, “You learn something new every day.”

His glower only increased at your taunting as you resumed your previous task and left him moping in his blanket on the opposite counter, “I really don’t like it when you leave without telling me.”

“Sorry,” You gave an uncommitted shrug, “I didn’t think it would be necessary because I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”

“I can’t sleep without you,” He griped and you couldn’t help but coo at his endearing admission.

“Well then I’m actually sorry,” You said in complete sincerity shutting the fridge after you had successfully finished resuscitated its contents, quickly swiping one of the few remaining packets as you toddled back over to Mark. “I thought you would want some food seeing as I didn’t have any and you love food so much.”

“We could have ordered,” He countered, only half watching as you began to extract a makeup wipe from the freshly opened packet, “And anyway, I would have been fine without food anyway if it had meant you being here when I woke up. I love just being around you.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, shaking the makeup wipe slightly before raising it to his face to work at the remaining smudges of eyeliner and concealer that still littered his skin, “You’re being awfully confusing you know. I don’t know if you’re annoyed or hopelessly in love with me.”

“Both,” He simply summarised, blinking furiously as you attempted to remove the faded black line from the corner of his eye, “But you know it is rather rude to just leave with no warning, I mean what if one of these times you’re kidnapped and I just think you’ve gone out for some coffee. I mean really you should-”

“Be a little quieter, I’m trying to take your makeup off.” You butted in after you missed a particularly resilient spot of mascara for the second time due to the amount his head was wriggling as he continued to spew out his rambles, “And I already said I was sorry, are you really going to keep whining?”

Mark’s lip jutted out just in time for you to swipe the applicator across it causing him to recoil at the chemical taste and for you to grin at the disgusted look on his face, “Fuck that’s disgusting.”

“Well they aren’t really for eating,” You cooed, giving the left side of his face a final wipe before pulling back, satisfied with your work, “That’s what the food I just went and got you is for.”

Before Mark could voice any further complaints, you smothered his gripes with your lips on his and you couldn’t help the feeling of coy satisfaction as you felt him gradually melt under your presses. He was further sedated when you pulled back, reaching out from his blanket fortress to grab for you when you attempted to step back.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not done yet.”

You allowed yourself to be pulled back, wrapping your hands instinctively around his neck, “I thought you were annoyed with me.”

“I am,” He clarified, a content smile threatening the edges of his mouth, “But I’m also hopelessly in love with you.”

“As you should be- I’m a catch.”

“Alright, maybe I’m just annoyed.”

DRABBLE MASTERLIST.

#nct scenarios #nct u scenarios #mark scenarios #mark #nct #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #writing #nct smut

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lomlwintersoldier · 8 years ago

Text

Let Me In {4}

Sequel to The Sun and The Stars

Previous parts: | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Word count: 2069

Warnings: none yet!!

“Bucky, where the hell are you taking me?” You ask. You’d been driving for at least an hour and a half and you had long left Manhattan behind; you were surrounded by nothing but greenery at this point. It had been a few weeks since you’d pinned Natasha to the wall, and things were rocky at the tower to say the least. You could tell Bucky wasn’t loving being at the Tower right now, and you figured that was why he’d told you two hours ago to to grab some clothes together and wait for him in the lobby. Then he’d led you to the car and had been very quiet about where you were going ever since.

“You’ll see, beautiful.” He grins, flashing you a mischievous look. You shake your head at him but finally, you reach a small trail, so hidden that no one would expect to go down “What is this?” You ask as you step out of the car. “I found this little place a couple years ago, before I found you again.” Bucky replies as he makes his way over to you and drapes an arm around your shoulders. “No one but me knows about it, which is nice.” The two of you walk for a little bit until you reach a small pond, a little paradise within the cover of the forest. You look up through the trees and see the moon, shining bright, directly in the middle of the trees as a clutter of stars, unclouded by city lights, surround it. You sigh in absolute awe as you stare up, not realizing just how much you’d missed the peacefulness of a place undisturbed by the noise and commotion of the city. It felt like home. “It’s so beautiful.” You whisper just as Bucky comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, lightly pressing his lips to your neck.

“Just as you are, zvezda moya.” He murmurs in Russian. You smile and twist your fingers in his hair as you continue to gaze up at the sky. But there's something so striking about the moon that can rival even the grand majesty of the sun and it takes your breath away. You somehow can't tear your gaze away from the white orb floating in the sky as the stars twinkle around it. You realized now that the moon, although softer, kinder, less harsh than the sun, is not the polar opposite of the sun but rather a part of the universe that coexists with it. You somehow can’t shake the thought away from your mind.

You turn and stare in the eyes of your sun and press a kiss to his plump red lips, savoring his taste and the feel of his hands roaming your body. An overwhelming swell of love overcomes you, accompanying the warmth you always felt when you and Bucky connected. You were addicted to the feeling and you never wanted to let him go.

You startle awake, breathing hard. Your shirt clings to your back and your heart is pounding as if you’ve been having a nightmare. It takes you a moment to realize where you are but after a few moments, you recognize the car, and you glance behind you where Layla is sleeping peacefully, smiling at her small face. You sigh in relief and lean back into the seat.

“You okay?” Steve asks as he glances at you with concern. You nod and shift yourself so that you’re sitting up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, trying to shake the dream from your mind as it threatens to open the wounds you’d just barely sewn shut. You’d been driving for hours now and you still had no idea where you were going.

“Bad dream?”

“Sort of.” You mutter. “What was it about?” “Do you always ask this many questions?” You reply harshly but your anger is misplaced; the dreams were always amazing, so real that you could smell his scent, so wholefully Bucky, feel his lips on yours, hear the low, sexy timbre of his voice. You loved the dreams because they brought you back to his arms but the second you woke up, the agony returned and you were forced to remember the reality of your life. He was gone and no amount of dreaming could bring him back. “I’m sorry.” You mutter. “It...it was both good and bad.” “Bucky.” He says it like a statement, not a question and you nod apologetically in response. “I have those too.” “About Bucky?” “About everyone.” Steve replies. His hand tightens on the wheel as he’s reminded of the faces that haunt his dreams, which you’re now intrigued about. Who kept Steve from sleeping peacefully? “Who are your dreams about?”

“The most prevalent are Bucky, Peggy. My parents on occasion.”

“Peggy? Who is she?” You ask curiously. You sit up so that you’re resting on your leg and turned to face him. “I worked with her in 1943, when I got the serum.” He mutters tightly. “She was your girlfriend.” You state, noticing the way his face tightens when you say it and you know you’ve hit a nerve. A sad smile crosses his features as he glances at you. “Maybe she would have been. I’ll never know.” He replies. “What happened to her?” “After I ‘died’ in 1944, she lived her life. She had a family, and grew SHIELD into what it was. Then she died a couple years ago.” He replies painfully. You feel guilty for pushing him but now that you know that he understands what you’ve gone through, you feel a newfound comradeship with Steve because his pain mirrors your own.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper contritely. “I didn’t know you...understood.” “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N.” He smiles. “Clearly.” You smile back. The two of you fall back into silence but after hours of looking at bleak, damp forest, you finally turn onto a dirt road; you continue down this path cloaked by trees and darkness until you see a small light, twinkling in the distance. Intrigued, you sit up and peer through the darkness as Steve drives forth. Finally, you reach a small cabin far from any sort of civilization but you don’t mind that. It’s a familiar feeling.

“This is the safe house?” You ask. It wasn’t what you anticipated. It was warm, cozy, and seemed not at all like Tony’s taste, you think as you pull up to the house. “It was built a long time ago. Repurposed to be a safe house. And it’s completely undetectable thanks to Tony’s work on it.” Steve grins and you realize he loves it too from the way he looks at it. You get out of the car and reach into the back to get Layla out of the car. Her face scrunches up and she rubs her eyes but as soon as you rest her comfortably in your arms, she’s out again.

Steve grabs your backpack and his own duffel bag easily and leads you to the front door, easily pushing it open. “Wow.” You murmur. “This is nice.” It has a distinct cabiny feel to it which you instantly feel attracted to. A fireplace sits in the back of the living room but it’s still comfy. The warmth and comfort is so inviting that you can’t help but feel entirely at home here; still a part of you feels guilty that Steve is here, even though you’ve done nothing to feel guilty for. Yet. You take Layla to one of the rooms and declare it as yours by dropping your stuff on the bed. You surround her with pillows so she won’t roll off the before heading back to the living room where Steve was already stoking a fire.

“I can get some food going for us. You must be pretty hungry.” Steve states. Suddenly made aware of your own hunger, your stomach growls. “You don’t have to do that.” You say but you aren’t convincing. Steve smirks and once he’s got the fire going, he stands to hunt around the kitchen, looking for something to whip up. “You cook?” You ask incredulously as he turns on the stove. “Of course.” Steve laughs. “I like cooking.” “Ah domesticity.” You tease as you sit down on the couch and curl your legs under you but keep your eyes on Steve’s back as he looks through the fully stocked cupboards. “Wanda taught me a couple things.” After a few minutes, wonderful, spicy scents fills your nose and you hum in approval. “What is that?” You ask as you lean into the couch, your senses reaching for the scent.

“Beef stroganoff.” He smirks. “Don’t worry, it’s almost done.” A few minutes later, Steve brings over a steaming bowl of the food and places it in front of you. You murmur a thanks before diving into the food eagerly, trying to satiate your hunger. “This is amazing.” You mutter. Steve laughs at your enthusiasm and when you finally finish scarfing down the food, you lean back into the couch, exhaustion overcoming you. After a few moments, you turn on your side to look at him. “Why did you come here with me, Steve?” You ask seriously. He shifts uncomfortably before wiping his face of the emotion. “I told you. Bucky would want to make sure you’re safe.” “Right.” You reply, trying not to sound disappointed. “Uh well, I’m just going to head to bed. Thanks for the food.” “Of course.” He says kindly. “Yell if you need anything.”

You flash him a quick smile before heading back to your room where Layla was fast asleep. She’d been so excited for the first few hours of the car ride, completely insatiable but she’d fallen asleep quickly. You stroke her cheek and kiss her forehead before heading to the bathroom to change.

You pull off your shirt, exposing the long, thick scar extending down your forearm. You shudder away from the painful reminder as it opens a dam of emotions and memories that you wished you could forget.

You look at yourself in the mirror, wearing nothing but a bra and underwear and stare at the scar. You look exhausted, your hair's a mess, and you can’t help but feel like the woman Bucky fell in love with is no longer there. You feel old, not physically, but mentally. You are so very tired of this life and what it has thrown at you, although some things are definitely your fault.

But the past two years have been ones that left you empty, broken, and most of all, lonely. Finally, you can no longer look at yourself so you curl up next to Layla on the the large bed, holding her against you and you fall asleep in minutes.

Steve watches her leave, feeling conflicted as she walks away from him and disappears into her room. He wishes he could spend more time with her but he knows what he feels isn’t reciprocated. How could it be? It was unthinkable; she was Bucky’s girl, the mother of his best friends daughter. How could he even think to come in between that? His heart aches as he leans back into the couch and stares up at the ceiling.

The first time he met her, it was like something had washed over him like a blast of fresh air. The moment she’d turned those eyes on him, he’d been completely an entirely smitten. Of course he kept it quiet, I mean, she was Bucky’s and they were clearly happy and when he’d died, a selfish part of him had wanted to go over to Y/N and comfort her. But he didn’t trust himself to do that without feeling the overwhelming need to kiss her. That was why he left on missions so often and for so long, because he knew if given the chance, he would do something idiotic and probably get her hurt in the process.

Guilt ate him alive as he thought of how much he truly felt for her; when she’d asked why he’d come with her, a part of him wanted to blurt it out right then and there but the rational part of his mind kept him from making an idiot of himself.

How could he possibly explain that he was in love with her?

Next Part: Part 5

Let Me In Masterlist

Tags: @xxchexchickxx @killpop-writes @melconnor2007 @psychicwitchphilosopher @frolicsomefawkes @the-witching-hours12-3 @bubblegumuntsr @badassbaker @trashsnitches @barnes-toddpartnersinheartbreak

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