#oh lets not forget the soap opera that came after | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years ago

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emily! i’ve been so excited for this fic and you totally delivered! she is so sweet and lovely and i absolutely melted when bradley waited for everyone to get off the flight to say goodbye one last time! also shout out to alex for all the tips and research because it was SPOT ON! the little fold down seat! (that bradley would fold down for her!) gahhhh i loved this - more below!

"That seems suspicious," Bradley replied, earning a chuckle. "No, really. The Navy usually gives me the middle seat in the last row, right behind a screaming child. What gives?" - pls this was so perfect bradley ily

"I'm strong enough to do anything you might want or need." - hot hot hot hot this exchange between them was so cute. their banter throughout the entire fic was really easy and natural? you can tell bradley’s respectful of the boundaries she’s put up

Pretty soon he would be landing in Tokyo, he'd never see you again, and you would forget all about the guy who asked for your name and looked at your loafers. - emily you know i love a good sensible shoe moment! i loved the line about bradley saying he would have loved to meet her at the hard deck or something? it was just really sweet to me 🥰

Bradley shrugged again. "I wouldn't call it a problem. More like an added perk. I thought perhaps getting to sit by you was part of the upgrade to first class." - i SQUEALED! and then him being like “i’m flirting with you, but badly i guess?” SWOON

He smiled so hard. "Are you telling me that anytime I push that little white button, you'll appear?" You had to hide your laughter behind your hand. "Yes. That's literally my job." - i know if i was the passenger across the aisle from bradley i’d be eating this shit up, i am so nosy!

Then you folded the seat down once more and took a seat before he could move. So he buckled himself in again, and let you get settled so that your knees were tucked neatly between his long legs. - this was so hot

Bradley let his hand settle just above his knee, and he wanted to unbuckle himself and reach for you when your fingers touched his. - EEEEEEEPPPP PLS

"I eat the best sushi in the world and watch this one Japanese soap opera with the subtitles on. I am completely addicted to it." - wait this is so cute! oh i love this!

You were both silent, just looking at each other until one of you inevitably let their gaze fall to the other's lips. Then you would both look away until drawn back in to let it happen over again. - idk something about them just looking at each other is so sweet and lovely and wholesome, like they don’t want it to end

You smirked, but after a few seconds you nodded slightly. "Just don't hold your breath that I'll use it, okay? I'm basically never home. I can't even get a cat, let alone go on a date. And you would get tired of my schedule. I can guarantee that." - oh sweet girl no! my heart clenched

He sat for nearly a half an hour, until everyone else had unloaded and the captain and co-captain had exited the cockpit and came to stand amongst the flight attendants. But you had looked at him as often as he had been looking at you. - okay okay same with the part with them just sitting there and staring at each other, this was so sweet and lovely and gave me butterflies, i can picture it so clearly

Airplane Mode Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finds himself on a commercial flight with the cutest flight attendant in the world, he can't keep himself from flirting with you.

Warnings: Fluff, adult banter, swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This is part 1 of 2! Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun!

Bradley was on his fourth deployment of the year, and it was only September. As he packed his flight suits and uniforms, he checked his boarding pass for the flight from San Diego International to Tokyo. His flight left in just three hours, so he needed to move.

The only way Bradley took commercial flights was begrudgingly. He much preferred his own Super Hornet, with his name emblazoned on the side, or his vintage Bronco. Nothing else felt as comfortable, as personal. But really, nothing was worse than a commercial airline.

He would probably have to sit next to someone who wanted to chat for the twelve hour flight. Or worse, get assigned the middle seat. But there wasn't really any other way to get him out into the western Pacific and onto the deck of the USS Nimitz in time for his surprise assignment.

"God bless America," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he stuffed some clean underwear and his toothbrush into his bag. Then he locked up his house, unsure about when he would be back, and headed out in the Bronco.

Thankfully, his military credentials got him through the long security lines quickly, because he did not leave himself with very much time. He checked in with the airline and narrowed his eyes skeptically at the man working behind the desk.

"You've been upgraded to first class," the man told him.

"That seems suspicious," Bradley replied, earning a chuckle. "No, really. The Navy usually gives me the middle seat in the last row, right behind a screaming child. What gives?"

"Hmm, well, this flight is only at half capacity since it's a brand new itinerary. So we upgraded you, another military officer, and an elderly customer."

"And the screaming child?"

"Not upgraded that I know of, sir."

"Thanks," Bradley replied with a nod as he scanned his boarding pass and made his way to first class. He had the window seat in the front row, so he stowed his carry-on bag and made himself comfortable while the other passengers took their seats.

He could hear soft laughter coming from the curtained off area next to the cockpit, and a second later he was looking at a beautiful woman.

"Welcome aboard, sir," you told him with a smile. "Can I get you anything before we take off?"

Bradley swallowed hard and tried his best not to stare. "Uh, I'm fine," he managed to tell you. "Just....fine."

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything."

You turned to greet another passenger, and Bradley found himself sitting up straighter as he blurted out, "Your name?"

You turned back to him and leaned his way. "Pardon?"

He met your eyes, and he grinned. "I need your name. You know, just in case I think of something you can get for me."

Your smile was more of a smirk this time, but you licked your perfect lips and told him what he wanted to know. Bradley tested your name out, and your smirk grew. "Yep. That's a good name."

You shook your head a bit. "You should get buckled in. I'll go over the exit row safety procedures with you in a few minutes."

"I can't wait," Bradley replied, and this time, when you turned away from him, he couldn't help himself. He looked at your body for a few seconds until he forced himself to face the front of the aircraft. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. This was going to be a long flight.

He was lonely. It had been ages since he had dated anyone and quite awhile since he'd met a woman he even wanted to sleep with. That had to be why he was sweating a little bit right now.

Bradley buckled his seatbelt and tried not to watch you out of the corner of his eye. The sway of your hips when you walked was mesmerizing, as was the soft lilt of your voice. He listened to you charm every single person seated in first class, and he was already craving your attention again.

When you came to a stop in front of him a moment later, he let his eyes travel from your sensible shoes up your bare legs, over your cute uniform dress, and up to your face. "Ready for your safety briefing?"

"Oh, absolutely," he said, his voice ridiculously needy to his own ears.

You just smiled and gestured toward the handle to Bradley's right. "You are seated in my exit row. Can you verbally confirm for me that you are able and willing to help me in the event of an emergency?"

"Definitely. I'd be happy to help you."

"Can you push, pull or lift at least fifty pounds?" you asked, your eyes taking in the bulge of his biceps and his broad chest.

Bradley smirked and watched you lick your lips. "Sure can."

You pressed your lips together and eyed him briefly. "I don't know... are you sure you're strong enough to open the door?" Your voice was teasing, and Bradley swallowed hard as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

"I'm strong enough to do anything you might want or need."

Bradley's grin grew as he watched your face light up, and the cutest giggle escaped your lips. "I'll keep that in mind," you told him with a nod before turning and disappearing behind that damned curtain.

He rubbed his hands over his face before putting his phone into airplane mode. Flirting with you was pointless. He really shouldn't be doing it. But where the hell were the women who looked and sounded like you when he wanted to go on a date? Apparently they were thirty six thousand feet in the air, wearing tight navy blue dresses and ugly loafers.

Bradley would do anything to be able to run into you at the Hard Deck. You probably didn't even live in San Diego though. And odds were good you were married or something. So he just settled back in his seat and watched the setting sun through the open window sash. Pretty soon he would be landing in Tokyo, he'd never see you again, and you would forget all about the guy who asked for your name and looked at your loafers.

Then, as if conjured by his imagination, you were standing in front of him again. This time you were folding down the seat that was used by flight attendants during takeoffs and landings. Bradley watched every move you made as you sat down facing him, your knees brushing against his as you settled into the seat.

"Sorry," you told him softly. Your perfect lips parted again before you added, "You must be tall. I don't usually have this problem." You were trying to scoot yourself back further in your uncomfortable looking seat, keeping yourself from touching him again as you buckled in.

"I don't mind," he replied softly, repositioning his legs so that both of your knees were between his.

Your eyes went a little wide as you whispered, "Okay," before clearing your throat. Bradley saw you glance at his thighs as he stretched his legs out a bit more comfortably, and then you immediately turned to look out the window as the pilot started to taxi toward the runway.

The warm San Diego sunset had your skin bathed in orange light, making you look impossibly pretty, and Bradley was instantly regretting not bringing a book with him. No way he'd make it twelve hours in close proximity to you without embarrassing himself.

"How tall are you?" you suddenly asked him.

He shrugged. "About six foot one inch, I guess."

"I'm sorry, I should have had you move to the aisle seat since it's empty. It's too late now, since we're about to take off, but you can move over later so we don't have this problem all night long."

Bradley shrugged again. "I wouldn't call it a problem. More like an added perk. I thought perhaps getting to sit by you was part of the upgrade to first class."

You kept eye contact with him but narrowed your eyes, and Bradley squirmed a bit in his seat. "You're flirting with me."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm trying. Based on your response, I must be doing a shitty job."

After examining his face for a few seconds, you sighed and looked out the window again. "No, you're doing alright. But I'm not allowed to flirt back. Whatever your name is."

"Bradley," he told you, holding out his hand. After you shook it, he said, "How about I do all the flirting, and you just pretend you're completely immune to me. Meanwhile, inside, you're totally falling head over heels."

You tried to hide your smile as the plane left the ground, and the jolt of excitement in Bradley's belly rivaled even the force of gravity.

You didn't answer him, and you didn't look at him again, but Bradley felt your right knee bump against his leg as the plane gained altitude, and he heard you sigh.

"Can you at least tell me if you'd flirt with me if I met you at a bar or something?" he asked after a while.

You finally met his eyes just as the fasten seatbelt light was turned off, and you started to unbuckle your harness.

"I'm afraid the answer to that question might sound as if I'm flirting with you."

Bradley leaned forward as you stood and started turning away from him. "So is that a yes?"

You turned and looked at him over your shoulder, and you nodded.

Bradley gaped at you, and he had to fight the urge to follow you behind the curtain this time.

"Fuck." He was absolutely squirming in his seat now. He could hear you and see your shoes, but you didn't emerge again for a while. And you didn't look at him as you took the dinner orders for everyone else in first class, leaving him for last.

Bradley told you what he wanted to eat, speaking slowly so he had time to look at you looking at him.

"And would you like a drink? Maybe a cocktail or a beer? A glass of wine?"

As Bradley was just about to respond, you smirked at him. "You don't drink wine, do you?" you asked him.

"No, actually." He gave you a puzzled look.

You smiled at him. "I can guess what people are going to order with a scary level of accuracy. You like beer, specifically European imports. Stella? Maybe Heineken? And I think you also enjoy an occasional glass of scotch, neat. But you're also quite fond of "girly" cocktails, and you're not afraid to order them when you go out."

"Holy. Shit."

You laughed at his response, and Bradley wanted to pull you down against him, listen to that laughter even closer.

"Want me to make you a cosmopolitan?" you asked with a grin that had him practically stuttering.

"Please." He managed to say that one word without too much trouble. You just nodded and strolled away from him again.

Bradley sat, impatiently waiting for you to reappear as he messed with his hair. He was really wishing he had taken more time getting ready. He was wearing faded jeans and a black tee shirt, cursing himself for looking like he dressed with no effort at all.

He was absolutely going to try to get your number or give you his, and if he was going to get shot down, he liked to know he had at least put his best foot forward.

You reemerged with a drink tray, and you took his breath away. He watched while you served everyone else, bringing him his martini glass filled with pink liquid last.

"And a cosmo for you."

Bradley took the drink and set it down on his tray table after taking a sip. "Delicious. Even better than my friend Natasha makes, and hers are great."

You tucked your hands behind your back and asked, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No. I am one hundred percent single," he told you immediately. "Maybe even more than that."

The grin returned to your face, and Bradley was feeling ridiculously excited.

"I'll bring your dinner out shortly."

"Wait, are you?" he asked, trying to keep your attention before you vanished again. "Are you single?"

You ignored him completely now, but you were still smiling. And you dropped off his dinner tray with nothing more than, "Enjoy your meal." So he ate his food and then you collected his tray and then he waited.

He was pretty sure you'd have to return to your little fold down seat at some point during the evening. He was also pretty sure you'd have to stay awake all night. His plan was to wait you out. Beyond that he had no clue what he should do.

But it was getting late now, and you were still somewhere up behind that curtain. He'd long ago finished his drink, and he had the brilliant idea to ask you for another one. He pressed the button to call for you, and then you were there.

"What can I do for you?"

He smiled so hard. "Are you telling me that anytime I push that little white button, you'll appear?"

You had to hide your laughter behind your hand. "Yes. That's literally my job."

He shook his head slowly. "You've given me too much power. Will you make me another cosmopolitan?"

"Of course."

And when you brought him a second pink drink a few minutes later, he asked, "Are you allowed to sit with me again? In your little fold down seat?"

You chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, pretty soon I'll be sitting down for a while. You can move to the aisle seat whenever you want."

But Bradley didn't move. He wanted to be as close to you as he possibly could. He just didn't realize that you might find that creepy or annoying until you were headed for your folding seat.

"You're not moving?" you asked softly, just as the captain dimmed the overhead lights.

"I'm sorry, I can move so you have more room," he said, scrambling to unbuckle his safety belt. God, now he looked like a fucking creep.

But you just shrugged at him. "You can stay in the window seat if you want. If you don't mind me bumping you."

Then you folded the seat down once more and took a seat before he could move. So he buckled himself in again, and let you get settled so that your knees were tucked neatly between his long legs.

Just as you were starting to buckle your harness, the captain flew through some turbulence, and Bradley felt your hands come to rest on his thighs as you were bumped out of your seat.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, pulling your hands away like you had been burned. "I didn't mean to."

Bradley certainly didn't mind. He'd be more than happy to have your hands all over him. But of course he wasn't about to voice that idea.

"It's okay," he promised, meeting your eyes in the dim light. Another turbulent patch had you reaching for him again, but once you had your harness clasped closed, you wouldn't even look at him again.

"Sorry it's so turbulent," you managed to say, looking across the aisle at another passenger who had fallen asleep. "Usually I have someone losing their mind when it gets like this. But you seem very relaxed."

Bradley shifted in his seat, and his leg bumped yours. "I should hope so. I'm a pilot."

Your eyes snapped back to meet his. "Really? Which airline?"

Bradley just chuckled. "US Naval aviator. Top Gun."

"Oh," you said with a soft laugh. "I should have known. All you guys have a certain look."

Bradley licked his lips and crossed his arms. "What kind of look?"

You cradled your face in your palms. "Pretend I never mentioned it."

He shook his head. "I don't like pretending."

Sighing, you told him, "Aviators are always... big... strong looking. And overly confident."

"Huh," Bradley grunted. He supposed if you flew a San Diego route, you must see your fair share of aviators. You must also get hit on by most of them. God, you were beautiful.

"You're not like most of them, though," you added quickly. "Occasionally I have to excuse myself if they get crude."

Bradley's brow furrowed. "Crude?"

You shrugged again, checking to see if anyone had pushed their call button. "Yeah... it happens sometimes."

"I don't like the sound of that," Bradley growled.

But you just laughed lightly. "What are you planning to do about it? Follow me back and forth between San Diego and Tokyo and flex your muscles every time someone calls me baby or touches my butt?"

"Shit," Bradley whispered. "That really happens?" This information was swirling around his mind, and it made him feel sick. You were just doing your job; you didn't deserve to be harassed by aviators or anyone else.

"You'd be surprised." Another bump of turbulence had your leg rubbing against his.

Eventually Bradley whispered, "I would, you know."

You just looked at him for a few seconds. "You would what?"

Bradley smiled at you, and your lips curled into an involuntary smile as well. "Fly back and forth. Between San Diego and Tokyo. Flex my muscles and tell the assholes to leave you alone."

As you bit your knuckle to try to stifle your laughter, Bradley could practically feel how good it would be to have your teeth grazing his flesh. But the idea that you sometimes had guys giving you unwelcome touches had him ready to go through the roof.

Then his mind shifted back to something you said. You flew from San Diego to Tokyo all the time.

"Do you live in San Diego?" he asked quickly, and you bit your lip a little nervously, like you didn't want to answer him.

But you searched his face in the darkness and finally said, "Yeah. I do."

Bradley's heart was thudding in his chest. He didn't want to press his luck.

"What has you flying commercial to Tokyo? You must hate this! Are you being deployed?" you asked, drawing his attention to your words.

"Yeah. Hopefully a very short one. It's a special assignment."

Your smirk was back, even though he could barely see it in the dark. "Top Gun. Special assignment. First class upgrade. Sounds very exciting."

Bradley chuckled. "Listen, the best part of this whole thing was getting to sit with you between my legs.... Oh, God. Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that!"

What the fuck had he just said?!

Bradley was frozen in panic with his hands halfway to his face, but you were laughing hysterically now. He watched you press your lips together to try to keep quiet as you shook with laughter.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that! I just...I'm really enjoying sitting here with you, that's all!"

You waved your hand in the air and managed to say, "It's okay, Bradley. Oh, you look completely mortified!"

"I am completely mortified. You'll never let me have your phone number now!"

Then you smiled at him, but your eyes looked sad. "I can't go giving my phone number out to all you Top Gun guys."

Bradley ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit."

You sighed and tapped his knee with your fingers until he was looking at you again. Bradley let his hand settle just above his knee, and he wanted to unbuckle himself and reach for you when your fingers touched his.

"When do you fly back?" you asked quietly

"Unsure," he replied. "No return ticket yet."

"Hm," you hummed softly. You ran your fingertips along his, and he'd had just about as much as he could handle.

"Please, tell me your schedule. Something. Anything. I need to see you again."

You were quiet for so long, Bradley let the back of his head hit the headrest. You'd withdrawn your hand from his body, and he was so disappointed.

"I usually fly overnights on the way back to San Diego as well."

He leaned closer to you again. "Which days?"

"It varies," you said, glancing across the aisle and undoing your harness. "But I'd like it if you were on my flight again." You stood to take care of a different passenger, and Bradley's eyes tracked you in the darkness.

He was done for. Over the next several hours, he got to feel your body bump his every time you got in or out of your seat. He could smell your perfume or shampoo whenever you glided past him. He strained to hear every word that you spoke, whether to him or another passenger. But when you were seated in your seat, you and he exchanged little stories and flirtations.

One time he even reached across and folded the seat down for you to sit. "Handsome and mannerly," you muttered as you buckled in.

"I thought you told me you weren't allowed to flirt back," he commented as the sky was starting to lighten outside his window.

You met his eyes and grinned. "A girl can only take so much."

"Are you single? You never told me. Please don't devastate me right now," his voice took on a teasing, pleading tone that made you laugh again.

"Yeah. I'm single. It's impossible to date with this job, honestly."

Bradley's heart soared like the airplane he was sitting in. You lived in San Diego. You were single. You were sexy and appealing.

"Guys always think I'm going to cheat on them. But you want to know what I actually do in my hotel room on my overnights in Tokyo?"

"Tell me."

"I eat the best sushi in the world and watch this one Japanese soap opera with the subtitles on. I am completely addicted to it."

"Jesus. I can get behind that one hundred percent. When I'm deployed on land, all I end up doing is eating the local foods. And I love sushi. Would be nice to have someone to call and talk to about it. I'd even be willing to get caught up with this Japanese soap opera so we could discuss it." There he said it. He was too afraid to be more explicit than that.

You eyed him up and down, your body still except for the rise and fall of your chest and shoulders as you breathed. "I think-"

Your words were cut off by the sound of the fasten seatbelt light being turned off. Immediately you were unbuckling again and folding the seat up. "I think I need to start the breakfast service."

Now you looked flustered as you vanished behind the curtain. Bradley waited and waited for you to return. He could smell fresh coffee brewing, and his stomach started growling. The sun rose over the Pacific Ocean outside his window, and he could see islands in the distance, but he did not want this flight to end yet. He hadn't slept all night, but he would gladly stay up another twelve hours talking to you if you'd let him.

"What would you like for breakfast?" you asked him as you started taking orders.

"Black coffee and a muffin."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm planning on finding some sushi as soon as we land. You could join me?"

You bit your lip and shook your head. "Sounds appealing...but I'm working a turnaround."

"Right," Bradley rasped. So he watched you work, serving everyone with a smile, helping with whatever was needed. He ate his muffin and drank his coffee quietly. And when the captain announced the final descent into Tokyo, you took your seat across from him one last time.

You were both silent, just looking at each other until one of you inevitably let their gaze fall to the other's lips. Then you would both look away until drawn back in to let it happen over again.

As the wheels touched down on the runway, and the sound of the wings dampening the air flow took over the small space, Bradley leaned forward. "Can I give you my phone number? Just in case you ever want to watch Japanese soap operas or eat subpar San Diego sushi with me?"

Bradley listened to your words, although he didn't agree with them. But he pulled a pen out of his backpack and wrote his first name and his phone number on the beverage napkin he still had. When he handed it to you, he watched you look at it before folding it in half and tucking it into your pocket.

And then you were up, helping all of the passengers unload from the aircraft. He watched you pull luggage down for the first class passengers before sending them on their way, but he didn't move yet. He sat for nearly a half an hour, until everyone else had unloaded and the captain and co-captain had exited the cockpit and came to stand amongst the flight attendants. But you had looked at him as often as he had been looking at you.

Now that he was the last one onboard, he stood, watching you examine his height and entire body for the first time.

"Fly safely," you told him with a smile.

"You, too," Bradley replied. "I'm going to be hoping I manage to get on one of your return flights. Hoping so hard." Bradley's heart was pounding again as you gave him a little nod before he walked out of the plane and made his way onto Japanese soil.

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

Thank you for reading this one! Please leave some love and stay tuned for the conclusion! And thanks to @bradshawsbitch for sharing her knowledge of life as a flight attendant!

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#bradley fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake.

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful.

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much.

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps.

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok.

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce.

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way.

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

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anders-hawke · 3 years ago

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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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mimisempai · 3 years ago

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The chronicles of Loki and Mobius by Croki - Chapter 2 : Reunion

Chapter Summary:

Loki and Mobius reunion seeing by Croki Thank you @rins-love-winsfor the amazing illustrations of this chapter !

ON AO3

Aaaah... the day Mobius and Loki met again.

The sun was shining, enveloping them with a warm light that was reflected in their eyes, the birds were singing a sweet melody, the hymn of their love and the air was fragrant with a thousand scents...

Wait a minute...

Bouhahahaha !

Dear two-legged friend, do you really think it happened like that? When it was chaos all around them and the multiverse was in turmoil?!

That's as silly as picturing myself covered in butterflies and believing that I won't chomp on at least one!

Let's go back to the beginning of the story.

It was actually quite by chance that I was able to witness their reunion.

Once back in the TVA, I started looking for some snacks, and when I say snacks, I mean real snacks, not the hand of the idiot president, real snacks for alligators, little turtles, little frogs, that kind of stuff. But I didn't find anything and while I was wandering around, imagine my surprise when I came across Loki who kept looking at a small device, which I learned much later was a tempad.

Suddenly, a door similar to the one through which Mobius had disappeared on the day we were all separated, appeared and Mobius came out.

I think, dear two-legged friend, that I will not forget the expression on Loki's face when Mobius appeared in front of him.

What an entertaining memory...

But as I told you in the introduction, I may be a ferocious beast, I do have a heart.

And there was something comforting for my little gator heart to witness the reunion of these two idiots.

I will try to relate this moment with accuracy, but forgive in advance my inadvertent comments.

Loki, wary, had not dared to lower his guard. Everything in his being screamed his hesitation.

Mobius in front of him looked equally uncertain and did not move forward, but he whispered, "Loki, it is me, Mobius, the real one."

"How can I be sure?"

Idiot, there is only one Mobius to look at you like that!

Mobius asked him, "Ask me a question. Something only the two of us would know."

Loki seemed to think for a few moments.

If I could face-palme myself, I would! Loki, you make me so ashamed to be a Loki...

Cheeks slightly flushed, Loki asked Mobius, "Where did our first kiss take place?"

Mobius shook his head and smiled fondly, "The elevator."

Oh the little sneaky ones! In the elevator? It's naughty!

Refusing to give in to the relief that washed over him, Loki asked another question to be sure, "Why?"

Mobius sneered, "To shut you up."

Wouhouh ! Well done Mobius!

"It's really you, my Mobius!" shouted Loki before rushing into Mobius' arms.

Finally! It's about time!

Dear two-legged friend, that's when I decided to help them out a little bit, and to give them some time, I used a little magic to secure the door. The only problem was that I was locked in with them and had to listen to all this sap.

They were babbling like two prepubescent teenagers.

Even for my gator heart it was a bit much.

"You..."

"How-"

"You first," Loki replied.

"Come on, let's go sit down," Mobius told him. They did, they were next to each other while I tried to be as quiet as possible.

After an awkward silence, Mobius started to speak, "So, you and Sylvie..." then he stopped.

Oh interesting, would we get an episode of soap opera?

I can tell you dear two-legged friend that at this point I missed my snacks even more.

Loki looked up, shocked. "You... you saw?" He didn't even give Mobius time to answer, "Mobius! I swear I didn't mean to kiss her, I didn't even respond to the kiss, I don't even know why she kissed me, I've never felt that way about her, ever, you know that, Mobius, you're the one I love, I know we haven't really had time to talk about our relationship and I'm not the kind of person you can trust and I've lied in the past, but please, you have to believe me, I would never do- Hmph."

Mobius hadn't let him finish and crushed his lips to Loki's.

Well boys, you're cute but I think my blood sugar is getting high!

Can gators get diabetes ?

When they parted, Mobius whispered, "That's really the best way to shut you up..." and laughed softly.

"Hey!" Loki pushed him gently. Then he turned serious again, "Mobius, I'm serious."

Mobius took his hand and replied, "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I didn't feel jealousy, I'm human after all, and seeing the man I love kiss another woman was hard enough to watch. But I also chose to trust you, which means all the time and not just when it's convenient. So if you tell me that kiss meant nothing to you, then I believe you."

Did anyone ever tell you that too much sap kills sap?

This time it was Loki who kissed Mobius, he was shaking, his hands were clutching Mobius' back, holding him tight. But Mobius pushed him gently.

"Hey, hey easy Loki, it's okay, everything is fine now."

Loki said to him half crying," I-I, I really thought I had lost you, when your variant asked me who I was, I thought you had completely forgotten about me."

I confess, dear two-legged friend, that at that moment my little gator heart was moved and I couldn't help but shed a little tear.

Mobius wiped away Loki's tears, letting his hands linger on Loki's cheeks before kissing him gently. Then he cradled Loki's head against his chest, resting his chin on Loki's head as he hugged him tightly, Loki's arms wrapping around him again.

"Never Loki, you hear me, never will I forget you. And even if I did forget you, I'm sure you'd find a way to bring my memories back."

They stayed like that for a few more moments.

But unfortunately, my stomach, dear two-legged friend, has disturbed this peaceful moment. It chose this moment to point out that I still hadn't found any snacks.

Loki broke away quickly from Mobius and both turned to me.

"You?"

"The alligator me?"

But that, dear two-legged friend, will be the story for the next chapter. For today I have accomplished my mission.

To tell you about their reunion.

Lokius masterlist : here

#lokius fics #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m. mobius #moki #wowki #lokius rights #lokius forever #loki x mobius #fluff #mobius m mobius #Lokius seen by Croki #alligator loki

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morkleemelon · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: mark x reader, best friend! haechan x reader, gender neutral

genre: college! au, angst, based on the song ‘drivers license’ by olivia rodrigo

warnings: language, heartbreak, allusions to a broken past, mention of parental issues, college party with alcohol

word count: 5021

song recs: drivers license - olivia rodrigo, heather - conan gray, happier - ed sheeran, a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be - jess benko, someone you loved - lewis capaldi

I got my driver's license last week

Just like we always talked about

'Cause you were so excited for me

To finally drive up to your house

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

The apartment door shut behind you with a soft click as you return after a long day of classes. Feeling around the wall in the dark, you switch on the overhead light, the murmur of electricity giving its greetings.

Your living space is underwhelming: you’ve allowed yourself minimal furniture to save on funds and what little you do have is unfortunately not tidied well.

Unopened mail scatters across your plaster countertop. One in particular seems out of place amongst the dull grays and whites of the others, the bright smile of a supposed student greeting you with a cartoonish “congrats! you passed your driving test!”.

It all seems pointless now.

Your body aches as you set down your backpack and strip off your outer layers. It’s mid-spring in Seoul, so daily downpours of rain is a given.

Tossing your raincoat carelessly over a nearby chair, you don’t mind as the raindrops patter onto the wood panel floor as you make your way to the living room couch. The worn out leather used to be comfortable, but now it scratches at your skin with the memories you had attached to it.

You remember when he used to be here with you. You’d laughed together, cried together, talked together until the moon went to rest and the sun took its place in the sky. Everything was brighter then when he loved you.

Mark had chased after you first. He’d taken to you almost immediately after you’d met; he was walking downtown with his friends and when he wasn’t careful where he was going, backing into you and causing you to spill your tea all over yourself. He was flustered, running into the nearby café to get you napkins to clean yourself off. You said it was okay, but he insisted he give you his number so he could pay to get your shirt cleaned or buy you a new one.

Pulling a blanket throw over your legs, you switch on the tv to drown out the quiet. Your eyes fix on the old soap opera, but you aren’t really paying attention. The roaring laugh track falls dead to your ears as you pull the blanket closer over yourself. The space next to you feels so empty.

Mark was never subtle about liking you. After that first time you met, he made it his mission to make you his. You weren’t sure about it because he was part of the popular crowd and you weren’t one to date around. Not to mention, being pursued so earnestly was a new experience for you, one that seemed too good to be true. The first time he asked you out, you rejected him. You thought he would give up then, realize you were nothing special and you would go back to your sheltered life. That was what you grew to expect from others.

But unhindered, he persisted. Much to your astonishment, he snaked his way into your everyday life, chipping away at your walls piece by piece. When it rained, he had an umbrella waiting. When you cried, he had the tissues ready. Piece by piece, you let him see inside. You could never forget the moment when he finally succeeded and your resolve came crumbling down.

He was sitting right there, on the cushion not one arm’s length away from where you sit now. Mark was never shy about telling you that you were beautiful, that you were special, but this time he prepared a special weapon to win you over.

Mark sat there strumming his acoustic guitar, the one his big brother gave him for christmas, as he so excitedly boasted to you.

“This is a song I wrote about you,” he said, peering into your eyes. His voice was soft and he seemed shy for the first time. Fingers dancing on the strings, he was genuine and vulnerable in front of you. “Forever,” he sang and ‘forever’ you believed.

So you let yourself love him back.

You kissed him first, to his surprise. You mustered all the courage you had and you leaned over his instrument to cup his warm cheek, pressing your lips quickly to the corner of his mouth. Maybe it was short and you had missed a little, but your heart raced with anticipation. “How would he react?” you had worried to yourself afterwards. You had your doubts, that is, until he kissed you back.

Mark’s hands were laced through your hair as he brought you in again, this time deeper than the first. Moving his guitar onto the floor beside you, he pulled you into his lap and you kissed him back with all the love you had. It felt so natural, moving your lips against his and feeling his breath fan across your wet skin as he kissed a line down your neck.

You could still feel it, only now it burns.

He asked you to be his and you breathed a “yes” back. He kissed away your insecurities, insisting they made you all the more special. Piece by piece, then all at once, you gave yourself to him.

Days turned to weeks then months, you came back to your apartment together, kissing, loving, he always went out of his way for you. “This is it,” you thought, “he’s the one”.

You talked about him with your friends all the time, gushing about how good he was to you. Mark integrated into your friend group with ease and he got along especially well with your best friend, Haechan. When he met your mom, she wouldn’t stop praising how well mannered Mark was. In every way, he was perfect for you. And in every way, you believed he would be forever.

One of the things Mark always teased you about was your lack of a license. Most students your age had one now that you were in university, but you had yet to take the test out of fear. Mark let you drive his car around the parking lot and the two of you laughed at your jolting stops every time you hit a curb. You said you were scared, but he held your hand and told you it was okay. With his help, you drove the small white car around in circles until the fear went away.

You promised him that once you got your license, the first place you would go was his house since he always had to drive to yours. Mark’s face lit up in such a way that could only be pure joy and you kissed the night away. He said he couldn’t wait.

But, you guess, now he can.

And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs

'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

It was only so long before you came across your first problems. Part of it was your fault; you were foolish enough to believe that you would always be the most important one in his life. You’d grown so used to Mark’s special treatment and constant reassurance that when he treated you any different, you got so scared.

It was a saturday night and he wanted to bring you out to a party. You begged him to stay inside like you always did, just the two of you, but you could tell he really wanted to go.

“Can’t you go without me?,” you asked, lying next to him in your bed.

“I wanna show you off,” he whined back, pulling you into a suffocating hug.

“Ah, fine!,” you squealed, your chin wedged in the nape of his neck as he squeezed you tight. He pressed a dozen kisses all over you then.

“It’s not a big deal,” you thought, “this is the least I can do for him”.

When you showed up to the party, you stuck right by his side. You had never been to one before, the alcohol and drugs making you uncomfortable. The trap music blared loudly as sweaty, intoxicated students grinded on each other shamelessly. Unfamiliar men looked at you with hooded, lustful eyes and you pulled at the hem of your short dress in discomfort. Mark hardly regarded you except for a hand at your waist and chatted freely with his friends that you didn’t know.

You felt out of place. Even without drinking anything, it wasn’t long before the heat of the frat house made your head spin and you tugged at Mark’s arm to get his attention.

“Baby, I want to leave,” you pleaded.

“What? But we haven’t been here for even an hour, ___”. Mark looked so disappointed as you interrupted his drinking game.

“I’m sorry, Mark, I really don’t want to be here,” you insisted, hoping he would once again leave everything and come to you.

For the first time, he hesitated. And for the first time, you saw her.

“Mark!,” an unfamiliar voice shouted over the cacophony. A blonde girl headed over to you. She was tall, clearly older by the way she carried herself. Her skin glistened with sweat from the party, but it didn’t take away from her gorgeous features. Even as her makeup ran slightly, you took in her looks with a pang of envy.

“Oh, hey!,” Mark greeted, his hand leaving your waist to pull her into a hug. Your heart tugged with jealousy. The way she looked at him and the way he didn’t even seem to see you as he chatted with her made you sick to your stomach. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Turning around, you weaved your way through the crowd towards the exit. The cold night air greeted you as you opened the front door to leave. You shivered at the difference in temperature as you made your way quickly down the driveway. It felt so wrong to be walking away from Mark, but the emotions crowding your head made you take one step after the other.

All the rest of you begged for him to stop you, to run after you and reassure you like he always did. So when you felt his hand grip your elbow, spinning you around, tears streamed down your face in relief.

“I’m sorry, ___,” he apologized, hugging you close. It was so warm. “I’m sorry”.

And you forgave him so easily.

And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever now I drive alone past your street

But that fight was the first of many. Each worse than the last - it started with bickering about little things like being late for dates or accidentally missing calls. Much to your greatest fear, Mark became noticeably slower to respond to your messages and always seemed to cancel your plans together, if you even made them anymore. Slowly, you found yourself sitting alone in your house more, waiting for him.

Still, you believed in him naively. Every couple fights, right? And he promised you forever. Just like every other time, he would come back to you and all would be well. You loved him like you’ve never loved anyone, even more than yourself.

But what you didn’t know was that you were pressing on the gas while Mark was slamming the brakes - your relationship became dysfunctional and before you could admit it, you were the only one hanging on.

You pressed too hard and everything exploded.

“We’re just friends, I don’t know what’s not clicking!,” Mark huffed angrily as he paced around your apartment kitchen.

“I’m not saying anything, all I mean is that I wish you’d told me that you were driving her home,” you reply, raising your voice slightly.

“You don’t own me, ___, I don’t have to tell you everything! What about you and Haechan, huh? You’re always hanging out with him and I never say anything!”. His voice was almost a shout, nothing like the loving tone he always used with you. He started packing up his things.

“Chan is my best friend, you know that,” you answer, voice breaking slightly as tears began to form.

Mark zipped up his bag, pausing to look up at you. His gaze was stiff, but it softened slightly at the sight of you. You could tell he was thinking about his next move. You thought it would be just like every other argument you had - he would pull you into his chest and the rhythmic beat of his heart would tell you he forgave you. After all, you had his promise of ‘forever’.

But this time, he turned away. He sauntered towards the door and with his hand on the handle, he fired his words like arrows to your heart.

“I think we need a break”

And just like that he left, the door clicking softly behind him.

One second, two, three.

You waited with your breath hitched in your throat for him to come back.

Four, five, six.

Tears dangled from the tip of your chin before splattering against the wooden floorboards as you listened for his footsteps to approach again.

They never did.

And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you but

I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs

And pictured I was driving home to you

That night left you utterly broken. You stood there in shock until the gravity of your pain brought you crashing down. Crying and crying more, you waited still for him to come back. Mark broke down your walls only to leave you defenseless - sheltering yourself was a good defense mechanism, one that was supposed to prevent you from being hurt like your dad did your mom.

In every way, you blamed yourself. You were never good enough for him and you never did nearly as much for him as he did you. A piece of work, that’s what you were. You didn’t deserve him and now he finally realized it.

You had cried all week, barely leaving your room to eat and go to class. You debated calling in sick, but even that cost energy you didn’t have. Checking your phone religiously, the pressure in your chest grew greater each time you saw he didn’t text or call.

Your last two messages were left unread: you’d asked him to call you to talk and you said you were sorry for doubting him.

Calling your friends was the only relief that came to you, but you felt bad for always bothering them. They didn’t have the words to comfort you. Well, there wasn’t anything they could say to comfort you.

But the final blow was yet to come.

Your phone buzzed with a message and your hand instinctively rushed to check it.

A message from Mark?

Your heart dropped when you saw it was only a calendar reminder.

“Driver’s License Test Today!”

You squeezed your eyes shut then as the memories of the times you spent practicing with Mark flooded back unwillingly. Shifting around in your cold bed, you wrapped yourself closer into the mess of sheets. He praised you as you got better, setting up the appointment himself.

“You can do it, babe,” he smiled at you widely from the passenger seat, “Once you get your license you can come over to my house all by yourself”. He leaned in close and you instinctively tilted your neck towards him to meet his lips. Kissing the sensetive spot where your jaw meets your ear, you let out a soft sigh of content. “And we can have so much fun”.

Struggling to ignore the stinging pain of the recollection, it took everything in you to muster the energy to go. Something in you still believed that maybe he would come back. Maybe he just needed time to think and he still meant forever. Maybe he was hurting just like you.

So you go to the dmv and you drive just like you practiced with Mark’s old white car, only this time with your own rental. The proctor ticked away at the boxes as you cruised around the familiar suburban streets. You’re glad he didn’t mention your puffy under eyes and slept-in hair.

“Alright, kiddo” the proctor finished signing the checklist as you pulled back into the original parking lot, “congrats! You passed!”.

You smiled and thanked him, but you didn’t feel happy. After the proctor hopped out of your car, you checked your phone to see you had a missed message. Heart racing, you unlock it quickly, hands shaking while you typed in your passcode. It had started to drizzle outside.

“___, I’ve been thinking a lot and I think it’s best if we broke up. I just don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry”.

You dropped your phone.

Minutes must have passed before you could move a muscle. Rain pattered gray against your windshield and you watched as the droplets ran down and disappeared into the wipers. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Your body on autopilot, you start the car, the old engine skipping a few times before running smoothly. Hardly thinking, you cruised through the suburban neighborhoods outside of Seoul, not sure of where you were going, but needing to go somewhere.

“Mark,” you say to no one, “Mark”. The second one was barely a whisper. You repeated his name to yourself as the rain bore down harder, tears falling down onto your lap. Curling your fingers tighter around the steering wheel, you sped down to the only place you knew to go.

“What the hell,” the boy at the door stated, staring bewildered at your soaking form. You sobbed, raindrops mixing with your tears so it was unclear which was which. Lighting cracked in the dark sky, followed by the inevitable rumble of thunder. Your car was pulled over the side of the road and you stood shivering pitifully in front of your best friend.

Haechan took you inside, offering you a towel and dry clothes while you said nothing, not trusting your voice to handle words. Of course, the two of you were close enough to understand this and he offered you silence back.

You cried into his lap as he patted you on the arm. The fireplace crackled in the background, but you still felt so cold.

“He broke up with me,” you hiccupped out finally, grabbing onto his hands for dear life. You hadn’t voiced it out loud yet and the words left your throat like knives.

“That son of a bitch,” Haechan cursed, letting you grip onto him, not saying anything about the pain.

“I-I,” your body shook as you hiccupped uncontrollably. He shushed you, stroking your hair with his other hand to calm you down.

You took deep breaths, closing your eyes to try to pacify your trembling sobs and make the pain go away.

“It hurts,” you finally managed, “It hurts so bad”.

Haechan squeezed your hand in acknowledgement, not knowing what to say. Just like that, he held you for hours until his legs went numb and your small gasps calmed into steady breathing. Still, he didn’t move.

“One day,” he softly broke the silence, brushing invisible circles on the back of your hand, “it’ll all pass. You might think he’s everything right now, but if he wasn’t ready to love all of you, he doesn’t deserve you”.

And it was after letting those words sink in that you slowly began to notice the warmth of the fireplace.

Red lights

Stop signs

I still see your face

In the white cars

Front yards

Can't drive past the places

We used to

Go to

'Cause I still fucking love you, babe

You drifted asleep on his lap then, peacefully. When you awoke, your best friend was no longer in your embrace and you blinked to remember where you were. For a second, just a small second, you forgot about what happened the day before.

Shifting up to a sitting position, you stretched your sore neck and looked around to Haechan in the kitchen. A sizzling noise accompanied by the alluring smell of bacon wafted over. Your stomach grumbled - it had been a few days since you’d had the appetite to eat something.

You made your way to the familiar kitchen, one you had spent many days hanging out in. Haechan tilted his head towards the sound of your approaching footsteps.

“You’re awake?”

You nodded in response. He wore a floral apron as he cooked, his hair still messy from sleep. For the first time in a while, you smiled.

After breakfast, he let you drive to school.

“I didn’t know you got your license,” the boy remarked as he buckled in.

“I did. Just yesterday”. Your voice was still slightly hoarse from crying. With your best attempts in Haechan’s bathroom, you washed the tears from your face. You hoped you could pretend you were okay.

But as you drove along, you passed the house that you had so temporarily forgotten about. The white car parked outside of Mark’s home pierced your chest with dull pain as you remembered the promises you made together.

“That’s cool. Did you finish the bio project?,” Haechan made his best attempt at capturing your attention, understanding what was going through your head.

You couldn’t reply.

Sidewalks

We crossed

I still hear your voice

In the traffic

We're laughing

Over all the noise

God, I'm so blue

Know we're through

But I still fucking love you, babe

The rest of the ride was silent as you struggled to keep it together. You thought about how Mark used to kiss you whenever there was a red light, leaning across the dash to tell you he loved you. You used to laugh at the ticklish feeling of his fingers feeling around your jaw to get a better angle to your lips, squealing at him to go when the light changed green.

You felt numb as you sat in your morning bio lecture, heeding no attention to your professor’s voice. Haechan sat next to you, observing your pained expression with concern.

“___, you okay?”

The question only makes you feel worse and you lean your chin weakly against his shoulder. You let out a small whimper, lips trembling as you hid your face in his neck. Grabbing your hand, he led you out of the dark lecture hall. You didn’t have the energy to ask where you were going as he pulled you out of the university science building.

“Give me your keys, I’ll drive,” Haechan directed. You obliged.

Seoul traffic picked up and the two of you sat listening to the radio.

“You wanna go get coffee?,” your best friend asked.

You didn’t answer, listening to the melody of the acoustic music playing on the radio. It reminded you of the song Mark wrote about you all those months ago. Haechan accepted your silence as affirmation and he pulled into a quaint café lot. A white car is parked in front of yours and you think you’re seeing things because it looks like Mark’s. Everything seemed to remind you of him.

You didn’t notice that Haechan got out of the car until he held your door open for you. Numbly, you step out, not taking your eyes off the white vehicle.

It was Mark’s.

Haechan realized the same too late and you were already staring through the café window. There he sat, the person you’ve been dying to see and hear from. Mark sat there and across from him, you recognized the blonde from the party. He left her for you then, but now you couldn’t say the same.

He looked so happy, happier than he was with you in the last months of your relationship, his smile reaching his eyes and his nose scrunching up as he laughed at something she said. Mark’s eyes sparkled as he looked at her. You don’t miss how his hand gripped the edge of the chair behind her back so his arm was almost around her shoulders.

He looked so okay without you.

Haechan pulled you under the small café umbrella as it started to drizzle. You were turned away from the window, out of sight from Mark, but the image was already burned into the back of your head.

“What am I supposed to do, chan?,” you whimpered, letting your tears soak into the taller boy’s chest as he hugged you close, “I still fucking love him”.

This time, he didn’t answer as you gripped onto his tee shirt. He didn't have to as you remembered your best friend’s words from the night before: “It’ll all pass”.

“It’ll all pass,” you thought desperately, although you felt like the sidewalk would swallow you whole. “It’ll all pass,” you repeated, this time out loud, the words feeling like cement as you sobbed into your best friend’s shirt.

It started to rain harder before Haechan spoke, his voice rumbling in his chest against your cheek, “It’ll all be okay one day, I promise”. You held onto these words for dear life.

…

Switching off the television, you shuffle out of the living room to get ready for bed. It’s been a week since then and you still repeat Haechan’s words to yourself every night. They serve as your only consolation to fight against the knowledge that Mark found somebody new. Somebody that isn’t you is making him happy now. Somebody that isn’t you is hearing that they’re special, that they’re beautiful.

Still, you pressed the band-aids to your bullet hole.

“It’ll be okay,” you whisper to yourself as you turn your bedside light off, “It’ll pass one day”. The promises wash around your head until sleep invites you in and finally the dull pain of being awake can be ignored.

The bright light of morning came as a surprise, waking you from your slumber. You shield the golden rays from your eyes with a tired hand, although welcoming the rare sunshine in a month filled with rain. Birds sing their weekend song as you stretch the sleep from your bones. For the first time in a while, your room appeared bright.

Brushing your teeth, you make a peace sign in the mirror at your messy hair. Letting out a single chuckle, you flop your atrocious bun to the other side. For the first time in a while, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel quite as painful. Spitting out your toothpaste foam, you take the time to cleanse your face properly, patting on your favorite moisturizer after.

You brush through the tangles in your hair, looking at your reflection, taking in the first image of yourself trying to heal. It isn’t a lot, but it’s everything.

Strolling to the kitchen, you pour yourself a bowl of cereal. Munching away, you pull open the living room curtains, letting the morning light stream in. There you stand, watching the bumblebees rub against the pink flowers to drink their nectar.

“Cheers,” you whisper, raising your spoon up to the window before bringing it to your lips. Finishing the simple meal, you debate what to do next.

You look to the couch, wondering if it would be okay to sit and waste your day away with netflix. Just then, you feel a buzz from your back pocket.

“____, you free?” the message reads. It’s from Haechan.

You reply that you are and he asks you to come over to hang out together. Looking to the couch then back to your phone, you head down to the door to grab your keys and your license. Before you leave, you pause, looking at the cluttered letters collecting dust on the countertop. Before the door clicks shut behind you, they’re in the trash and the counter smells of lemon disinfectant.

The weather is so nice. You feel the warmth against your face as you walk down to your car. It’s not the rental anymore because Haechan helped you find a used one that you could afford. It’s bright red, your favorite color, and it doesn’t skip when you start the engine.

You cruise down the suburban streets with the windows down to feel the fresh breeze play with your hair. It smells like cut grass and petrichor.

Turning onto the familiar street, you expect your heart to clench at the sight of Mark’s house, but it doesn’t. You press the gas pedal a little harder as you speed past the white car parked in the driveway. Taking a deep breath, you drive past his street.

Maybe it hurts a little, but you don’t cry anymore. You turn the wheel smoothly as you pull onto a different road, just like the way you always practiced. Maybe it hurts a little, but you’re always thankful for the time you had with him. You turn the radio to your favorite channel, letting your body sway to the relaxing guitar tune. Maybe it hurts a little, but you’ll always love the song he wrote about you. Even if Mark doesn’t mean it anymore, someone new could.

Following the route you now have memorized, you steer into your best friend’s neighborhood.

Maybe you’re driving alone, but it doesn’t hurt so much. Not when there’s someone waiting for you.

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever now I drive alone past your street

Yeah, you said forever now I drive alone past your street

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indianamoonshine · 3 years ago

Text

Strawberry | Chapter 12 | Flames

Summary: Will joins the family dinner. The night can hide many things.

Rating: (+18) for…situations.

A/N: I'm SO SORRY for the long hiatus. Please accept this peace offering (jealous!Din) as a token of my gratitude.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople

The symposium of a midwestern dinner sounds a lot like Bach's work.

Difficult notes with high to reach places and then very low caverns just a moment later. The cicadas in the background are a nice touch; it's something Tchaikovsky might have wished he could capture. Silverware - old enough to be considered vintage now - clank against the porcelain dinner plates. Charlotte lets out her fae-like laughter and Rhea listens intently, eyes gazing dreamily upon Tommy as he carries on conversation. The house is full tonight.

You suppose it was out of the kindness of your father's heart to invite Will to this dinner. Everyone within a two mile radius usually came to these spur-of-the-moment things. Will was an old family friend and his father supplied yours with fresh goat's milk and chicken eggs, so it wasn't all that strange he came along. Still, it made the meal a bit more difficult to swallow. Quite literally.

Din is sitting directly across from you. You think it might have been intentional because Will chose to plop his happy ass right beside you, grinning that lopsided smile and charming his way out of the discomfort with a joke. You play the part by laughing when he tries to outwit everyone in the room or by asking him how the farm manages these days. Will isn't a cocky person by nature, but something about the rigidness of his composure when Din asks for the green beans makes you all too suspicious.

It doesn't make any sense. Will broke things off with you. If he were to be jealous, it wouldn't be for anything but pride and show. A year ago it would've bothered you that Will was cajoling the room for the sake of his vanity, but now it was just embarrassing for everyone involved.

"Din, do you remember the summer of '90?" your father asks across the table, clearly involved in another conversation that pertains to this anecdote.

The man across you hums and shakes his head with a reluctant grin. "I try not to," he fibs, cutting at his steak.

Your father chuckles. "I was nineteen and Din was..." he pauses. "Jeez, Din. How old were ya?"

"Seventeen."

"Ah, right! Rhea hadn't been born yet but Scarlett was pregnant with her by the end of the summer. That was our last free year, wasn't it? Well, mine anyway." You dad points his fork in Rhea's direction, a bit of steak dangling from its end. "And then you came along."

Rhea scoffs. "Well, geez. My bad for existing."

There's no darkness in either of their words so the exchange makes everyone at the table chuckle in good humor. Your father and Din go back and forth about the irresponsible and, well, illegal things that had been done that summer. Underage drinking. Trespassing. And somehow Din always got away with it.

"He never got us caught. Ever. I still don't know how you did it." Your father says to his friend, eyes wrinkling with a genuine smile. "Damn good thing too considering how much pot we smoked. It's a good thing my girls didn't get that rebellious streak."

A witty response is formed upon your lips but only until Will cuts you off.

"I don't know about that," he pipes in.

You're taken aback, quite literally tossing your head to gauge his interjection. "What?"

An indifferent silence hushes the dinner party. Your sisters chew their food carefully, eyes glued upon the scene before them like it was one of their soap operas. Your father awaits an explanation with a rather scandalized look upon his face, but Will's father - Clarence - doesn't seem at all fazed by any probability of illegal activity.

Will rolls his chin to serve you an exasperated look. "Oh, come on. We're adults now; we can come clean." He drenches his steak in more A1 sauce before revealing: "Your daughter was the one to egg the sheriff's house."

The entire room initially goes as silent as a graveyard before everyone chokes on a snort and begins to roar with laughter. Clarence slaps your father on the back as the two of them snicker like a pair of hyenas.

"Will!" you growl. "You said you'd take that to your deathbed!"

The pain in the ass beside you howls with laughter, holding his stomach, and having to pause from drinking his beer. "Daffi, it's fine. They can't do anything about it now."

"That's not the point!" you scowl.

Din is grinning from ear to ear, obviously amused by your humiliation. It was a childish thing to do but the sheriff was a dick in the worst way and you wanted him to know it. That was a hot summer - record breaking, actually - and by the time he'd woken, the egg had dried upon his lawn and across the face of his home. Ole' Sheriff Winslow scoured the town for weeks before finally abandoning his quest altogether.

"You got something to say, Mister Djarin?" you inquire playfully, scolding him with a fire in your eyes.

Din clears his throat and furrows his brows. "No, no. I wouldn't dare."

The two of you exchange a glance that was far too intimate for this dining room. His eyes softened upon meeting yours and his smirk was silly, drunk on something other than the beer in his hand. If it weren't for dear Will's additional reminiscence, you might've fallen under the spell lingering in the space between you.

"Yeah, that was a great summer. We had our first kiss that year, remember?"

You blink, all thoughts of Din's mouth upon yours fizzling away like steam. Instead, it is replaced with the frayed-edged memory of Will's rusted pick-up parked in the darkest corner of the local McDonalds. It was hardly a first kiss worth mentioning if it hadn't been for how good he was at it and how bad you were. Still: what the fuck?

You wanted to say just that but refrained from doing so. Instead you say, "Lots of awkward fumbling if I recall." It comes out sharp - petty. If he wanted to behave like a child, you could do it too.

Din's trying so desperately hard not to glare at Will. You can see it in the deliberate chug of his beer.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I know.”

“Wait,” Charlotte holds up a hand, expression dumbstruck. “I’m not done.”

You roll your eyes and scrub at a particularly stubborn dish, waiting for her dramatics to be over.

“…was that?” she finishes.

Rather anti-climactic.

“It’s Will,” you tell her, voice bored but teetering on the edge of fury. “It’s fucking Will. What do you expect?”

Charlotte shakes her head, eyes bulging with disbelief as she blinks over and over again as though trying to compute. She takes a dish from you, sopping wet, and begins to dry it with a rag. You know Charlotte is eager to gossip because she never - never - offers to help clean after supper.

Everyone else is carrying on from the awkward conversation by sitting at the bonfire and making pudgy-pies. It’s the kind of snack one eats when they need to forget about anything other than the impending weight gain. You watch from the window as Rhea slathers Nutella upon a piece of white bread and then some cut strawberries. Honestly, you could really go for one, but the idea of being anywhere near Will makes your skin crawl.

“Did he say anything to you? Before dinner? Or after? Like…why would he say something like that?” Charlotte carefully stacks the delicate plates atop each other. They clank against one another noisily.

Like cymbals within the symphony.

“Nope,” you tell her. “Not a word. I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

Charlotte goes silent, rubbing at the plates until they’re dry as a bone, and then whispers, “He obviously knows.”

You square your jaw, glancing around to make sure no one is in the vicinity, and then let out a great sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure he does. I was all over Din at the bar.”

Your dear sister brightens at the mention of the night prior. She stops her drying and places her hands upon your shoulders so that you may look her in the eyes. You see mahogany. Deep. Rich. Full of life and excitement. In her eyes, it is proof that she’s a good spirit and in good health. (And…well, maybe a little tipsy, but that’s besides the point.)

“I like him. For you.” Is what she confesses. She places her hands upon your cheeks and squishes them together. You protest, taking her wrists and wrestling her, but giggling all the while. “I mean it. I think he adores you. And so do I.”

You nod in her grasp. “Okay, okay! I know, yes. I know!” you chuckle, breathless from the lack of air supply. She still has you in a chokehold. “Can you please let me go now?!”

Charlotte releases you from her trap and you gasp a throat-full of air, belly aching from laughter. The two of you embrace one another in a hug, attempting to lift the other, and then falling upon the linoleum - sore with serenity.

There is something stirring in Din.

It is a fire that has just been fanned from embers he sought to snuff out. But they hadn’t perished, despite how hard he had tried. The coals burned. He burned.

For you.

At the bar, Din ignored Will to the best of his ability; sort of like how one ignores an irritating bumblebee. Leave him be, Din had chanted. He’s harmless. After all, Din had years stacked against Will. How was it possible to be so insecure by this kid?

Because that’s essentially what he is, right? He’s so goddamned young; he looks as though he’s never taken a hit in his life. He’s too pretty, too put together. He’s firm skin and tight abs. And Din, well…

Din was not.

Din was old. He was well past forty years of age now, playing house with a woman over twenty years his senior. No matter how well he managed to keep the façade so believable, it would one day end in disaster - embarrassment. Heartache. And defeat. He can’t bear the thought.

It wasn’t like him. He’s never given a shit about anyone’s perception of him before, nevertheless mulled over the ex of a romantic interest. Not to say that Din’s ever felt the way he did with you; no one has even come close. Xian was his longest “situationship” and when it inevitably burst into flames, he didn’t bat an eye. (He wonders if that makes him a terrible person.) If his toxicity with Xian was worth anything, it was just a testament of his endurance.

But you. The world fucking blurs when you’re near.

So when Will - cocky as Din once was - utters unsolicited bullshit, it takes every ounce of dignity he has left to remain silent.

We had our first kiss that year, remember?

There is a primal urge to reach across the table and wring the smug expression from Will’s face, to grab you with an unfamiliar hunger, carry you across the acre, and toss you onto his bed and just…

No. That was brutish. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t allow himself to feel possessive over you because you couldn’t be owned. He knew that. But that fire licked at his inner conscious until he had to excuse himself from dinner altogether.

The darkest parts of him pace during the bonfire, though he manages to sit still and interpret Will’s behavior. His youth glows betwixt the crazed flames, an ombré of red and orange dancing across everyone’s skin. Din watches, he listens, he notes every little thing like hunters do. Because for some reason - some ungodly, twisted reason - Din felt as though Will were a bounty now. It’s the only way he could feel superior.

“Daffodil!” Will calls out suddenly. “Get over here!”

The hinges in Din’s jaw pop as he clenches his teeth, grinding them so forcefully he thinks Rhea - who sits beside him - might hear. When you arrive from the house (he guessed you were cleaning up, just as you always do), he notes the skimpy length of your cotton shorts and…

Wait. Is that his shirt?

It is. It’s the very same shirt Din offered you after the rain debacle after the bar. It was one of his favorites despite how plain it was; just a grey t-shirt that fit snugly on him but dwarfed you entirely. It skimmed the top of your knees and pressed against the swell of your chest. That something within him growled once more.

“Come sit,” Will instructs, patting at his lap.

You hesitate. “I…”

Will chuckles, urging you with waggling fingers. “We’ve been like this since we were kids, Daffi. Come on.”

There’s a pathetic attempt to steady himself as Din watches you perch upon Will’s lap.

You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt…

The group chats a while longer, exchanging stories Din’s never heard, but none of it matters. You’re on another man’s lap. And despite Mark’s very obvious presence, he wants so badly to grip your wrist and run.

“I’ve seen you before,” Will says suddenly. He points a finger in Din’s direction, eyes a little hooded from drink. “Weren’t you at the bar a couple of nights ago?”

Those who partook in the rendezvous go silent. Rhea freezes and Charlotte blanches, looking towards their dear sister who’s pale in the face now. Mark, in his sheer oblivion, raises a brow. Din’s been in every intense situation imaginable, but something about now makes his gut churn.

He could loose you. Right now.

He’s about to lie, to make up some bullshit excuse about having ‘one of those faces’, but Rhea pipes in.

Her voice is strong and firm when she says, “What the hell are you talking about? He wasn’t there.”

Effortless. Shoulders sag, the tension subsiding thanks to Rhea’s impeccable skill.

“Strange. Swore I saw you with…” he shakes his head and shrugs. “Never mind.”

An artificial laugh - so sickly sweet that it’s almost impossible to digest - escapes your lips. “You must’ve drank too much. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

His kiss takes you by surprise.

You’re walking back to the house after the men have soiled the fire and everyone’s said their good nights when he just does it.

It’s covertly enough, but it’s shocking. A massive hand encircles your wrist and pulls you behind the shed out back, pressing you against the mossy wood and stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s the biggest risk the two of you have taken. For God’s sake, your father is just now walking inside the main house and Din’s mouth is attached to the hollow of your neck.

You’re dizzy, gripping his shoulders so tightly that the fabric of his shirt warps beneath your fingers. “Din,” you breathe out. He kisses you speechless again and you break for air. “Din, what’s the matter?”

He curses under his breath. It’s sharp. Fuck. It’s not angry, per say, but it is damaged. You weave your fingers through his hair as he settles his breathing, concentrating on the strings of your shorts that he fiddles with.

“I…” He sighs, pressing his nose against your cheek. His breath is warm and you shiver. “He touched you.”

He sounds ashamed. Embarrassed. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be to vocalize your self-doubt as someone who relishes in secrecy. He had a wall built around him and it was made of iron.

“Not like you,” you whisper shyly.

You had some walls of your own. He was tearing them down like that of Jericho.

There’s softness in the air. The two of you are silent, eyes closed, and mouths inches apart. Exchanging of breath. It’s an ancient form of intimacy.

You trust him. You trust him with your life.

His hand feels natural in your own as you lift it to your breast. The trembling of his fingers is almost endearing; the man was far older than you and he still shook at the mere touch of a woman.

“No one can touch me like you.” Your hands glide south, pressing underneath the fabric covering the raw parts of you, until you stop at the band of your panties. “No one can.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Soon after, he kisses you fiercely, but not without nodding in agreement. And that very hand, which grazes so deliciously at your belly, finally dips.

Sparks.

#strawberryfic #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x you #din x reader #din x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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sunlit-squid · 3 years ago

Note

I don't care about everyone else! i care about you, SQUIDWARD! (simping softness asks)

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

so, uh -- i might have gotten a bit carried away with this prompt. it’s definitely longer than a ficlet, but oh well. either way, it was a lot of fun to write! selfish spongebob is so rarely explored.

fic under the cut. also, just in case, cw: drinking, drunkenness, etc.

Spongebob rose bright and early, long before his foghorn alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. With a cheerful shout, the poriferan jumped out of bed, earning a disgruntled “mrow” from Gary, who was still asleep nearby. Stretching vigorously, the sponge leaned down, planting a soft kiss atop the snail’s shell.

“Gary,” he whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “Today’s the day!”

Turning away, Gary simply replied “mrow”, in a disdainful way that most certainly meant “whatever.”

Undeterred, Spongebob ran to his calendar. Sure enough, the day’s date -- July 14th -- was circled in bright-red, permanent marker, with the words “My birthday!” written neatly across it. And just below those words, was a tiny drawing of Squidward’s face, with dozens of little red hearts surrounding it.

Making his way over to the window, Spongebob gazed out at Squidward’s moai in the distance. He sighed, dreamily. What was Squidward doing right now? Probably sleeping, in that adorable dress of his.

The sponge lingered there, staring dazedly out at the moai, for perhaps a moment too long. Then, remembering himself, he sprinted to the bathroom. Once inside, Spongebob pointed a finger at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Enough beating around the bush, Mr. Squarepants!” he yelled -- much to Gary’s annoyance. The sponge lowered his voice down to a soft whisper. “Today, you tell him how you feel.”

His reflection simply shrugged. “I mean, okay,” it said. “But this is like, the 57th time you’ve said this.”

“Oh, shush.”

-0-

The party was supposed to start at 6:30, but Spongebob, in a manic cleaning fit, had the entire house ready by noon. This year, the party was themed around As The Tide Turns, a very polarizing-but-popular soap opera, especially in Bikini Bottom. If you were a Bikini Bottomite, you either watched the show genuinely, or ironically -- there was absolutely no in-between.

Spongebob and Squidward both genuinely enjoyed the show. It was one of the first things they bonded over, back when Spongebob started working at the Krusty Krab. Through the window to the galley, the two coworkers would talk for hours about the show, and whatever drama was center-stage for that season.

It got to a point where Mr. Krabs -- who only watched ATTT ironically -- got on them both, for shirking their duties.

“If yer gonna flirt,” he’d said, “do it on yer own time.”

So, Spongebob started coming over to Squidward’s house on Friday nights, when the new episodes would air. In fact, even when the show was between seasons, Spongebob still came over, just to watch reruns. It was one of the few times Squidward would (begrudgingly) let Spongebob inside, with no complaints.

Spongebob hummed softly to himself, his eyes scanning the small clipboard in front of him. Food, decorations, party games … Check, check, and check. Everything was present and accounted for -- and he had to admit, the house looked spectacular.

Every room was themed around a different, iconic arc in the ATTT series. His living room, filled with chalk drawings, crime scene tape, and red-string boards, was inspired by the murder mystery arc. His kitchen, decorated with leftover Halloween gear, was inspired by the vampire arc … and so on and so forth. Each and every room had its own particular, careful design -- and in all, it was probably Spongebob’s most intricate and detailed party to date.

That was because it had to be. Spongebob had a plan, a carefully detailed plan -- one that was sure to sweep Squidward Tentacles right off his … er, tentacles. And it went like this:

Squidward and Spongebob’s favorite arc, in all 42 seasons of As The Tide Turns, was the murder mystery. In the arc, the dashing Detective Heartthrob, accompanied by his sidekick-slash-lover Joey, must bring a heinous mass murderer to justice. At the climax, it is revealed that Detective Heartthrob is the true killer -- having been hypnotized by a witch, who was also his evil twin sister, for some reason. In the end, Joey must kill Detective Heartthrob, in a tragic display of love and sacrifice.

The season was thrilling, silly, and emotionally traumatizing, to boot. For months after the finale, Squidward and Spongebob would not shut up about it -- much to the annoyance of Mr. Krabs.

Either way, Spongebob had set up an elaborate, original mystery game, inspired by the events of the show. Each attendee would get a “random” card, assigning them a different role in the story. Squidward would be Detective Heartthrob, and Spongebob would be Joey.

Together, they would embark on an original mystery, one that Spongebob had devised all by himself. After he and Squidward solved the mystery together, and the party was over … Spongebob would finally, finally confess his feelings.

Of course, Spongebob had, more or less, rigged the game to ensure this would happen. Which was cheating, sure, but this was for love! So it couldn't possibly go wrong.

-0-

It went wrong. Almost immediately, in fact.

For one, the party started at 6:30 -- and, nearly two hours later, Squidward had yet to show up. Spongebob spent those first two hours lingering by the door, staring out the window towards the moai, and forgetting to refill the punch bowl. Sandy, ever the observant one, noticed immediately.

Pulling Spongebob aside, she asked, in a hushed voice, “Hey, partner. You good?”

“Oh, I’m -- I’m great!” chirped Spongebob, putting on his worst, most unconvincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sandy, flatly. “This about Squidward?”

Spongebob blushed, immediately. The squirrel sighed.

“I thought so,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest. “Did he say he was gonna come?”

The sponge nodded. “He said, ‘I’ll see if I can make it work’, which in Squidward-speak, is practically a yes!” groaned Spongebob, staring up at Sandy with his huge baby blue eyes. “He’ll come, right, Sandy?”

Sandy hesitated. She didn’t really know Squidward that well … but he did seem to have a soft spot for Spongebob. Awkwardly, she replied, “I mean … I can’t say for sure, but he did say he would try. Let’s be patient, okay, Spongebob? Maybe he just got caught up with something.”

Spongebob sighed, then repositioned his face into its usual chipper smile. “Alrighty. You do usually know what’s best, Sandy.”

“I sure do,” she giggled. “Oh, and Spongebob?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cut his cable this time,” she said, before walking off to get more punch.

-0-

By 9:30, the party started to go a bit haywire. At this point, practically all of Bikini Bottom was at Spongebob’s house, except for Squidward -- and Larry thought it would be a great idea to play Truth Or Dare: Extreme Edition. The rules were pretty much the same as Truth Or Dare: Standard Edition, but with one exception: each subsequent truth or dare had to be more extreme than the last.

It started off alright. A few people were dared to take off their pants, or do a somersault down Conch Street while blindfolded. However, as the game progressed, the stakes grew astronomically. At one point, Patrick was dared to eat half of Spongebob’s pineapple. Later, Sandy was dared to juggle three of Plankton’s bombs, while riding a unicycle. Even later, Larry and Mr. Krabs were dared to switch shells and wrestle -- which wasn’t really destructive. Just disturbing.

The dares were stupid, but if there was one thing Bikini Bottomites had, it was a complete lack of common sense. Or any sense, really.

It certainly didn’t help that as the night progressed, the partygoers grew more and more … inebriated. The punch itself was non-alcoholic, but apparently, Karen and Plankton had taken it upon themselves to bring their own alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

By 10:30, Squidward still hadn’t shown up yet. Several people had either passed out or thrown up. And the pineapple was a complete disaster.

Spongebob sighed. He was seated on his living room sofa now, watching as the partygoers reveled inside (and outside) his home. Of course, the sponge was happy they were enjoying themselves -- but this day was supposed to be about him, and … well, nothing had gone as planned. His entire house was destroyed, it would take days to clean up the mess -- and Squidward hadn’t even bothered to show up! The nerve.

“Hey Patrick,” muttered Spongebob, waving a tired yellow hand at his drunken best friend.

Immediately, the starfish stumbled over to him, drink in hand. “Wha… haha … whasss’ up, Spunchblarb?” he slurred.

Spongebob pointed to the drink in Patrick’s hand. “Could I have that?”

Patrick grinned widely. “Yeeeeeahh! Now -- now, yer talkin’, buddy!” And with that, the starfish handed Spongebob his first drink of the night.

-0-

About three drinks in, Spongebob Squarepants was well and truly intoxicated. Which was nice, in a way. Now, the world was a weird, misty haze, and he didn’t have to worry about his pineapple being destroyed, or his party being ruined, or Squidward, or whatever. Now, he could just be peacefully drunk and stupid, just like everybody else in his house. Blissfully unaware of the world around them.

As the night went on, Spongebob began losing track of time. What time was it? Midnight? 3:00 a.m.? Did it even matter?

Over the course of one very stupid evening, Spongebob made more than a few bad decisions. For one, he bought like, ten mops online. Which was both counterproductive (he was a sponge) and financially irresponsible (he was also a frycook). Later, the sponge swam to the surface of the ocean to see how long he could breathe without water. He fainted within the first ten seconds, and had to be retrieved by Larry. After that, the night became a dizzying blur. Spongebob was certain he had been driving, at one point, and also dancing, and maybe singing?

Either way, several hours later, Spongebob was still dancing in his living room, a lampshade stuck on his head, when he felt something on his shoulder. Turning woozily, the sponge tried to get into “kara-tay” position, and ultimately failed.

“Who -- what -- stay back! I’m warning you!” shouted the sponge. “I know … er, kar .. karat … carrots?”

There was a familiar sigh, then a soft chuckle. “Oh, you moron,” came a voice, a voice that Spongebob loved so dearly, even in this drunken state. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Squ … squib … ?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward, wrenching the lampshade off of Spongebob’s head. “It’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

Spongebob looked up at Squidward -- and in his inebriated, hazy stupor, he couldn’t take it. He loved him so much, and for so long. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Squi -- Squidward, you -- you came,” the sponge stammered, his bottom lip quivering. “I -- I didn’t think …”

“Hush,” said Squidward, looking around the room. “This is, uh … wow, you really had a rager, huh? I didn’t think you had it in you, Spongebob.”

Stepping away, Squidward began picking up random items off the floor -- the punch bowl, some photographs, and a spilled carton of milk. The octopus had to step over and around several bodies, which were lying passed out on Spongebob’s floor.

“Listen, I’m gonna try and find a way to get everyone home,” said Squidward, sifting his way through the pile of garbage and bodies. “Everyone else is knocked out -- ”

Spongebob had had it. He’d had enough. He’d planned out this whole day perfectly, just for Squidward to not show up, for his whole house to be demolished in the chaos. Sure, he was glad everyone had a good time, but deep down, Spongebob was a little selfish, and deep down --

“I don’t care about everyone else!” shouted Spongebob, clenching his fists at his sides. “I care about you, Squidward!”

Squidward, startled, nearly dropped everything he was holding -- and before he could properly respond, Spongebob fell over, unconscious.

-0-

For once, Spongebob didn’t wake up to the sound of his foghorn. Instead, he woke up to the sound of the television nearby. Very soft dialogue wafted its way over to the sponge, bathing him in its pleasant familiarity.

“Why, Joey, I think you’re right -- the killer is closer than we seem to think!”

“Then we best get cracking, Detective Heartthrob!”

Groaning, Spongebob sat up -- a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his skull. Dear Neptune. What happened last night? There was the party, the drinking, and … Squidward, maybe? Spongebob felt his heart drop at the thought of his neighbor, and sighed. He hadn’t gotten to tell Squidward how he felt. Attempt 57 had failed. Miserably.

Blinking slowly, the sponge looked around, and with surprise noted that his bedroom was not a mess, like it had been during the party. In fact, it was squeaky clean. The only thing out of place was the living room television, which had been moved to the end of Spongebob’s bed. The TV was playing an old rerun of As The Tide Turns, from the murder mystery arc. A smile tugged at Spongebob’s lips. How ironic.

Wait a minute. Who moved the TV?

Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs -- the tell-tale pat-pat-pat-pat of someone with four legs. Squidward. He was still here! Steeling himself, Spongebob sat at attention, gripping the blankets tightly.

When Squidward entered, he was holding a tray of food and wearing a long pink apron. When he saw that Spongebob was now conscious, the octopus jumped, nearly dropped the food, then steadied himself just in time.

“Squidward!” said Spongebob, cheerily. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, you nitwit,” muttered Squidward. “Who else was gonna clean up that messy party of yours?”

Squidward crossed the room to place the food tray on Spongebob’s nightstand. Once there, the octopus shoved a glass of water and two pills into the poriferan’s hands, with one simple command: “Drink.”

Spongebob did so, gratefully. Then, he asked, “The party … what all happened?”

“I don’t know, but it was a mess,” sighed Squidward. “I’m pretty sure half the town was completely passed out by the time I got here. I’m surprised the cops didn’t get involved.”

“Oh,” said Spongebob, feeling very guilty all of a sudden. “Did -- did everyone get home okay?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward. “Listen, don’t -- don’t worry about it, okay? I took care of everything. Your house is clean, Gary is fed, everyone got home. That’s all.” Squidward’s cheeks were stained red.

Spongebob smiled, his heart jumping happily in his chest. “Thank you, Squidward.”

After a moment of silence, Squidward brought the food tray up to Spongebob’s lap. “You should … you should eat that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Look, I … I’m sorry I was so late, alright? The truth is, I … I got caught up.”

With a mouthful of food, Spongebob asked, “Wif whaf?”

Squidward grimaced. “You’re disgusting,” he snapped, then looked away, blushing brightly. “Anyway, I … was trying to get ahold of your birthday present. It was supposed to be delivered here, to Conch Street, yesterday -- but I guess there was a mix-up, and it was instead delivered to Conch Road, which is … in an entirely different town. Several hours away.”

Spongebob blinked. “You drove all the way to get it?”

Squidward scowled. “Whatever,” he snapped, pulling a small red present box from beneath Spongebob’s bed. “Either way, it’s here. So, I guess … open it, maybe.”

Shoveling down the rest of his food (much to Squidward’s disgust), the sponge quickly shredded the pristine red wrapping paper to reveal -- a boxed set of the entire As The Tide Turns series. The extended edition, with all the bonus scenes and commentary tracks. And to top it all off -- the box was signed by the stars of the show.

Spongebob looked up at Squidward, eyes shimmering with shock and awe. “Squidward, this is -- this is amazing, I thought they didn’t sell these anymore!”

“Oh, trust me,” said Squidward, shuddering. “You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that.”

“Let me guess,” said Spongebob, holding up two yellow hands to form finger-guns. In his best Joey impression, the sponge said, “You had to kill a lotta folks, didn’t ya, Detective Heartthrob?”

Squidward chuckled immediately. In one suave motion, he leaned against Spongebob’s bed, and pointed a finger-gun of his own. In his best Detective Heartthrob impression, the octopus replied, “I did, and I don’t regret it at all, Joey!”

The two laughed for a good long while. Then, suddenly embarrassed once more, Squidward looked away. Taking a deep breath, the octopus said, “Look, Sponge, I -- last night, you said something kinda weird, and I wanted to know if -- if maybe --”

“Huh?”

“You said -- you only cared about me, not anyone else, and I -- I wanted to ask,” stammered Squidward, “... what exactly … you meant by that.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened. Oh, barnacles. Did he really say that? Well … there was no hiding it now. Gripping his sheets tight, Spongebob steeled himself for what was to come. “It means I … I wanna keep hanging out with you, Squidward,” said the sponge, staring down at his yellow knuckles. “I wanna hang out with you more than anyone else.”

Squidward swallowed, hard. “Sponge, what are you saying?”

Spongebob looked up. Their eyes met. “I like you,” said the sponge, smiling nervously. “A … a lot.”

A long moment of silence passed. Spongebob’s heart hammered furiously at his chest. Then, Squidward sighed, and picked up the ATTT boxed set. Walking over to Spongebob’s TV, the octopus inserted the first disc, grabbed the remote, and returned to Spongebob’s side.

Lifting the blankets, the octopus said, “Scooch over.”

Spongebob blinked, then did as instructed. “Why?” he asked.

“You really are an idiot,” muttered Squidward, climbing into bed with him. “It’s a Sunday, the Krusty Krab is closed, and we have a whole boxed set to watch together. Might as well start now.”

Spongebob smiled, happily. “So -- so you -- ”

Squidward rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes, I … I like you,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna drive halfway across the ocean floor for just anybody, you know.”

Spongebob grinned stupidly. “I guess not.”

With that, the show began, its melodramatic theme tune echoing pleasantly across Spongebob’s pineapple home. And just below the bed, Gary let out a soft, contended meow -- which almost certainly meant “finally.”

-0-

References:

The line about cutting Squidward’s cable is a reference to the episode “Party Pooper Pants”, in which Spongebob cuts Squidward’s cable to get him to come over for a party.

#sbsp #my fics #spongebob squarepants #squidbob #spongeward #spongebob #squidward #ask #asks #sunlit-squid

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onenerdtwonagas · 3 years ago

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Freckles & Stars

(Felt like rewriting their confession to try and have a less soap-opera-ish feel to it. Obviously it’s still a dramatic moment for them but at least the dialogue flows a little better IMO? Idk, y’all tell me LOL)

Orpheus smiled as he looked down at the pieces of parchment—‘paper’—and the intricate notes and detailed sketches. There was something inherently charming about them. Intimate, almost. He traced the tip of a claw carefully around the edge of a study of a fern leaf, following the thin lines of ink.

“What did you say this was called again?” he asked, his gaze lingering before flicking upwards at the human across from him.

“Botany,” Uriah answered. “Plant studies.”

“Huh. We call such persons ‘herbalists’, still. Although, I suppose it isn’t quite fitting, since they work with more than herbs.”

“Herbalists breed and preserve plants, too?”

“They do, but differently,” Orpheus explained, passing the papers back to Uriah. “They don’t use such strange methods as humans do, what with your...gadgets?”

Uriah chuckled and returned the papers to a protective folder inside his pack.

“That’s one word for it. Technology doesn’t run on magic, where I’m from.”

“It’s not always magic. There are scientists within the pantheon.”

“Alchemists, you mean?”

“It’s a form of science,” Orpheus insisted.

“That uses magic,” Uriah returned, smiling as he stood up to stretch.

“That’s—fair, actually. I’ll grant you that,” the naga laughed.

He watched Uriah pace to the open wall of his chamber. The human stretched his arms over his head and let them fall with a groan, leaning against a pillar and watching the steady rainfall outside. It had been rather dreary all afternoon, rain arriving not long after Uriah had showed up at the entrance to the temple.

Orpheus found himself looking forward to the visits from the mortal man. It had been several months since their strange first encounter, and Uriah came every so often for the ‘work’ his foreign society demanded of him. Watching him was fascinating; Uriah sounded so intelligent, and there was a little thrill that would race up Orpheus’s spine whenever he used the important-sounding jargon for his ‘work’. If he was being honest, it wasn’t just the terminology Uriah used that set little quivers through the naga’s core: it was the man himself.

He’d tried not to let it get to him, but with each visit Orpheus found himself growing increasingly fond of Uriah. He liked his smile, the genuine kindness he showed, and his obvious intelligence. Whenever Orpheus would take him to see new parts of the jungle around his father’s territory, he found himself seeking opportunities to touch him. Holding his hand to help him step over obstacles, brushing dirt or plant matter from his back, offering his tail as a place to sit for rest... Orpheus had to admit he was smitten, and he felt it again as he watched Uriah stare out at the rain.

“How long do you think it’ll last?”

“I—hmm?”

“The rain,” Uriah asked, jerking his head in the general direction of the weather. “Is it gonna come down like this all night?”

Orpheus rose and slithered over, peering up past the roof of the temple and through the canopy to catch a slim glance of a storm-gray sky overhead. A rumble of thunder rolled across the clouds.

“Might be a while, at the very least,” he mused. “It’s not the rainy season just yet, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have storms. Just means it won’t flood the lower terrain or washout the river beds.”

“Sooo... What you’re saying is, I’m probably bunking here overnight?”

Uriah looked at Orpheus, one eyebrow quirked upwards. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there, near Orpheus—he certainly liked being near Orpheus—but he wasn’t sure he could handle it. Seeing him every visit felt wonderful, but leaving... Leaving was getting harder. Being closer wasn’t going to help that.

“I’d rather you stay here than risk getting lost or injured out there in a storm,” Orpheus said, looking down with a small shrug. He reached out and gave the man’s shoulder a pat.

“Besides, I’m sure it’s much more comfortable than whatever set-up you have at your ‘base camp’. You can share my chamber, if you like,” he offered, smiling. Hoping.

Uriah felt heat rising to his face.

“O-Oh, I, uh... I’d be fine taking a pillow and a blanket somewhere else! Your folks are okay with me—except your sister—s-so it should be fine! I wouldn’t want to crowd you!”

Orpheus blinked at him in confusion.

“Uriah, dearest, it’s an entire chamber. I know my tail is long but I’m not nearly so large as to need all of this—“ He swept two of his four arms out for emphasis. “—to be comfortable. You’ll sleep better here, anyway; I’ve got plenty of bed space.”

Uriah rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I-I just...y’know, it’s, uh...umm...”

“Are you truly still that shy after knowing me for several months?”

Uriah exhaled slowly.

“Yeah, kind of,” he muttered, turning away and pacing slowly. Orpheus watched after him.

“...You don’t need to be.”

“I know.”

“Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

“N-No,” Uriah answered quickly.

“Uriah, if I have, you can say so—“

“No,” he repeated, faster and harsher. Uriah turned and looked at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry, I’m not upset, but...”

He squeezed the back of his neck. He bent down and gathered his pack, sliding one strap over his left shoulder.

“Maybe it’s better if I just sleep somewhere else.”

“Uriah—“

“Or if I leave now, I could get back to base camp before nightfall.”

He started moving towards the doorway, head lowered and hand gripping his pack straps tightly, when Orpheus suddenly slid in his way. Uriah backpedaled and froze, tense. They stared at one another for a few moments before Uriah found his nerve.

“You can’t keep me here,” he said, though he looked up at Orpheus uncertainly. The naga looked back, slowly letting the tension leave him as he let out a growl and scowled at the floor.

“No, I can’t,” Orpheus huffed. He closed his eyes tightly, and then his expression fell, saddened.

“...But I want to.”

Uriah’s eyes widened. Orpheus looked at him almost pleadingly.

“Please, Uriah, just...stay the night? So I know you’re safe?”

He reached out, but Uriah backed away, turning and dropping his bag much less carefully than usual. He shoved his hands back through his hair and paced back towards the open wall.

“God, I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it and I kept doing it!”

“Doing what?” Orpheus asked, following him at a distance.

“Coming back!” Uriah blurted out, throwing his hands up. “Coming here and seeing you! I shouldn’t have done it! I should’ve just—just let it be! Left you alone!”

Orpheus’s mouth twitched downward. That stung.

“I like seeing you,” he said, quietly. “I want to see you.”

“I know! That’s the problem, I can’t—“

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t want you!” Uriah shouted. Orpheus flinched.

“I can’t want you because you’re this—this—this demigod naga, and I’m just me! I’m a mortal human being! You’re not for me! But I kept coming here anyway, because I like the look of you, and the way you act, and now I’m the idiot who got his own feelings worked up!”

The naga slowly approached, staring at Uriah as he let one hand fall to his side, the other removing his glasses and wiping furiously at the corner of his eye. Uriah shook his head as Orpheus tried to reach out to him, twisting away.

“Uriah, please, I don’t understand where this is coming from! What did I do?”

“It’s not you! You’re perfect! You’re a literal god! I’m the problem!”

“You’re not a problem!”

“I am!”

Orpheus didn’t let him move away again. He took hold of Uriah’s shoulders and bent to try and meet his gaze.

“Talk to me! I don’t know what this is about, but I’m fond of you, too! I want you here! I want you here so much it hurts when you go!”

“And what right did I have to do that to you, huh? You’re so much more than I am, Orpheus! I don’t—“

His breathing hitched and his voice broke. Uriah hid his face in his hand.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Orpheus stared at him, not understanding but wanting to, desperately. What was Uriah talking about? Deserving?

“What do you mean? If I enjoy being with you, and you with me, what does anything else matter?”

Uriah shook his head, his shoulders trembling as another sob rattled him. Orpheus slowly rubbed his upper arms, his second set of hands rising up to try and hold Uriah’s hand before he pulled away to wipe at his eyes.

“Uriah, please, I... I don’t know what you’re talking about. Help me understand. If I want you, how can you not deserve it?”

“B-Because I’m not like you,” Uriah whimpered. “I don’t deserve somebody like you.”

“What?”

“I’m not special. I-I’m boring, and plain, and...a-and you’ll get tired of me. And I—“ Uriah held himself. “—I can’t stand being unwanted again.”

“Uriah, I want you! Do you know how hard it is for me to watch you go every time, and not know if you’re coming back? I’ve lost sleep over it! I want you here, with me!”

The human shook his head in disbelief and looked at Orpheus through watery eyes.

“We barely know each other.”

“I know that your smile warms me, and that you are intelligent and kind,” Orpheus professed. “I know that the green of your eyes is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. I know your laugh makes my chest flutter. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone made me feel that way?”

Uriah shook his head again, trying to avoid his eyes, but Orpheus turned his face back with a gentle hand. He brushed a thumb across his freckled cheek, wiping a stray tear away.

“Uriah, I...” He sighed. “I know we couldn’t be more different, but I want you. You feel the same way, don’t you?”

“I’m just a human,” Uriah huffed, upset with himself. “I don’t have the right—“

“Forget rights. Forget my future title, forget all of it! That doesn’t matter to me right now. What do you feel? What do you want?” Orpheus stressed. “If you don’t feel the same, then I will understand, but you need to be honest with me, and with yourself.”

“I do,” Uriah answered suddenly, sullenly. He carefully placed a hand over Orpheus’s against his face, holding it there, taking comfort from him. Even if he felt he didn’t deserve to.

“I-I like you. A lot. A-And I miss you when I leave, and I w-want to be around you. I just... I-I just can’t...”

“You can. I’m telling you, you can,” Orpheus said, his voice soft as he leaned in and rested his forehead against Uriah’s. He hushed him as he whimpered, bringing a second hand to cradle his face.

“I want you,” the naga whispered, “and you want me. That’s all I need to know. That’s the only thing that matters right now. I don’t care about the rest, it can wait.”

“O-Orpheus...”

“It can wait,” he repeated, fingertips brushing Uriah’s jaw.

Orpheus tilted his head and kissed him, carefully and lightly at first, testing what Uriah would allow. Watery green eyes stared back for a few moments before Uriah returned the gesture, shy and timid but sincere. He felt fragile against his lips, as if he’d break just by touching him. Orpheus slid his hands back and combed his claws through Uriah’s curls, indulging in their softness before attempting a second kiss. Uriah shivered, but didn’t pull away. In fact, much to Orpheus’s surprise, he felt the human’s hands hesitantly resting on his shoulders, and then put his arms around his neck. As their lips parted, Uriah tucked his face down against Orpheus’s skin and sniffled, holding on tightly. The naga put all four of his arms around him, slowly stroking his back with one hand and petting his hair with another.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Orpheus,” Uriah whimpered, his voice muffled against the naga’s neck.

“Stay,” Orpheus purred back. “Please, stay. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

“I w-want to stay.”

“Then stay.”

He nuzzled against Uriah’s hair and he hushed him, his voice warm and soft. Orpheus lifted him, startling him for a moment, before he brought a hand to the man’s face and drew him closer once more. Uriah pressed his forehead to Orpheus’s and inhaled slowly.

“Stay,” Orpheus repeated.

“I-I’m sorry,” Uriah said quietly. “I wanted t-to say something but...b-but I didn’t know how, or w-when, and I was scared y-y-you wouldn’t want to see me anymore—“

“Shhh. Don’t be sorry, don’t. It’s a lot, I know, but I want to try.”

Orpheus ducked his head beneath Uriah’s, nuzzling his collarbone, breathing him in as the man’s fingers stroked lightly through his hair. He could feel how nervous Uriah was, how hesitant he was to touch him. Orpheus purred against him, hoping to soothe Uriah, as he carefully slid to his nest of furs and pillows and settled amongst them, his tail draped among the softness. He heard his pulse quicken in his chest.

“Easy,” Orpheus whispered, “it’s alright.”

Uriah’s face was warm and he couldn’t look at Orpheus for more than a few seconds before diverting his gaze. He was too beautiful, too perfect. He felt a weight shift onto his lap and looked down in surprise to see the end of Orpheus’s tail resting on top of his legs.

“You can touch me,” he encouraged, taking one of Uriah’s hands and placing it on his scales.

Uriah carefully brushed his fingertips along the edges of his scales, watching their stars slowly shift in their strange, magic way. Orpheus guided his hand, watching him, admiring the softness of his eyes. Slowly, he felt Uriah’s hesitancy fade and allowed him to touch on his own, bringing his hand up to brush the man’s curls from his face.

“...Why would you think I wouldn’t want to see you if you told me?” Orpheus asked, tone quiet but concerned. “Is it really because I’m a demigod?”

Uriah’s hand paused, and he bit his lip. Orpheus curled the end of his tail around the man’s wrist, wanting to hold him in some way without making him uncomfortable. He studied Uriah as several emotions flickered through his eyes.

“My ex was...h-he wasn’t a good person. I know that now, and I should’ve never fallen for his ‘nice act’ at the start, but...b-but I did, and...that’s what I get for it, I guess.”

“Ex?”

“Um...previous partner? I-I kicked him out last year and haven’t seen him since but it still hurts.”

“Oh.” Orpheus thought for a moment. “When you were saying those things about yourself before, about being boring and plain... Were those things he said to you?”

Uriah noticed the worry in Orpheus’s face and felt a pang of guilt for even explaining it. Orpheus didn’t need to know such hurtful things. But he had asked, and Uriah knew himself to be a terrible liar.

“Yeah. Y-Yeah, he...um... He said those things and then some.”

“Uriah...”

Orpheus’s brow knotted and he reached out to hold his hand between two of his own. Uriah sniffed.

“I w-wasn’t in a-a good place while I was with him,” he admitted. “It s-started fine but after a while, it just...got worse and I...I-I hung on l-longer than I should have.”

The naga’s tail released his wrist and rose instead to curl beneath his chin, guiding Uriah to look at him. Orpheus brought Uriah’s hand up and kissed the back of his palm, brushing his thumbs over his skin, and met his eyes with concern.

“He hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question, but an honest observation. Uriah couldn’t deny it, and he didn’t.

“I don’t want that for you, Uriah,” Orpheus said, soft and sincere. “No one should say things like that to you.”

“If this doesn’t work out—“

“No. I won’t treat you that way, even if we turn out to be incompatible. I promise.”

Uriah blinked back tears. He felt that tug of guilt in his chest again. Orpheus hadn’t ever been rude or even overly sarcastic with him; how awful to even think that, for a second, he was anything like his ex...

“I-I’m sorry, I know you’re not like him, I just—I’m scared of it happening again.”

“Come here.”

Orpheus reached out and brought Uriah close to him, holding him close to his chest and resting his chin in his hair. He nuzzled into it and kissed the crown of his head.

“I won’t hurt you, Uriah,” he reassured. “You will never need to be afraid of that, I promise. No one, not even me, can speak to you that way.”

“E-Even if...?”

“If we don’t work out, you’re still my friend; I don’t treat friends that way, either.”

He was a bit surprised by how tightly Uriah held on to him at that moment. Not wanting to accidentally harm the man with his superior strength, Orpheus hugged him only a little tighter, mindful of his claws, and relished the sensation of Uriah’s tension leaving his body.

“I needed to hear that. Thank you,” Uriah sniffled.

Orpheus would’ve told him he didn’t need to be thanked for basic decency, but Uriah caught him off-guard a second time. The man looked up at him, hesitating for just a second, before pressing up against him for a kiss. When he pulled back, Uriah was staring up with a bright red blush across his freckled cheeks. Never mind that they had already kissed a few minutes earlier.

“I-I, um...w-wanted to do that for a while.”

Orpheus came out of his moment of blank surprise and grinned, leaning close.

“I think we’re going to be good for each other, Uriah,” he purred.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Now, come here. I think you need a good, long cuddle.”

“Yeah. That sounds nice, right about now.”

#onenerdtwonagas #Orpheus #starry scales #Uriah #freckle muffin #freckles & stars #lit post #lit

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years ago

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oh god i have so many anons omg im sorry lmao

Here are some TB&TB Anon Asks 🐇 !

Check the last few answers for a ton of headcanon discussions!

1. I do have a playlist for TB&TB! You can access it here (along with some others!)

You are amazing, and thank you for your kindness 💕

2. Thank you, friend 👽 I’ve been writing, both fan fiction and original works, since I was about 12 years old. So, however many minutes that is! Writing is one of those things that you will literally always get better at the more you write (as long as you continue to enjoy yourself!)

Also, I sold my soul to the angst gods.

3. Ahhhh I was falling asleep when I came up with that exchange and I turned around and frantically typed it into my Discord so I wouldn't forget, lmao!

The universe colored eyes is also referencing a line from Part 7's dream sequence, for those who missed it!

4. Impending doom...? No... Not me... Never... 🌝

5. Big thank you to everyone who sent in a favorite line! You all make my day! It makes me so happy to see people get excited about the same parts as me. The callbacks to the honeysuckle language in the Prologue are some of my favorites.

Sometimes I worry I'm too heavy handed with the metaphors, but I just love nature so much.

6. Aaaaa I wrote that at like 2am when I couldn't sleep! Also, as to how I do it... I've no feckin' clue. Brain say word, word go down.

7. First off, I am so not annoyed with you! These made my day, honestly. It was especially great to see someone guess so many things that will be confirmed in canon, lmao!

I'm not incorporating the Daddy kink into this fic, but I do think it would probably shock him badly enough that he would completely stop whatever he was doing while he processed what just happened, lmao!

This will be confirmed in canon.

I don't specify hair type/length the best I can, so I won't be confirming it in canon, but I do tend to picture her with ponytails/puffs!

Spencer is already a (show) canon fan of soap operas! I think it'd be funny watching him discuss how manipulative a lot of rom coms are, but then slowly falls in love with the tropes. One day he doesn't call one out and she just looks at him like 👀

This will be confirmed in canon.

8. The first one will be confirmed in canon on several occasions.

I love showering scenes, but I won't be including one in this work to make it more accessible to Readers of all races, since many hair types have remarkably different hair care routines!

This will be referenced in canon.

Please, Bunny would be mortified the whole time. She'd probably kick him the first few times.

Again, I love these, but they aren't accessible to all body types, so I try to avoid them! I agree with you, though, that would drive him crazy.

She does fall in heels in the Part 3, lol! I suck at heels because I have ankle problems. Shoutout to my clumsy bitches. I don't specify height, though I usually picture all of my Readers at my height (5'6").

He definitely already knows the skincare, but he would pretend like he doesn't just so she could teach him something. She's too excited for him to break it to her.

She hates when he cuts it because it means she has less of a canvas to work with!

9-10. I'm sorry the picture messed up! I don't know what my computer is doing. But I have the missing text (When the couple moves in together spencer buys a sign to the door that has 2 bunnies on it with their names on it).

I personally love classic rock, but I know not everyone will. I fully agree with your headcanon, and I share it! Technically, we do see her recognize two different songs from the 80s (Don't Stand So Close to Me & Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want). She would also have heard from Derek all of the music he had to introduce Spencer to!

Hamsters are so cute! I personally am a cat person, but I could see her with literally any animal!

Pastels are a must with a nickname like Bunny.

Spencer WOULD be ticklish. She would be a menace.

Spencer makes the mistake of saying "Good Bunny" in front of Derek exactly one (1) time and doesn't say it for another month.

I have a running joke in the Discord that later the couple has two kids they nickname "Birdie" and "Bee." When Bunny asks him for his B-nickname, he replies "Bastard." Idk why, but the bunny sign reminded me of that lmao!

All it takes is Bunny shushing Spencer once and him looking positively terrified of her wrath for them to realize who is really in charge there.

He's just so used to dry cleaning! It's not his fault 😜

Him and that kitten would be inseparable after that. He would spend hours telling her why cats are great companion animals for autistic people!

Thank you for sending me these! I had a blast, and I love you, too!

#tbatb #tb&tb #answer #answered #headcanons

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shinymooncolor · 4 years ago

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@siriuslyqueer gave us goalies, pining and angst. @wxlfstxrx some much needed fluff. So I thought we’d do a bromance hat trick with a little sweater weather chat. Love ya all 🏒❣️

@lumosinlove created a well of wonderful oc’s and they’re all my new mvp’s. 🥰

Sweater weather chats #3

Nado is fuckboy extraordinaire. Kuny is mad. Olli is so done. Logan does not have a curfew. Or does he? Dumo grounds Nado. Walker worships Noelle. Remus chokes on his tea. Kasey ruins zucchinis for Dumo. Does cars have names? There’s a ritual burning. Everyone is up early on a Sunday.

——

Sunday 3.44 am

7 missed calls from Nado.

Nado:

kuny please pick up

I’m sorry. Fuck I messed up okay.

I’m so sorry okay. Fuck just call me back.

Wtf you took my Porsche? Over the line man.

Fuck you told Sergei. His wife just cAlled and yelled. She’s terrifying. I’m sorry

Kuny please come home.

Sorry.

Please

Kuny

Evgeni. Please I’m sorry okay

You’re my best fucking friend and you’re supposed to forgive me. I’m an idiot. Just come home. I’m not gonna stop texting. I will fucking not let you walk out on me man.

I said I was sorry. Please man. Sorry.

Please.

I’ll join some freakin cult and become a monk if it gets you to talk to me.

—-

Sunday 7.23 am

Nadotheman: guys has anyone heard from kuny yesterday or today? Please I need to speak to him

Sergei_81: give him some time. you did something bad and he’s mad. He will come home when he is ready

Nadotheman: he’s got my Porsche. Is he with you? Can I come over

Sergei_81: he’s not here. We got family visit. No time for your stupid fights

Prongstar: what did you do Nado? Ate his mom’s homemade cake again? Or did you forget to water his aloe Vera plant?

Ollibear: he’s here. Don’t call him.

Siriusly: what happened?

CarbO’Hara: Broke the fuckign code @nadotheman not cool

Prongstar: WHAT DID HE DO? @russiangod also how does finno know?

Ollibear: please stop texting him. I’m worried he might snap the remote or my PlayStation

LoganTremblayzzz: @nadotheman hope you got insurance. 911 turbo not looking good. Hahahaha

Prongstar: what. Happened?

Ollibear: he turned up here at 4 am, scaring the shit out of mrs. Williams next door. Woke up when she screamed. Apparently 6.4” Russian guy in a black hoodie is not what you expect to bang on your door at that hour. He’s been fuming in Russian ever since. And he ate all our Doritos. Stole nado’s Porsche. We gathered he’s mad at Nado but not sure why. Got him to at least talk to Sergei

Sergei_81: he’s got good reason to be mad. Nado can tell you what he did.

Timmyforrealz: what does this mean: он спал с моим двоюродным братом @sunnysideup @sergei_81

Sunnysideup: what?? Oh nado. This is bad.

Prongstar: I used google translate. @nadotheman you slept with his sister?!

Siriusly: !!!

Talkiewalkie: over the line bro. Damn.

Sunnysideup: wait he doesn’t have a sister? Does he?

Sergei_81: yes he means cousin.

DamnFoxy: wow. This is lowkey funny. Sorry but I’m laughing

Prongstar: spit my tea out

RussianGod left the conversation

Nadotheman: fuck look what you idiots did.

Siriusly: you did his cousin.

DamnFoxy: 😂😂😂

Talkiewalkie: uh not cool bro. Like. Fuck.

Timmyforrealz: you talkin about fucking sisters? Aren’t you putting the moves on Logan’s sister?

LoganTremblayzzz: @timmyforrealz 🤦🏽🙅🏼🙍🏾👎🏻🖕🏻

Talkiewalkie: I’m dating noelle. Not putting moves on her. I’m worshipping the very ground she walks on. She’s a goddess and I’m but a mortal man

Kaneyoudigit: can you just keep it in your pants for once, Nado…. jeez

Eliascookie: HAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHHH. You’re never meeting my sister. Ever. Damn.

Newt-leo: shut up this isn’t about noelle. Nado wtf? Didn’t wanna believe Finn and lo. He’s texted finn but in Russian. Think it was meant for sergei. Did you really sleep with his cousin?

Krisvolley: wow. Anyone checking up on Kuny? Shit. Can’t leave the two of you alone.

LeWilliam: yeah, is Kuny alright @ollibear? Also, @nadotheman - you freaked when he kissed that waitress. Karma is a fuckin bitch 😏

Nadotheman: fuck off cubs.

EvanderBell: oi. No need to be mad at us. You messed up. You deserve this. Also if he totals Dolores it’s totally on you!

Nado the man: shut up. Everyone. I know I screwed up okay? Fucking hell. They look nothing alike and she didn’t tell me.

Sunnysideup: didn’t you meet her through kuny?

Nado the man: well yea. went out for a drink. Kuny was being boring and went home. Talked to her and we got along and well.

Bradygunz: did you at least pay for her drink? Also uncool bro

Nado the man: I paid. Fuck off.

Dumodad: I’m away for 1 day. 1 day boys. @nadotheman do I have to ground you? Adele is serving 2 weeks for lying about her homework and having a boy in her rooM after curfew.

Prongstar: dropped the ball with Logan then @dumodad, eh?

Sergei_81: I support grounding Nado.

LoganTremblayzzz: @prongstar like lily didn’t ground you when you came home sans shirt and with kasey’s jeans on backwards Also I never had girls in my room after curfew. Also don’t have curfew.

Dumodad: yes you did. Curfew at least.

Blizzard: holy fuck. Just woke from a nap. Wtf? Also @prongstar, @logantremblayzzz never had GIRLS in his room. Just had Leo and finn. Playing hide the zucchini.

Siriusly: @blizzard. Loops just choked on his tea.

Dumodad: I can never eat a zucchini again. Merde

BliZzard: just keeping it real boys. Also don’t be hard on @nadotheman he’s a man whore. One day he’ll grow up

Nadotheman: I’m older kasey and shut up

Ollibear: Nado you really have to apologize.

Timmyforrealz: @nadotheman this is serious. Olli just ate a box of moomin cookies. Nado please fix your relationship. Olli can’t handle his parents fighting. He’s legit green looking. He’s eating junk food. I’m scared.

Nadotheman: Olli tell them you were there. She came on to me. She never mentioned Kuny

Ollibear: I’m not getting involved. Also you owe me $432 for the champagne. And he introduced you before he left.

Prongstar: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Dumodad: @nadotheman you’re grounded. No clubbing or I will call your mom.

———

Sunday 7.56 am

Nado: Olli please is he with you guys? I need to speak to him.

Olli: I’m sorry he doesn’t wanna see you. Please give him some time.

Nado: 💔

—

Sunday 8.02 am

Nado: I’m not gonna leave. I’m parked outside and you’ve got to call the cops to get me to leave. You’re my best friend dammit and I’m sorry. Fuck please just talk to me!

Kuny: don’t want talk. Is hard. I’m smart in Russian. English stupid.

Nado: wait then get Olli or Timmy to type it. Just tell me how I can make it up to you.

Kuny: hi Nado. Olli here, I’m typing for him. Timmy is trying to salvage our remote.

I’m trying to type and understand ok? Kuny knows his cousin is (I’m paraphrasing here - I refuse to call a woman that) sociable and he’s mostly upset cause he’s worried about you. Okay he didn’t mean that - he means that he’s upset you slept with her but he’s also worried cause he says you fall in love too quickly. (You two are idiots - he’s trying to protect your feelings) he does not want me to type that. But he broke our remote. But he’s also mad you slept with her after he said not to. And he claims he did tell you. How much did you two drink? When I picked up the tab you’d only had a few bottles of champagne and you gave most of that to the hen party in the next booth. Also he’s mad you had sex - god, Nado - the living room, really? At least go into your bedroom. Apparently you had a deal you wouldn’t do that. Wow you need some self control buddy. Okay. Now he’s saying that he’s okay to talk to you. So you can come in. You better have showered!!!!

—-

Sunday, 8.27 am.

KrisVolley: @ollibear, what’s going on?

Ollibear: they’re fucking idiots. Stupid overgrown manbabies.

Timmyforrealz: well. Olli cursing is hilarious. It’s like Casper the friendly ghost saying fuck... 😂 Quite anti-climactic. Was anticipating a fist fight or at least a black eye. They just talked and @nadotheman cried. Ha. Long clingy chat short; Kuny was afraid his cousin was just using Nado - like he’d ever object? Nado admitted he was drunk and upset with Kuny over something else (they’re like my teenage twinsisters I swear) also Kuny was mad Nado fucked his cousin on the couch. So not classy @nadotheman... Jesus this soap opera is like the episode of friends where chandler is in a box.

Sergei_81: they ok?

Nadotheman added RussianGod to the chat

RussianGod: we good. But he has to do embarrassing thing now. I chose. Will think long before decide. Also he buy new couch

Prongstar: Kuny my dear friend - I will happily help think up evil revenge. Also burn the couch

Nadotheman: I didn’t fucking cry. He stinks. My eyes watered from the stench.

Blizzard: aw Nado its okay. We know you’re in an established bro-tionship.

Talkie-walkie: am I the only one worried about the Porsche? She does not deserve to suffer just because Nado is a slut.

RussianGod: dolores is fine. Love car too much. Only wanted to scare Jackie.

Nadotheman: stop calling me that kun(t)y. 😘

Ollibear: ffs you two just made up, just kiss and get the fuck out. I’m done being your therapist. Good night.

Timmyforrealz: they broke olli. He even kicked a chair and hurt his toe. Haha he’s cursing in Finnish. He also has hidden nado’s car keys. Dolores is ours now.

——

They did a ritual burning of the couch. Dumo did call Nado’s mother. She grounded him and gave Kuny a bunch of embarrassing photos of teenage Nado. We’re talking frosted tips and platform shoes.

#lumosinlove #sweaterweatherchats #sweaterweather #sweaterweatherchatsnr3 #hattrick #bromance

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darkdoowoopie · 4 years ago

Text

Unforgiven

Summary: V has hard time coping after spending one day with Stephenson. It’s not easy being a merc, or her with a parasite called Silverhand.

Warnings: slight angst, mention of blasphemy. V and Johnny needing a swear jar. Spoilers for Sinnerman and There’s A Light that Never Goes out quests.

A/N: I am so in love with my V, that I just want to write character studies about her and Johnny. This is unedited as I wanted to get this idea out of my head as quickly as possible before I forget all about it again. Yes, I am going to follow Johnny’s fashion by giving titles based on songs.

Christ, she needed a smoke. V didn’t want to admit how much Stephenson’s words had affected her but the sharp pain next to her heart seemed to drill deeper, expanding like it wanted to swallow her heart in whole. Thanks to Johnny she was slowly turning into stress smoker, at this point she didn’t care. If she was going to die, she might as well ruin her lungs in the process.

The first inhale of smoke filled her lungs, body relaxing when the long exhale came through her mouth the smoke lingered before it faded away. Events of the day came back to her mind, how she had traveled with Stephenson due to his crazy obsession of wanting to drag her along. For Johnny it had been huge amusement, like a good soap opera to enjoy with popcorn and can of beer.

“Do you believe in God, V?”

Nope. She didn’t. There was no higher power in this godforsaken city, otherwise Jackie wouldn’t be dead and there would be no trail of corpses behind her back. Every death hanging all of a sudden on her shoulders, hugging her tightly like those invisible hands wanted to squeeze and crush every bone in her body. It made her shudder, she wanted to forget, escape. Leave it all behind, again.

She couldn’t. Night City always dragged her back. Maybe she was turning insane as well like Stephenson, his words crawling under her skin. V’s nails dug deep into her arm, leaving crescent moon shapes . The need to scrub off those confessions that caused her discomfort.

“Think of the millions jacked into their feeds like livestock, the children growing up in gang-infested streets. Do they know love?”

Maybe. Who gives a fuck? V squirmed again, her body feeling alien to her. For a moment she was certain she could hear Johnny snickering inside her mind, enjoying the turmoil of emotions that was going through her head. He didn’t know anything about her, hell neither did Stephenson. They didn’t know jackshit about her.

“And think of paid killers like you, V. Have you known love? Do you know what it is?”

Without realizing she had crushed the cigarette in her hands. Slowly V opened her palm to see the tangled joint with barely burning end. The orange color flickered, desperately drawing its final breaths before it was extinguished. Soft scoff escaped through her nose, before she flicked it away. Maybe it was true, she didn’t know anything about love. Everyone she had ever cared for had died or left her. Now, she was afraid if she opened her heart, people left in her life would suffer the same fate or worse. The clock was ticking, and it wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

“Fucking kill me, V.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, stop appearing out of nowhere!”

“Oh, we have reduced to blasphemy now?” Johnny continued, that mean smirk playing on his lips which caused V to sigh and harrow hand through her hair as she was trying to calm down from her heart attack.

“If you have something more to say, spit it out. I thought we already covered this back at the diner.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Didn’t think that you would let nutjob so easily effect you.”

“Well yeah, what did you say - we are fucked in the head. So damn fucked...”

To her surprise there was no counter argument, instead Johnny was gone again. It made V wonder had he even been there in the first place or was she just already seeing him everywhere without thinking much about it. She covered half of her face in hand, in truth she didn’t want to think about love or loving someone. It was a price she could never afford. There was no heaven for a sinner like her. Only thing she could do was to protect herself from what she wanted.

....and Johnny too.

#johnny x v #V #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 #my writing #my V

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piracytheorist · 4 years ago

Text

A Kiss for Good Luck (13/16)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: With this chapter, two more and the epilogue left, I decided to post them day by day! You can expect the next and final updates on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday :D

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 3.6k (51k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 13: Emma Swan, May 25th – June 22nd 2016

Emma smiles wide as she watches Killian go to the end of the now huge line to the airport checkpoint. He went back just to give her a kiss, and a part of her is delighted to realize she adores this hopelessly romantic side of him.

He doesn't turn to look at her, but the place is too crowded anyway, and she decides to go back, grab a coffee and wait to watch his plane leave. Instead, Killian's flight is delayed for a few hours. She texts him about it, whether he wants to cross back and join her, but he simply tells her to not worry and go back home.

It sours her mood a little; it may be a bit late in the day, but there's no reason for him to spend all this time alone, and if she judges by the plain tone of his message he doesn't even want to chat until he leaves.

Odd. First he gives up being first in a long line just to kiss her, then he doesn't even want to talk to her.

Perhaps he just wants to rest or sleep until his flight leaves. Emma tries to ignore the insistent little voice in her head that has never truly disappeared since Neal left her.

She turns the radio on while in her car and catches a blues station. The slow music and the complete lack of traffic back to her place calm her thoughts.

She stays up, checking on Killian's flight until it departs, hoping it doesn't mean a thing that Killian himself didn't tell her that his plane was finally leaving.

The next day is easy, checking off a few good cases, and in the evening she meets Ruby for a few drinks.

“So,” Ruby says with a meaningful look, “how was your week?”

Emma sighs happily, and it's with Ruby's smile turning warmer that she remembers she actually had a fantastic time. She's worrying too much.

“It was great. It felt... right, you know? I was a bit scared, but the moment we met at the airport made everything else not matter. He was here, and we could really enjoy our time together...”

Ruby's nodding enthusiastically. “And? How was it?”

“It was... warm and fuzzy...” Emma gives a good look at Ruby, suddenly realizing what she's asking about. “I told you we weren't ready for that.”

“Even after the whole week?”

“I mean, I spent most of my nights looking at my bedroom door and wondering whether I should go and ask him... but it wasn't just me.”

“I admire your patience. And his. And how about him? What do you think it was like for him?”

“I'm not sure, honestly.” Her face falls.

“What happened?”

“Up until the last day, I could swear it was as good for him as it was for me. I mean, he came, right? He chose to. And he looked happy to be here, with me. But a few hours before he had to leave, he seemed restless and anxious.”

“Because he was leaving?”

“I don't know. I...” She sighs. “He hasn't contacted me to let me know he's arrived safely. But I checked Messenger a few hours ago and it said he's been active today.”

“Did you send him a text about it? It would be weird for him to just forget but sometimes it just happens.”

“Should I send one, you think?”

“Yeah. Maybe he was really busy today. What did you say his job is?”

“His father has a boat rental, and sometimes he takes passengers on cruises.”

“Well, tourist season is kinda starting. Send him a message. But, you know, try to not sound desperate.”

“Ugh. I feel as if I'm in a teenage rom-com.”

She sends her message. Early the next morning, she sees his reply; a plain “Aye, I was busy, sorry for not letting you know,” and compared to his message from before his flight right above that, she can't help wondering.

She didn't have a cell phone as a teenager, and she hadn't allowed herself anything longer than one-night stands after Neal, so it's the first time in her life she has to look at her phone and keep telling herself to not call first.

She takes walks by the sea, seeing the yachts and boats and thinking of Killian. He mentioned how it had been his choice to work on his father's boats, how he loved that job where there's always a view of the sea.

Having practically grown up in Boston, Emma knows well the feelings that endless blue can bring. For Killian, they must be even stronger. The feeling of freedom and calmness and strength at the same time...

She knows he's facing his own issues, he's been open to her about them. His lonely adolescence, his grief, his drinking problem.

She decides to take a walk there every day, to remind herself to give Killian the same space that the sea gives him. Maybe he's out there at the same time, looking at the sea the same way she does.

He manages to call her within a week, though due to his bad connection, they don't share video this time. Or the next. Or the next.

“Remember how I told you I felt I was in a rom-com?” she tells Ruby when they meet one day for coffee. “I hope that at least I'm the protagonist and not the third wheel.”

“What's going on?”

“I worry too much about his calls. We used to talk every day, from five minutes to whole hours on end. And now he's just too busy, or his connection is bad, or his camera isn't working and I'm not seeing his face. But he keeps calling me back, not as often, and not as much, and he doesn't even say as much as he used to, but he's initiating calls on his part. Sometimes he doesn't reply when I call him...” She covers her face with her hands.

Ruby is patiently waiting for more, and Emma isn't sure which more to choose. Killian had trusted her with his history about getting involved with a married woman and she's not ready to betray that just to provide a possible proof that he may be cheating on her.

“We decided to take things slow,” Emma said. “We weren't shy on kisses while he was here, but it didn't go further than that. Do you think he may not consider it cheating, if...”

“If he didn't consider it cheating – if he even is cheating on you – he wouldn't be hiding like that. And taking things slow is different than having an open relationship.”

“I don't know.”

“Emma, if he didn't see it so seriously, would he have come all this way just to spend a week with you? While respecting your wish to not get intimate?”

“He said that's what he wanted as well.”

“So what, is his masculinity so fragile that instead of respecting your wishes, he would fake not being ready for sex? Is he that kind of person?”

Emma is silent.

“You do realize it would take a deep kind of crazy to only want to get laid, then come all this way and agree to not get laid.”

Fair point. “I just wish I knew what it was that tipped him that way. It's... you know, on his last day here, we were talking about our first kisses, and we realized we actually were each other's first kiss.”

“What? You're serious?”

“I know, of all people, right? And I have an inkling he might have been freaked out by that.”

“How did it happen?”

“It was a game of spin the bottle. It was as innocent as it could get at eleven.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Yeah. When he was still here, though. I mean, at first he laughed, just as I did, then his face fell, and I asked him if he felt weird about it, and he said no, just that he didn't want to leave. Ugh.” She hangs her head. “That's not a rom-com. That's a soap opera.”

“Maybe he's going through something? Problems with work, family?”

“He hasn't mentioned anything. He said he hasn't talked to his fathers in a while. But, he's shared more serious stuff with me. If something was upsetting him so much... I can't imagine how serious something must be for him to not want to share it with me. And I don't know how much time to give him. Will I sound desperate? Like a stalker? If I take too long, will I seem insensitive?”

“I'm sorry, honey.”

“He's calling me, Ruby. He's not trying to cut off, and he's not trying to appease me either. I'm sure he knows I can hear that he's hiding something. What am I meant to make out from that?”

“Maybe confront him with the fact that you know something is up. Just put it on the table. Say that he doesn't have to explain it to you if it doesn't involve or concern you, just to stop pretending there's no elephant in the room.”

“Sounds simple enough, I guess.” She sighs. “Perhaps it was too early? We've only known each other for seven months.”

“Too early for what? You're not engaged or something. You can work things out.”

Emma nods. “Thank you. Sorry for unloading all that on you.”

“That's what friends are for.” She takes her hands in hers. “I've got lots to talk about, if you want a distraction.”

Emma has had a wonky fortune in her life; she's glad she happened to meet Ruby during one of the good times.

The next day, while she's still growing the courage to confront Killian about acknowledging at least that there's something going on, Ingrid calls her. She's joined by Elsa, who excitedly tells Emma she wants to join Ingrid in her next trip to Boston that summer – they will, of course, stay in a hotel close by so she won't be a bother.

“Maybe we'll go somewhere nice all three of us,” Emma says. “I actually bought a lottery ticket and I have a good feeling about it.”

“Oh, if you have a good feeling about it,” Ingrid says, then turns to Elsa. “You cannot imagine how lucky she was as a teenager.” She then bursts into chatter in Norwegian, and even if Emma could understand more than a few words here and there, she would still be lost in thought.

She was indeed quite lucky as a teen. In fact, the luckiest day of her life, as she'd described it to Killian, had been just the beginning of five great years.

Until her first trip to England, where she met the pirate boy.

Wait...

“Emma?”

She starts, looking back at her camera.

“Sorry, dear, I got carried away,” Ingrid says.

“We will try to use more English when we're there,” Elsa says with an apologetic smile.

“No, it's alright. Ingrid, can you remind me when you actually got your first visa? I mean, in the recent years.”

“Uh, a few days before I contacted you. The first time.”

“Do you remember how many days?”

Ingrid huffs in thought, but turns to her with a smile. “Such sudden curiosity. I'm not sure exactly, three? Four? Less than a week, for sure.”

Too close to the day she kissed that stranger at the club... the only one she didn't see around when the police was asking for witnesses, if they saw who shot that man at the hand and killed his lover.

“Emma?”

Emma takes a deep breath and does her hardest to fake a smile. “Nothing. It's... something about work.”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing to worry about. When do you think about visiting?”

After a short chat, Ingrid gets the message and leaves Emma with her thoughts. Emma's hands are shaking; the lottery results will be out in two days and they can't come fast enough.

She runs out, resorting to buying a scratch ticket from a nearby kiosk. She scratches it and stares at it, nearly frozen.

Five dollars.

Emma looks around, looks at the sky, then at her phone. Her weather app clearly shows rain, but there's not a single cloud in the sky.

She is lucky. Things have been going quite well for her. Suddenly so, in fact. Just a month or so ago, she would be getting splashed by cars and losing spare change and...

And then Killian visited her.

She walks slowly back to her apartment, and somehow it doesn't come as a surprise that thunder rumbles outside right as she closes her door.

She sits on her couch, watching the rain pour outside her window.

She had a serving of quite a bad luck the first eleven years of her life. Then she met Killian at that birthday party, they shared an innocent kiss, and that very same evening Ingrid told her she would be adopting her.

Shortly after that Killian's mother died, his father left them, and his brother passed too a few years later.

She stands up, pacing around her living room.

He lived in London at the time. At the exact time she visited for Halloween, that fateful year, that she was left alone and Killian... was adopted? He had mentioned being almost too old to be adopted.

He said it hadn't been him at that party, but he didn't sound convincing, and at the time Emma brushed it off, but... if it really had been him...

Then the night of the shooting at the club. She doesn't remember that stranger's face, but their kiss was too close to him getting shot and Ingrid's visa getting accepted.

A shiver runs down her spine as she remembers the screams of that night. The screams of a man who got shot in the hand... a hand that Killian doesn't have.

Emma's nearly gasping for breath, her hands shaking again as she forces herself to sit back down at the couch.

After that, it was some good years for her, and Killian was lost in his grief, alcohol, and a bad relationship later on.

Then they met at the concert, where right after their kiss, she dropped her phone, cracking its screen.

She looks at it now. The crack is still there, but something tells her getting a new phone screen – or a whole new phone – won't be a problem a few days from now.

She feels a weight set on her shoulders as she goes back to Killian trying to convince her it wasn't him at the Halloween party.

He knows. Somehow, he does, though she doubts he found out much earlier than the moment they realized they were each other's first kiss.

And second.

The weight becomes a sudden void; the pirate boy's look nearly haunted her for years; fifteen years later, she felt a similar sensation at the way Killian looked at her in the concert.

It was the same look, by the same person.

She shakes her head. It's silly. Can it truly be, that they brought good and bad luck to each other, just by kissing?

Then she remembers how he left, when there was no-one in front of him at the queue, to get back to her and give her a last kiss, and didn't come back to join her when his flight was being delayed, because he knew there would be kissing involved if he did.

Tears fill her eyes. He left his luck with her.

And things have been going well for her. How has he been... when both times he got unlucky, people he loved died?

She keeps looking at her phone, wondering if she should call Killian about it, ask him if everything's okay.

Instead, she picks it up and starts looking for the cheapest flight to England she can afford, as soon as possible.

She can't tell Killian; he'll try to stop her, pretend that he's not in Brighton, that he'll be busy...

She finds the envelope with which he'd sent her her Christmas present; she'd kept it in case she'd want to surprise him with a gift back. The return address doesn't include the apartment number, but surprising him in the building entrance will have to do.

She books a flight for three days from now, and of course is not surprised to earn two thousand dollars at the lottery, nor to be promoted to a business class seat thanks to travel miles.

She's grown used to really enjoying flights, but this time she's too nervous to sit back and relax.

He figured out everything before she did. All he had to do was time their kisses right, then leave with his luck on his side. Forever.

But he didn't. He wouldn't. Emma may not know him that long, but she doesn't think he's capable of that. And that's why she's in this plane now.

There's a small part of her that wonders what she's going to do when she comes back. Will Killian actually let her leave without his luck? Will he follow her back? Will they just spend all their money in the effort to be the most selfless one?

She sighs in frustration. That's not something she took into consideration when she agreed to start such a long-distance relationship.

As her luck would have it, everything goes better than smoothly, and courtesy of having slept on her comfortable seat, she doesn't even feel tired from the trip.

It's just starting to get dark when she arrives in Brighton, and she contemplates going straight for her hotel and 'confronting' Killian the next day. But her note with Killian's address on it is right inside her jacket pocket when she gets in the cab, and she can't help herself. The moment she approaches his apartment block, someone happens to exit and smiles to her as he holds the door open for her.

Of course he would. She settles herself and her holdall on the stairs, sends one 'Hey, call me when you see this' to Killian, and waits.

After a couple of hours she starts wondering whether she really is all that lucky, or if it was all in her imagination. The stairs aren't too comfortable and she's slowly getting bored. There's only so much Candy Crush she can handle.

Her eyes look up every single time she sees someone even approach the entrance from outside, and again, everyone who enters or exits simply smiles at her and goes on their way.

She's about ready to give up and head for her hotel when he finally appears. He's looking down, his visibly longer hair falling in front of his face as he takes a bit too long to open the door. She contemplates going to open it herself, but he makes it and starts for the stairs, stopping at the first step and looking up slowly.

His slow reflexes, his slightly staggering step, his tired, sad face...

He was out drinking.

Coming like this was a horrible idea.

“Killian...” she says, making sure her voice sounds worried and not judgmental.

He just stares at her, looking confused and very tired.

“I know this looks weird,” she says. “I've had some time to think and... I'm not stalking you.”

“Wha-” he starts. “How...”

“I'm sorry.” She toys with her hands nervously. “I should have let you know earlier. It was...” Not just impulsive. “Very impulsive. But I would've come soon anyway.”

“How did you know where...” His voice trails off, but she gets the point.

“The gift you sent me for Christmas. The package had your address on it.”

He blinks slowly, and she's not sure he's registering everything she's saying. “Come upstairs,” he says eventually, starting to walk up the steps.

“Wait, really?” She stands up and grabs her bag. “I've booked a hotel-”

“You can take the bed,” he interrupts her. “It's got clean sheets.”

“Killian-”

He gives her a stern look that shuts her up. He's clearly not in the mood for more than just getting to a bed. “Just come.”

She smells the alcohol off of him when he steps closer to her and she wonders whether she should comment on it. Maybe she can ask, somehow, there must have been something that pushed him over.

His apartment looks tidy and smells clean. He sets himself down on the couch, taking off his brace and shoes.

“Is something wrong?” Emma says. “You're...” She pauses. How can she say it?

“Relapsing,” he says plainly. “Why is everyone avoiding that word?”

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “Not much to say. I'm tired.”

So hopefully, nothing horrible happened to him or his family.

“I'm sorry,” Emma says again. “I should have let you know I'm coming. I... I'd thought I could surprise you...” What else can she say to excuse such a sudden visit?

Killian lets out a cold, soulless laugh. “Lucky me,” he says, then lies down, eyes closing and breath quickly getting deeper.

His words pull at her heart, confirming that he knows of their mingled fates. She approaches him, kneeling down next to him and touching his hair. It's only been a month and she's already missed feeling how soft his hair is. How she'd love to keep brushing her fingers through it, and not just tonight.

A soft snore comes from him, and she leans forward to leave a kiss on his forehead.

#Emma Swan #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Should… | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Emma Masters) | Chapter 2 | … I Tell Him?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Emma Masters

Summary: Five years ago, Emma Masters just landed her first big acting gig on a soap opera. While it is not much, it is an opportunity to grow. While out celebrating, she meets up with a fellow actor, Tom Hiddleston. While she doesn’t recognize any of his work, the two hit it off. Before they know, they are getting hot and heavy in the elevator up to Tom’s room. Like ships passing in the night, the two never manage to meet again.Now five years later, Emma is a heavy hitter in the prime time drama world and Tom is a Golden Globe winning movie star. Their paths cross again but things have changed. Will they do what they should or fall to their deepest desires?

This Chapter: Emma never expected to run in Tom again, but yet here he is in the same restaurant, five years later. Will he spill the beans on that one night and what will become of the sparks between the two of them!

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, drunk sex, oral sex, cheating, unhealthly relationships

“It is not that funny, Thomas,” Emma chuckled, digging her nails into Tom’s arm.

Tom took an empty seat at Emma’s table and Corrinne leaned in closer to Tom. Even though Corrinne worked as a publicist, she still swooned over celebrities—good-looking male celebrities. Tom fit that bill to a T. Tom squeezed your arm back.

“Well, maybe I exaggerate.”

“Come on you two, spill.” Corrinne urged on.

“I happened to be in New York when I partook of the hotel bar. Em and I ended up sharing a table.”

“I just won the part of on All My Heart and celebrated with a few drinks. Tom and I ended up talking for the rest of the night.”

Corrinne’s eyebrows arched up; she wanted more and Emma refused to cooperate.

“Although, she didn’t know who I was.” Tom added, giving Emma a playful punch in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Not her proudest moment.

“Emma! How did you not recognize him?” Corrinne said, aghast.

“I wasn’t into superhero movies five years ago! Sue me!”

Tom chuckled. “It was quite alright.”

“And?” Corrinne asked, wanting the rest of the story.

“And…” Tom continued, “we exchanged numbers with plans to meet again in three weeks when I returned to New York, but this one stood me up.”

Tom nudged Emma in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Thank God for Tom’s discretion. The gossip magazines would have a field day.

“I did not! We mutually cancelled!” Emma protested.

“Ah, no. I made plans, and you cancelled by text. Something about rehearsals. I assume someone got scared.”

Tom wiggled his eyebrows at Emma. Corrinne leaned back in her chair and looked at the two of them. Tom and Emma laughed at some unheard joke and Corrinne laughed along.

“But enough about the past,” Corrinne interjected, “What brings you to L.A., Tom? I thought you lived in London.”

“True. I am here for work.” Tom chattered on nervously, “I have some screen tests, auditions, and what not for an upcoming project.”

“I would assume a big movie star didn’t audition anymore.”

“Stories of my fame are exaggerated I am afraid. The auditions are for the leading lady in the project. You understand, Emma.”

Emma nodded.

“Yeah. I hate those chemistry tests. All those eyes on you.” Emma scrunched up her nose. She didn’t have Tom’s star power, so auditions took up a significant chunk of her time when she didn’t have filming.

“And what about Em? I thought you lived in New York?” Tom asked.

“Uh, I moved out here about two years ago. My series films out here.” Emma responded. She would never tell him but she followed his career and life in the papers over the years; she hoped Tom did the same, but his comment dashed her hopes.

“Oh, your series? Isn’t the show called something like Silver Surfer or Silver Fox?” Tom quipped, twisting his face into mock contemplation.

Tom lied. After that encounter in New York, he spent the following years keeping tabs on Emma’s career; the two Daytime Emmys for her role on All My Heart, Silver Sable, all of her accolades and successes.

“Silver Sable.”

“Right! And what kind of TV show is it? An action show of some sort?” Tom commented, relentless in getting the response he wanted.

“It’s a superhero show.” Emma muttered.

“I was under the impression you didn’t like superheroes?”

Corrinne chuckled at the banter. These two baited each other left and right.

“I’ve changed.” Emma snapped back, a smile on her face.

“So it seems.” Tom’s eyes raked over Emma’s body and she blushed once again.

Corrinne choked on her drink.

“But enough about me. What is—” Tom started before a gentleman tapped on his shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt. Tom, we need you back at our table.” he said.

Tom rose from the chair.

“So sorry, Luke. I will be right back.”

Emma sighed in relief. With Tom leaving, her secret remained safe. Tom started off back towards his table but he spun on his heel, pulling his phone from his coat pocket.

“Before I leave, Em.” Emma popped her head up to look at him, “I need your number, the old one doesn’t work.”

Emma didn’t expect him to still know her old number. When her fame rose and her personal number somehow made its way into her fans’ hands, she changed numbers.

“Of course, Tom!” Emma rattled off her personal cell as Tom punched the digits into his cell.

“Perfect.” Tom leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. His lips still soft like Emma remembered. “I will call and we must do lunch!”

Tom jogged off before Emma responded. After a few minutes, Corrinne cleared her throat. Emma turned and narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Spill it.”

“So… there is more to this. Care to share?”

“No comment.”

“Fair enough. So he seems nice.”

Emma blushed.

“And sexy as fuck.”

“Corrinne!” Emma spat.

“What? That man is sex in a suit. So when are you going to tell him?”

“When I’m ready.” Emma mumbled as she returned her attention to her salad.

Tom texted her once so she would have his number too, but Emma guessed she wouldn’t run into Tom again for some time. It wasn’t as though the two of them ran in the same circles. Their only professional link was their portrayal of Marvel characters. She hustled through the next few days in a bit of a fog. She never expected to run into him again. And she didn’t expect all those feelings and emotions to rear their ugly head.

“Earth, Emma!” Mary, her assistant, yelled.

Emma jolted in her seat.

“Ahh!” Emma waving her arms about catching herself before she fell on her face. “Yes, Mary.”

Mary suppressed a giggle.

“Okay. you have auditions all afternoon. The first one is in an hour and across town.”

Emma groaned. Some days she regretted living in Brentwood. She enjoyed the space and privacy but hated that it meant driving for hours in Los Angeles traffic. Emma, a native New Yorker, never developed the taste for sitting in traffic for hours to go 30 miles.

“Fine. I will leave in fifteen minutes.” Emma rose from her chair to go get ready. “And since I will be gone for the rest of the day forward the calls to your cell and take off around 3.”

Mary’s face lit up.

“Thanks, boss! Don’t forget the last audition is at 4 and a chemistry test, so bring a change of clothes.”

Emma took off to her bedroom and took a quick shower. Fixing her hair into a simple ponytail, she applied a light amount of makeup and dug through her closet. She settled on some simple jeans and a nice top and packed a body-conscious dress along with some heels and a small bag of makeup for her last audition. Twenty minutes later, Emma took off in her car.

As predicted, Emma sat in traffic for an inordinate amount of time and made it to the studio with no time to spare. The audition process still bothered Emma. Although Emma’s career was well established in television, her agent hoped to use her success as Silver Sable to push Emma into film roles. That meant auditioning. Six months in and no one took the bait. Perhaps she should stick to TV.

The first audition was for a period drama. Emma could smell the Oscar bait a mile away. Based on the reaction Emma got when she walked into the room, she did not fit the role at all. The whole ordeal took ten painful minutes. Emma repeated the process two more times with varying degrees of success.

Once she reached her final audition, she ducked into the bathroom to change. Emma already went through several auditions for the part in a new romantic comedy. Now she came in for a chemistry test, the part she hated. Chemistry tests made Emma feel like an object, not a person. But these types of auditions were the cost of doing business.

Emma shimmied out of her jeans and slipped into the dress. The neckline was lower than her usual outfits but whatever. She pulled her hair down from the ponytail, letting it fall around her shoulders and retouched her makeup and added some extra mascara and blush. Emma examined herself in the mirror.

“Here goes nothing,” she said to no one in particular.

Emma walked back out into the hallway and took a seat with three other actresses. They all looked about five years younger than Emma, with their boobs cinched up to their chin and hems flirting with indecent exposure. Emma grew disheartened. All these other girls looked like they stepped out of the pages of a magazine, Playboy to be specific. Emma’s aesthetic was more akin to In Style. She looked over the lines as they called one of the other girls into the room. She could feel the butterflies; no matter how many times she did this, Emma always got butterflies.

After about 15 minutes, they called her in. She straightened out her dress as she walked into the room.

“And you will be reading with our male lead…” the PA explained as Emma looked up from the lines to see Tom standing in the room.

“Tom Hiddleston.” Emma finished.

Tom smiled.

“In the flesh, Emma.” Tom extended his hand, Emma shook it in a daze.

What the fuck is happening? kept repeating in Emma’s head, a mantra. She took a few deep breaths. She realized the people in the room were still talking.

“… so I will be kissing you in this scene.” Tom’s voice punctured through Emma’s mental haze.

She nodded, and the scene began as they took their places.

“Do you mind?” Emma started as she pushed past Tom.

“Do you mind? This is my room and my bed. You are a guest.” Tom countered.

“Really, that’s not what you called me last night.” Emma smirked as she moved closer to Tom, his blue eyes glittering in the lights.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

“Oh, you mean dumb, blonde, and young. Then you would be right!”

“If there was any other choice here, I would gladly take it.” Tom moved in closer, his nostrils flared.

“Keep to your side of the bed tonight. Your snoring kept me up.” Emma huffed out the line, her breath puffing into Tom’s face.

“Touch me with your cold feet one more time and see what happens.” Tom sneered as he leaned into her space. The tension ran high.

“You and what army?!” Emma barked as Tom pulled her into a kiss. She pushed at his arms but he held firm. She relented and melted into the kiss. The memories of that night flooded back to her. They parted and turned to look at the six other people in the room. For once, everyone looked Emma and Tom rather than staring at their phones or drinking their coffee.

“Uh… We’ll be in touch.” one of the men said.

Tom shook her hand again, and she walked out of the room. Emma got about halfway down the hallway when a voice rang out.

“WAIT!”

Emma stopped and turned to see the PA from earlier.

“Wait. Can you come with me?”

Emma blinked but followed the petite girl to another room. This one was empty, save a couple chairs and a couch.

“Just wait here, please.” the assistant asked as she gestured towards the couch.

Emma plopped down and kicked her heels off. She pulled her phone and started replying to emails. Twenty minutes passed and then forty-five minutes. After an hour and fifteen minutes, the PA returned and took Emma back into the same room. She expected to see the same group of people as before, no one remained. Except for Tom.

“What’s going on?”

Tom looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact and pushing a nonexistent piece of lint with his shoe.

“I was hoping you would accompany me to dinner?”

“Is that why I have been sitting in a room for over an hour?”

Emma’s face turned red. Tom’s face fell.

“In part. The casting directors wanted to bring you for another reading after everyone else finished, but I insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

“Are you saying I got the part?”

Tom smiled.

“Unofficially, yes. But wait for your agent to give you the news in a few days. Try to act surprised.”

Emma squeed out loud and did a little dance. Without considering the situation, she jumped up and kissed Tom on the lips. He blushed at the sudden contact.

“Does that mean yes to dinner?”

Emma nodded, not realizing what she agreed to until they pulled up to the restaurant.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston serie #should

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