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andydrysdalerogers · 1 year ago

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Sliding Into Home ~ It's A Ruff Life

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, S~M~U~T!!, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by me

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Not Just A Pretty Face

Sliding Into Home Master List Main Masterlist

“Where are we going?”

“Places.”

“Frank!”

“Mary!”

“Abby, where are we going?”

“Surprise.”

“Scott!”

“Same answer.”

Mary crossed her arms. “I don’t like this.” She huffed her indignation and stared out the window.

“Can’t you just trust me Nugget?” Frank looked back at her through the mirror. “You don’t even know if it is good or bad.”

“If you’re not telling me, then it’s bad.” Mary’s eyes widen. “Are you sending me away?”

“What?!” All three adults gave her a look.

“Why would you think that Nugget?” Abby asked. The bruising on her face had almost disappeared, just a few lingering lines left. She still had to be gentle with her ribs, but her wrist had been removed from the cast and now just in a brace.

“Because you’re not telling me where we are going or what we are doing.” Mary’s eyes glassed over. “Am I in trouble?”

Frank calmly pulled over onto the side of the street and climbed out. He opened Mary’s door and crouched down to her. “Mary, why are you thinking that?” She shrugged. “Mary, you have to be the most loved little girl in the whole world.” He undid her seatbelt so he could hold her close. “This is just a surprise. I won’t let anyone hurt you or take you away from us, ok?”

Mary looked at him as two tears fell. “Promise?”

“I promise Nugget. I love you, ok?”

“Love you too Frank.” She hugged his harder. “I wish you were my real dad,” she whispered against his chest. Frank’s heart clenched and he hugged her a little tighter. He couldn’t respond. When he felt her calm down, he pulled back.

“Ready to trust me?” She nodded and climbed back into her seat. Frank closed her door and took a moment. Scott and Abby hadn’t heard Mary and he wasn’t going to bring attention to it. He wanted to be her father but feared that Mary would resent him at taking away her chance to find her real father. But if what Diane had said was true, Mary’s father needed to stay far away from them. He walked back to the driver's side and climbed in.

“Everything all right, love?” Abby studied her husband. Five years apart and she could still read him. She could tell something upset him but he wasn’t distraught, so it wasn’t anything bad.

“I’m alright Cricket,” he flashed her a smile. “I’m just happy.” He put the car back into drive and took off.

Arriving at their destination, Mary jumped out of the car. “We’re at the animal shelter?!?”

“Yep,” Frank said. He offered his hand, and she took it. “I thought we would volunteer today.” He walked them to the front. “Hi, I’m Frank Adler and this is my family. Director Barnes is expecting us.”

The receptionist batted her eyelashes, much to Abby’s annoyance, but she remained silent. “Right this way, Mr. Adler,” the receptionist said, with a rather breathy tone.

They followed the woman and opened the door to see a man seated at a desk, a large golden Labrador at his feet. Mary squealed when she saw the dog. “Can I pet him?”

Director Barnes smiled. “Of course, he’s very friendly. He’s name is Winter.” He watched the little girl bend down to pet his dog. “You must be Mr. Adler.” He offered his hand. “I’m James Barnes.”

He shook his hand. “Please call me Frank. This is my wife Abby and my best friend Scott. The troublemaker on the floor is Mary.”

Abby caught the eye of the receptionist, who was frowning at the introduction of Abby as Frank’s wife and Abby smirked a little. Back off bitch, she thought as the receptionist retreated back to the front. She turned back just as the director was offering his hand to her. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” she said.

“Likewise, but please call me James.” After shaking hands with Scott, Director Barnes moved to the door. “Well, I know we talked about volunteering so follow me. Its playtime for the dogs so you will be helping with that.” He guided the group to a large outdoor area. “So, the rules are simple: toss, tug or run with the dogs. They should all be friendly, but they might nip since we currently have a lot of younger dogs who are still learning. If you need help, I’ll be back in about twenty, but our staff will be in the yard with you. Have fun.”

Mary let out another squeal of delight as a horde of dogs, some puppies, some older, raced into the yard. They attacked the group with jumps and licks as they battled for attention. Frank sat down and was ran over with puppies, his laughs loud as he was attacked. Mary ran around as a group followed her. Abby and Scott were like Frank, sitting on the floor, playing.

They spent an hour playing with the dogs before helping the staff with feeding time. But one puppy in particular followed Mary around any time she moved. When Mary sat, the puppy climbed into her lap and stayed there, even when she was petting another dog. Frank went up to the director. “What kind of dog is that?”

“It’s a golden retriever.” The director smiled. “That one is very attached to your daughter.”

Frank opened his mouth to correct him but decided to let it go. “Is it up for adoption?”

“He is.” James checked his tablet. “He’s the last of a litter that came in a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, the mother died but a couple of good Samaritans saw the puppies and brought them in. He was the runt, but he grew once he got some attention. Funny enough, the staff named him Dodger, because he would dodge them when they tried to treat him.”

All of the dogs were eating but the little guy wouldn’t budge from Mary’s lap. Mary decided to hand feed him and he ate his kibble right there. Frank crouched next to them. “You like him, Mary?”

“He’s so fluffy.” Mary bent her head so her cheek could be against his fur. “He’s a cuddler.”

“Would you like to take him home?” Frank smiled as Mary’s head whipped around to look at him.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I can take him home? Like for forever?“ Mary’s eyes began to glass over again, this time with happy tears.

“Yeah, Nugget, for forever. But you have to promise to help take care of him. Walks, clean up, baths, everything. Like you said, you’re nine now. Practically a grown up.” Frank scratched the puppy under his chin and received a few kisses in returned. “We got a deal?” He held out his hand.

“Deal!” Mary picked up the puppy in her arms and dove into Frank’s for a hug. Dodger was in between and squirmed to get free, licking both of faces. Mary pulled away to show off her new puppy to Abby and Scott. Frank stood up with a smile.

“Ready for the paperwork?” James clapped Frank’s shoulder.

“Let’s do it.

A few days later and Frank was waiting on his family to get to the car to take them to the airport. “Let’s go!”

“But what about Dodger? I can’t leave him here,” Mary said tearily.

“Mary, he’s going with us,” Abby said. “Its why Frank got us a private flight.” She hugged her niece. “He’s still too little to stay home and we’re not about to leave anyone behind for this All Star game.” Abby stood up. “Two minutes Frankie!” She ran back up the stairs.

Mary smiled. “Ok! Then I need to get his bag together.”

Frank tilted his head in the air. “For the love of God, can we please get moving!”

“Stressed, Frankie Boy?”

Frank looked out the door to see Johnny and his sister smiling at him. “Hey guys, welcome to casa Chaos.”

Dodger chooses that moment to make an appearance at Frank’s feet. “Oh my god, look at that precious little bean,” Sue squeals as she bends to pet him.

“Dodger!” Mary comes screaming out of the hallway with the dog’s bag. “Have you... Johnny!”

“Hey Strawberry! Oof!” He catches Mary as she launches herself at him. Johnny adjust her in his arms. “Now, who were you calling for?”

“My puppy!” She pointed down to where Sue and Dodger are on the floor. “He’s coming with us since he’s still a baby.”

"Nice. I like the name too!” Johnny put her down and looks back at Frank. “I thought we had to leave at 1?”

“We do, but try telling my wife, niece and best friend that.”

“I’m here,” Scott said breathlessly. “Ha! I beat Abby out!”

“Not fair, I had to pack for three!” Abby yelled from upstairs.

“I packed myself!” Frank yelled.

“And who packed our niece?!”

“Fuck,” he muttered, admitting defeat.

“That’s a dollar for the swear jar,” Mary sings.

“It’s a quarter,” Frank retorts.

“Abby said for the f-word it’s a dollar so maybe you will learn not to use it so much,” she sassed back. She grabbed the dog’s bag and the leash, clipping it on before taking Dodger down to the SUV that was taking them to the airport.

“Abigail Cecilia Hernandez-Adler!” Frank yelled up the stairs. “Let’s go!”

“Did you just government name me?”

“Yes and you just cost me a dollar to the swear jar with your stupid rule change so get your ass down here now!”

“I need help with the bags Franklin!”

“Fuck my life.” He turned to move and pointed as his friends. “Anyone tell Mary I said that, I will make you fly commercial home.”

Arriving in Boston later that night, Frank carried a sleeping Mary down the steps to the waiting SUVs. He stopped mid staircase and smiled. “Cricket, we have surprise weloming party.”

“What do you mean by...” Abby stopped. “Papi, mami!” She raced down the stairs and into the arms of her father.

“Mi hija (my daughter),” William Hernandez said as he cradled his youngest child. “Welcome home!”

“I missed you papi,” Abby cried as she held onto her dad before letting go and hugging her mother Ana. “Oh Mami.”

“Mi bebita (my baby), you look so much better now.” Ana cradled her daughter’s face. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it out to you.”

“Its ok Mami. I had a good husband who took care of me.” She smiled before looking at Frank.

“Mr and Mrs Hernandez,” he said. He shifted Mary to offer his hand but Ana pulled him in.

“Stop it Frank. Its either William and Ana or Dad and Mom, mi hijo (my son).” She hugged him the best she could with Mary in his arms. Frank shakes William’s hand before moving to put Mary in the car. “She is getting bigger every time I see her.”

“I know, she’s growing like a weed,” Abby giggles. She sees movement in the corner of her eye. “Oh! Mami, Papi, let me introduce you to Johnny Storm and his sister Susan and of course you know Scott.” Handshakes around until Ana notices the fur ball on the floor. “And that is our newest addition, Dodger.”

“Que Lindo!” Ana scoops him up into her arms. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“Just for the two days of All Star stuff,” Frank said, “we’ll be at the house for the two days before and after.”

“Perfect, then tomorrow dinner is at our house,” Ana said. “The whole family is in town to watch you, mi hijo. Johnny, Sue, of course you are welcome to join us.” The siblings nodded.

Abby covered her mouth to squeal, not wanting to wake Mary. “My brothers?”

“Everyone, bebita. We’re gonna head home and let you get our Mary to bed. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course Ana,” Frank said. “Mary’s been blabbering to see her abuleos (grandparents).”

Abby’s parents waved as they walked to the car and everyone piled into the cars. “Are you sure its cool that we crash with you guys?” Johnny asked.

“Of course,” Abby said. “I would love to show you both around our hometown.” Abby smiled but inside she was nervous. She hadn’t been back to this house since she had left almost six years prior. Her leg bounced and she clenched her fingers. Frank reached over and gently pulled her fingers apart.

“Talk to me Cricket.”

Abby’s lip wobbled a little. “Haven’t been back to this house since...”

Frank smiled softly. “I understand.” He kissed her hand. “It’ll be ok.”

Pulling up to the house that she and Frank had started, Abby was thrown back to the day they bought it.

Eight Years Earlier

Abby stared at the house. “It’s big.”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“We need the room, Cricket.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Why?”

“For our babies.” Frank smiled down at his girl. “We’ll have babies some day and I want this to be our forever home. Mary will be a big sister to them one day.”

She smiled softly. “Promise?”

“Promise. This will be our next adventure.”

Abby walked through the door and it was as if time stood still. Their carefully chosen furniture, artwork, even some of the photographs were exactly as she left them. Her breath hitched with emotion.

Frank let her have the moment. “I’m just going to put her down,” he said softly, kissing her shoulder. “Scott is showing Johnny and Sue to the guest rooms. I had the service open the rooms. Take your time, Cricket.”

Abby walked the room and touched everything, needed to feel to make it real. This home that they had built themselves, made theirs and she just walked out, leaving it behind. She walked to the shelves and saw all the pictures of Mary growing up but one was in the back that caught her attention. She picked it up and stared at it. It was of her and Frank, at the Red Sox benefit, the first year he was with the team.

“I couldn’t get rid of it.” Frank leaned in the doorway. “You looked so beautiful that night. It was...”

“I remember.” Abby smiled. It was the first time they made love. She blinked to focus her eyes. “Frankie, I’m sorry.”

Frank walked to her and lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her back to their bedroom and placed her on her feet by the bed. Cupping her face, Frank stared into her deep brown eyes, eyes that had always captivated and made him feel like he could lose himself. He didn’t know what to say, so he bent forward and captured her lips with his. Abby wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“Help me,” he rasped. “Help me erase all of the bad memories from this house, Cricket.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Frank smiled against her lips and lifted her up again so he could lay her on the bed and stay on top of her. He gripped the back of her head to hold her in place as he placed open mouth kisses along her chin and neck. She let out a low moan.

“Quiet, baby. We have company.”

“I can’t Frankie,” she groaned. “You feel so good on top of me.”

Frank was holding himself off of her slightly, conscious of her ribs. “I’m not hurting you, right?”

“No.”

“Good.” He rolled his hips against her pelvis, and she arched, the feeling of his rock hard member against her heated core. As she exposed her neck, he took to the opportunity to nibble and lick down her chest.

“I need you,” she moaned, trying to keep her voice down.

“You have me. You’ve always had me, my love. My Cricket. My Abby.”

They helped each other remove their clothes, Frank taking every opportunity to kiss Abby’s skin, remarking her as his. Abby couldn’t stop touching him, her feather-like touches sending bolts of lighting through his body. He hadn’t touched her since the assault. He had been afraid to, scared to put her in more pain. But now, here in the home they made together, he was determined to put their relationship back to where it was before.

Frank stared down at his love, her body open to him, miles of smooth, olive skin that had a slight tone of pink from her being heated. “Can I taste you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” she said.

“I won’t take from you anymore. Not after...” he stopped. “I’ll always ask Abigail. You’re my equal and I’ll protect you. You’re mine.” Abby gasped at his words as Frank positions himself in front of her pussy. “Am I yours?”

“Mine,” she gasped as he licked from the bottom to the top. “Frankie,” she cried softly.

Frank sucked and licked until he brought her to her first orgasm. “Fuck, you always taste amazing. But I need to be inside you now.”

“Yes, yes please,” she begged. Frank flipped them to have her on top. “Why?”

“I don’t want to hurt your ribs, baby. Sink down on me.” He helped her lower himself onto him. “Your pace Cricket. Take what you need.”

She rocked back and forth as he held her hips to steady her. “Touch me,” she pleaded quietly. “I need you to touch me.”

“Tell me where.”

“My breasts,” she whined. “My clit, anywhere, Frankie. Just... ahh,” she cried as he took her breasts in his hands. He tweaks and pinched, watching as Abby’s head dropped back. He let his left hand wander down and his thumb pressed against her clit. He could see her about to wail so he clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked down at him with wide eyes.

“You have to be quiet,” he said with a smirk. He moved his hand away from her mouth and to her neck to pull her down to him. He kissed her softly, distracting her when he pushed his hips up into her. He let go of her clit to pull her hips down on him. The action made his pelvis brush against her, giving her the stimulation to finish.

“Frankie,” she mumbled against her lips.

“Go,” he urged. “I’ve got you Cricket. I’ll catch you. Let go baby.”

With a soft cry, she detonated around him, squeezing him as he helped her through, trying to reach his own end. After a couple of thrusts up, he released with his own groan in her ear, pumping her full.

As he stopped, the only sounds that were made were from them catching their breath. Frank held her close, staying inside of her, needing to feel the closeness. “I love you, Cricket.” He kissed her head.

“I love you too Frankie.” She smiled as she snuggled into him.

“Welcome home Cricket. Its finally home again.”

A/N: The results are in and we finally meet Dodger! Also, I have no idea what's up with the taglist but hopeful doing it like this helps.

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@before-we-get-started

@tinkerbelle67

@jennmurawski13-writes

@bunnyforhim

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #chris evans fanfiction #frank adler #frank adler au #mlb au #dodger au #ofc abigail hernandez #sliding into home #chris evans #mike weiss #johnny storm #baseball au #frank adler smut #slow burn #chris evans au #cliffhanger queen

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sebdoesthings · 2 years ago

Note

idk if u already did that before but how bout geroche bathing together? 👀

Yesss, thank youuu!

Here you are, the rest is under the cut:

It was late at night at the Blue Stripes’ barracks in Vizima. The day had passed monotonously with drills and one-on-one training for the new soldiers Roche had recruited. Geralt, too, had taken them to task – more because they’d been curious how they’d measure up against a witcher, and less because he had any skills to impart to them. They were both fighters of some sort, true, but their respective fields were so far apart they hardly had anything in common.

The water sloshed around Geralt as he stepped into it and sat down, small waves rippling against the edge of the tub and spilling over. They landed with a satisfying splash on the cobbled floor.

Suddenly, the door opened – Geralt had left it unlocked on purpose – and Roche stepped through, but halted abruptly when he saw him.

“Oh—”

Geralt leaned back and grinned. “Do you ever knock?” he asked, and Roche scowled at him.

“I thought everyone’d gone to bed.”

A shrug made warm water brush over Geralt’s skin. “Join me.”

“I can wait until you’re done.”

“Why would you, though? Water’s not getting any warmer.”

He reached out, and Roche considered his hand for a while before closing the door and taking it. Geralt’s fingers wet his gloves as they threaded with his, tugging him down so their eyes were level. Leaning in, Geralt kissed Roche. His lips were warm and tasted of the ale he’d drunk earlier.

“Come on,” Geralt said when Roche pulled back and stood up.

Clothes were discarded one by one, and Geralt watched with delight. Roche had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war; his ribs no longer showed, and there no longer was the jarring jut of his hip bones. He looked healthier, and though his build was naturally lean, Geralt was happy he didn’t have to think of it as gaunt anymore.

He reached out when Roche stepped over the edge of the tub. The water splashed softly as he submerged himself, going down easy and fitting into Geralt’s embrace. There was little room to spare, admittedly, and Geralt’s legs knocked against the wood as Roche turned, leaning his back against Geralt’s chest.

Finally, he came to rest and sighed, satisfied. Practiced motions wet his arms and poured water over his head, hands rubbing over his face. The short bristles of his hair stuck together, forming clumps. Geralt bent forward to press a kiss between them, to the scalp beneath. In response, Roche shifted, leaning his head back to catch so much as a glimpse at Geralt. All he saw was the ceiling boards. Geralt slung his arms around him.

“And now?” Roche asked.

“What now?”

“You’re hugging me so tight I can’t even wash anymore.”

A snort. “Now we just relax for a bit. That such an outlandish concept to you?”

Shrugging, Roche shifted again, casting his eyes at the blurred image of their tangled legs underwater. His hand rose, dripping, and he listened to the sound. “I’m used to quick baths.”

It was such a simple statement that encompassed so much and gave a vivid glimpse into the life Roche led. Geralt, too, was used to underwhelming bathing experiences, most of them stemming from icy rivers, mucky ponds, or quick wipe downs with a damp cloth. He’d learned to be efficient, to not mind and simply be grateful for the opportunity to clean himself. But a side effect of that was that he craved long, hot baths even more. They were, so he thought, his one big indulgence in life.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take your time every once in a while,” Geralt said. His hands explored Roche’s skin, the left wandering up his side, the right up his arm, squeezing in that way they shared, in quiet reassurance of each other’s presence.

They sat for a while as the water cooled, breathing easily and deeply, listening to the sparse sounds of a house asleep; A mattress creaking as someone turned over in bed upstairs, a small cracking of the old wood, the wind outside, and further away – audible only to Geralt – two patrolling guards conversing.

“Oren for your thoughts,” Geralt mumbled against Roche’s shoulder. He’d been dozing off, and when he lifted his head, he was afraid there was a spot of drool he’d left behind.

“Just thinking about the training plan for tomorrow. Martin still needs—”

“Stop thinking.”

Roche huffed. “Easier said than done.”

“Do it anyway.”

“If I try, will that make you happy?”

“Mhm...”

“Alright. I’ll get started on thinking less first thing tomorrow,” Roche said and smiled when he felt Geralt’s lips contort into a grin against his skin. A kiss was pressed to the spot just behind his ear.

“Let’s go back to your place,” Geralt said. He did so love the bed they shared there, as small and unremarkable as it was.

“Let’s.”

#geroche #geralt/roche #geralt x roche #vernon roche #geralt of rivia #fanfic #witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #prompt fic #my fics #my witcher fics #asks #bookcalanthedaily

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8aji · 2 years ago

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now i write em down if i remember in the morning. // g.s.

pairing: geto suguru x reader

wc: 2.7k

synopsis: he liked the way it fell neatly across his shoulders. It tickled his neck at first, before he got used to the feeling, and for some reason, he could not pinpoint—most definitely satoru’s influence and one too many margaritas—he decided to mess it all up; nothing like being hangover to look over his mistakes.

tags/cw: fluff, suggestive, friends to lovers -ish, mention of alcohol consumption, everyone's hangover. —let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: its good to be back, inst it :))) ANYWAY i poured so much love into this fic and i hope yall love it as much as i do! what do we think of the dialogue?? i tried incorporating it more bc i usually rely on heavy descriptions but i dunno. thank u @thelastoreo for beta reading hehe mwah

m.list 𖥻 tags 𖥻 byi/dni

Footsteps sounding louder than they should, you made your way through the hall, softly calling out Suguru’s name. Neither in his room nor in the office, he was nowhere to be found.

It was only when you stood outside the bathroom door that your inquiry was resolved, a muffled fuck confirming his whereabouts.

Three knocks then followed by a meek come in, you tried grounding yourself before opening the door. The atmosphere felt cold, off.

The teetering words he had managed to utter while on call gave you a limited understanding of the situation, and the image in front of you didn’t help to reduce your uneasiness.

Inklike strands awkwardly framed his face, casting shadows you have never seen before. The look in his eyes was foreign, a deer caught in headlights, an empty void bursting with regret. Vermillion dripped down his skin, intermingling with each freckle, scar, in its wake; a tragic yet beautiful demonstration of pure regret.

“I think,” he paused, chest tightening against his will. “I think I cut it too short.”

Suguru doesn't remember how much time it took for his hair to grow out, all he remembers was both Satoru and you agreeing he’d look like really good with a particular hairstyle you saw on a billboard while shopping; there was no turning back from there.

Using a good shampoo and conditioner was his priority, appalled by the 57-in-1 products he’d find in a few of his friends’—Toji’s—shower. He'd splurge on hair masks, using them once or twice a week, and heat protectant spray because using a blow-dryer had become a must during the winter. Bought a claw clip after endless nagging from your end, it was gentler on his hair when compared to the elastic hair ties he’d previously used.

Fuck, he even went as far as changing all his sheets and pillowcases to prevent breakage and reduce frizz.

Taking care of his hair was like therapy, and now he will have to pay an actual therapist to fix his unresolved childhood trauma.

“Sorry,” you huffed out, slightly leaning your weight against the doorframe. Your erratic breathing had evened out by now, though your ribs still hurt from the constant strain. “What?”

Gaze downcast as if embarrassed to confront you, despite him being the one to call you over. His legs shifted in place, occasionally putting more responsibility on his arms to hold his body weight.

“I cut my hair too short.” He mumbled, before hopelessly looking at the ceiling and closing his eyes in regret.

“How did this happen?” you questioned, cringing as his fingers walked through his short tresses, tensing when he realised there wasn’t lengthier length to go through. “When and why?”

“I- I don't know.”

Despite the initial refusal to look at you, he couldn't avoid making eye contact through the mirror; you made your way inside the bathroom as he spoke, leaning your hips against the counter and taking a stance beside his figure. The deadpan expression on your face made him slightly nervous, enough to bring a soft blush back to his cheeks.

“Yeah okay, so I was drunk.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Let me finish, would you?”

“Ok, sorry, go on.”

“After we got back from dropping you home, Satoru had the brilliant idea of watching a movie,” he recalled, rolling his eyes in annoyance though his whole demeanour was a bit lighter like he was able to recognise the humour out of the ridiculous situation he found himself in. "That would've been fine, hadn't he suggested more drinking.

“I was drunk so I agreed,”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, playful dismay coating your features as you subtly examined him through the mirror, not missing the way he still tried avoiding your gaze.

"Turns out it was a scheme to fuck me up because he chose the saddest fucking movie to ever be made by humankind, I had a weird crisis, doubted my whole existence and decided 4am would be a perfect time for a haircut.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your snicker; your voice made him giddy like that.

“Well, if it's of any consolation, I think it suits you.”

“I feel bald.”

“And I think you’d look really good even if bald.”

“He’s lying,” Satoru said, munching on some cereal. His face had multiple sheet marks even though he slept on the couch—or the carpet, you aren’t sure—and he was squinting despite wearing sunglasses, which sat crooked on his nose, of course. “Partially, at least.”

Even when he looked like utter shit, he managed to be a cocky bastard.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, deciding to toy with whatever strings Satoru was pulling.

Just a few moments ago you had managed to convince Suguru of taking a shower despite the immense fatigue plaguing his body; the pretext of trying to wash away the regrets of the past convincing enough. Plus, promised an extra-large portion of waffles for the three of you once he was done; that seemed to work on him as well.

The soft pitter-patter of the water could be heard from the kitchen, ensuring it was just the two of you. His lips housed a smug smile, and if he wasn't one of your best friends you'd be wary of the motive behind his words (read: endearingly).

"He did have a mild existential crisis like he realised he had no idea what he was doing with his life and that his life purpose was eh," he tried explaining to the best of his ability, hand movements prevalent in the animated conversation. "But we watched this movie with that dude you like?"

Stopping in your tracks, you rested the whisk against the bowl you were using to mix the ingredients for breakfast, excitement pouring from your words as you mentioned the name of one of the artists you enjoyed.

“Yes! Him!” Satoru exclaimed, enjoying the way your features lit up. “Well, I made an off-handed comment about how you liked him and he was already drunk so he cut his hair because he thought it’d make you like him more or something.”

His nonchalant shrug—his stance about the whole situation to be honest—made you laugh.

“And you didn't try to stop him?” you played along, smiling at the way Satoru leaned against your figure, resting his head on your shoulder while mumbling how the light hurt his eyes.

“I passed out before I could do anything,” He answered, straightening up just enough so he could slurp the last bit of milk on his bowl. “Oh and, apparently milk helps with hangovers? I had no idea.”

The both of you stayed in silence, only the sizzling of the waffle maker breaking the silence. It would've been peaceful, another morning with your friends after a night out, the only difference being the idea of Suguru maybe liking you back; the thought forced an even bigger smile on your lips.

“Anyway,” An overtly exaggerated yawn left his mouth, smacking his lips together to emphasise his sleepiness. “I’m going back to sleep, wake me up when breakfast is done, please?”

Right before Satoru left the kitchen for a 14-hour power nap, Suguru made an entrance. Droplets of water stained his shirt as he ruffled his hair non-stop, adjusting the strands to prevent his, now shorter, fringe from poking his eyes.

“Morning ‘Ruru— Oh! There's condoms on the fourth drawer beside the fridge by the way.”

The sound of metal clanking against the counter and floor caught Suguru’s attention before he could process Satoru's odd, and weirdly specific, statement, body moving on autopilot to help you pick up whatever you dropped.

“You okay?" and it was only after he made sure you were alright that his mind revisited what his roommate said, making his brows furrow in confusion as he turned towards you, looking at you for an answer as if this was your house and not his. "—Wait, why do we have condoms in the kitchen?”

"Why are you asking me?" You questioned him back, laughter bubbling in your throat at his confused state. “I don't live here.”

“Only because you rejected my offer to move in.”

“And have Satoru manipulate me into cutting my hair? No thanks.”

Pretending to be mortally wounded by your words, his hands went straight to his chest, clutching at his heart.

“Too soon.” He hissed out, closing his eyes and leaning his head against one of the cupboards.

“Already told you you’d look hot bald.”

“Didn't even give me time to grieve.”

Spending time with Suguru was similar to spending time with Satoru. After some time joking around, talking about whatever topic crossed your mind, you could sit in silence without the pressure of filling up the space with mundane conversation. It makes sense they feel so familiar, the two of them have been attached to the hip for years, it's only natural for them to inherit mannerisms from each other.

In their defence, it happened to you as well. Satoru’s dramatism and Suguru’s patience, both of their shitty senses of humour, and so many other characteristics you internalised, not only from them but from your other friends as well. After all that time together, it makes sense existing feels familiar around them.

Existing alongside Satoru and Suguru was so similar, yet so different.

You couldn't pinpoint why.

Even so, this time the stakes felt a lot higher. Despite all the comfortable silences you've wallowed in with him, you can't help but feel tension grow around you, thickening with every tick of the clock.

Palpable, permeating every surface, enough for Suguru to feel it as well, it seems, because right before you said anything that could help dissipate the tension, he spoke up; Great minds think alike, after all.

“Weird how Satoru mentioned where he kept his condoms, huh?”

Great minds think alike, but he’s stupid.

“Yeah, weird,” you mumble, this close to bonking your head against the cupboard just like he did a couple of minutes ago. You were almost done with breakfast anyway, making sure the remaining batter cooked properly; you placed a plate in front of Suguru, handing him the carton of orange juice in the process and waited until he took a sip from his cup. If he was revisiting the tension's catalyst to get rid of said tension, guess the best thing you can do is play along. "It's because he wants us to fuck, I think."

Problem solved, the silence was gone, the echoing of choking noises and coughing distracting enough from the scary tension between you two.

“Why—wait, sorry,” he excused himself, clearing his throat and wiping away some orange juice that had spilled on his chin and the counter. “Why do you think that?

“I dunno, just vibes.” You shrugged, munching on the corner of a waffle after sprinkling maple syrup all over it with a coy smile. His cheeks were dusted pink, and you're sure that if he hadn't chopped his hair off, he’d be playing with the strands; undoing and redoing his bun to keep himself busy from the embarrassment, a habit not many people were aware of, he didn't get to that level of embarrassment easily.

“Yeah, no,” trying his best to make eye contact despite his flustered state, he cut you off, accusingly so. “It’s always more than vibes with Satoru, he talks too much.”

“Suguru Geto, are you calling me a liar?” Now it was your turn to amp up the dramatics, and despite your act being extremely unconvincing, it still caught him slightly off guard.

“What— no, I'm just saying, I think you may be leaving some details out of this conversation.”

“So…a liar then?”

“I didn’t say a liar.”

“You implied it though.”

“Well, I didn't call you a liar,” He scoffed, finding amusement in your behaviour, the twinkle of mischief in your eyes. “Gonna tell me what Satoru said?”

“He mentioned the movie you watched.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“The movie with you know who?”

“Yeah, that one.”

There are two scenarios. Scenario A, Satoru told you what movie you watched and that was it—though that doesn't make too much sense, why would he mention condoms then?— or Scenario B, Satoru told you about his mini crisis and how the existence of one of the characters drove him to grab a pair of scissors and cut everything off.

So, it really depends, how much did Satoru tell you? It's not like he wasn't worthy, because you're sure he'd rather disappear from this earth before being a tattletale, but your answer…was vague while being too condensed at the same time. The intonation of your words, your tone and body language; he could easily be reading too much into it, but it's plausible, isn't it?

“Did he tell you anything else?”

Determined to pull out as much information from you as he could, he was like a detective trying to come down to the bottom of a mystery—if detectives had enough free time to worry about matters of the heart or whatever. It made you gulp, distracting yourself by drinking some of the juice you had poured yourself not long ago, and it was only after a short pause, that felt eternal, that you answered.

“Not that I recall.”

It made him antsy, eager to but not knowing whether it would be a good idea to come clean, drop the question and maybe run away after you answered.

“Did he mention I like you?”

You almost spit your juice, coughing at his straightforwardness. Despite the nonchalant facade, you could look straight through. He looked cute, all flustered like he had to scrape every bit of courage he could find inside his body to utter the question. Cheeks flushed, biting his lip subtly enough for it to be almost unnoticeable unless you were looking at him closely. You noted the way his thumb played with the side of his index finger, hands no longer playing with his hair as if he had finally internalised the new length of it.

Time stopped when you looked at Suguru Geto, and you’re sure you could’ve stared at him forever if it wasn't for the sound of his voice interrupting your thoughts.

He had also felt time stop, waiting in silence for an answer will do that to you.

“Sorry, for asking, I thought he—”

“He implied it,” You interrupted him, somehow reassuring him that your lack of response wasn't a no. “‘Said you cut your hair because of you know who, so I'd like you more.”

A pensive frown made its way onto Suguru’s face, so Satoru did snitch, huh? Still, he didn’t feel betrayed, it was relieving in a way, though scary in case you were to reject him and “eliminate” him from your life, telling you about his feelings—directly or indirectly—felt like a weight was lifted up from his shoulders.

“And did it work?”

Now, all that was left was to figure out whether his feelings were reciprocated or not. Even if you said no, curiosity would get the best of him, and despite his heart going doki doki inside his ribcage, there was no harm in playing a little coy while at it, right?

“I already told you,” trying to one-up him with his cockiness, holding eye contact though bashfulness still glazed your eyes, match his bluntness if you will; you respond. "I'd like you even if you were bald."

"Shut up." He mumbles, your gaze too penetrating for his liking, it forced him to pull back. Though his cheeks were not only red now, they hurt, the cheesy smile making him feel all giddy and warm inside.

“Aw, you embarrassed?”

“It’s just,” His hand was warm against yours, his fingers tickling your palm as he reached for it across the counter. He pressed his face against his arm, almost touching the counter, the coldness of it sending shivers down his spine. “You make me so weak.”

The both of you remained in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, finishing breakfast and enjoying each other’s presence as long as you could; never letting your hands go, that is.

It was sort of funny how such a tense atmosphere could transform into utter peace.

“Just to be clear,” he broke the silence once more, now rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand and looking at you like he received a terminal diagnosis of lovesickness. “You do like me back, right?”

“Yes Suguru, I like you.”

“Thanks, I just needed to hear you say it.”

“You didn't wake me up for breakfast!” Satoru exclaimed, yawning as he made his way across the kitchen not a single dirty plate or cup in sight, only you sitting on the counter as Suguru stood shirtless in between your legs. Despite his hair being shorter, it still managed to get his shirt wet, but he was too lazy to change, so he just took it off, pretending he didn't enjoy the way your eyes roamed down his chest.

His hand was awfully close to your thigh, and though you were wearing shorts, from Satoru’s perspective it looked like you were only covered by an oversized shirt. Plus, the giddiness the both of you irradiated, Suguru sporting splotchy cheeks and whatever the fuck you did to glow the way you did, who knows what blasphemous activities had been going on before he interrupted, it could only mean but one thing.

“Wait– were you each other's breakfasts? Did you guys finally fuck?!”

#master collection.#jjk collection.#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x you #geto suguru fluff #geto fluff #geto oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk oneshot

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sungie · 4 years ago

Note

hello love so excited to see your req box open☺️❤️ could you possibly do jealous megumi or inumaki when they see you talking to your ex?

a/n: ahhh hello!! <3 omg thank u for requesting i had a lot of fun writing this one // AJKJD;AJFD it’s so funny to me bc normally i don’t like jealous people blame my aquarius BUT um ,,, say less ,, mayhaps jealous fushiguro would be okay

(*ﾉ▽ﾉ)

masterlist

[𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢]

“Can I ask you something?”

Fushiguro’s voice is unusually strained. His words sound strung around the edges, yet there’s still something strangely vulnerable about what he's implying.

“What’s up?” Despite your nonchalance, you’re relieved he's broken the silence. It was clear something was wrong ever since he'd closed himself off, an irritated frown pulling at his lips. When you originally asked him about it, he shrugged it off as being tired, but you knew Fushiguro. It was obvious that he'd only responded to you out of polite necessity.

There's a brief pause as he struggles to find the right way to go about this. And then he's sighing, his gaze setting in resolve. "Who was that?"

You turn, casting your gaze toward the retreating figure. He's upset about that?

Fushiguro shifts in his stance.

"Oh," you blink, "you don't have to worry about it."

It's clear Fushiguro doesn't like your answer, and he glowers at his feet. "They seemed to know you well."

You can't help the amused breath of air that leaves your mouth. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Fushiguro were jealous. There's a bitter tinge to his voice, one that's all too clearly matched with his prickly attitude. You're not quite sure how Fushiguro manages to appear extremely disconnected while also obviously upset.

"I guess so." You chew on your lip, gauging his reaction. "They're my ex."

Fushiguro’s head snaps up. His eyes widen, disappointment quickly clouding over his expression. And then as quickly as it comes, a practiced stillness glides across his features and erases any trace of emotion, carefully preserving a mild, disinterested facade. "Oh."

You stifle a laugh. "Oh?'

Fushiguro sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He leans his head against the wall in exasperation. "They still like you." The moment the words leave his mouth, he scrunches his face like the very thought leaves a bitter aftertaste, citrine and unwelcome. "It's so obvious."

"They don't."

"They do."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because they made a fool of themselves," Fushguro sends a pointed look your way, almost as if you're the one he's irritated with. "Like, they'd do anything to get your attention."

"Fushiguro," you start.

"It's so stupid," he mumbles, dropping his gaze, "it's just like how I"--

You tilt your head. "How you?"

His mouth parts in realization, and he sighs. "Forget it. It doesn't matter." He sticks his hands in his pockets, lips drawn to the side as he processes. It's something you've seen him do often.

Except, you're not expecting to witness regret flicker across his face. It's gone as soon as you see it.

"Would you?" When he looks back at you, a trace of desperation fills his voice.

It's almost as if your next words hold the answer to some long, puzzled over question that only he knows the words to.

"Would I what?"

"Go back," Fushiguro mumbles. "Would you go back to them if you could?"

"No."

Fushiguro blinks. "You didn't even think about it."

“I don’t need to think about it.”

"They'd take you back," he says helplessly.

"Do you want me to?" You tease, shaking your head. "I don't have feelings for them."

Fushiguro can't look away. It's at this moment where it seems as if there's no disconnection between what he's saying and what he's expressing.

"So, I still have a chance." It's murmured softly, phrased so delicately that it feels like a question and a realization all at once. You're not even sure if he intended for you to hear it.

"I told you, Megumi. You don't have to worry."

As soon as you say it, Fushiguro flushes. It's not just his ears--his entire face. "I'm not worried," he mutters hotly, assuming a haughty expression and turning away. "I don't know why you'd think that."

[𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞]

Inumaki’s upset. His violet eyes turn perfectly dead-pan with no trace of the gleeful recognition that normally lights across his expression whenever he meets your gaze. Neither is there any trace of indifference. In fact, upset might be an understatement. He looks furious.

It started off as a pout when he met your eyes from across the grounds. He’d waved, arm thrown over his head in an exaggerated sort of way. He’d tilted his head, too, physically whining about why you couldn’t finish up and join him and the others already.

That was before your sparring partner slammed their polearm into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. It’s harsher than supposed to be, and you cough, clutching your ribs. You’re not hurt, it just stings a little.

It was then that you’d risked a glance at Inumaki, and witnessed every fluctuation of emotion that crossed his face. Even from here, it’s easy to tell exactly how angry he is. And judging from his reaction, you’re all too aware that he’s finally noticed who the person is that just violated sparring rules.

Inumaki’s usual reaction when you fall during training is that of amusement. He likes to tease you, as long as you’re not seriously hurt, especially since he knows that everyone means well.

But this is very different.

You grimace, trying to somehow communicate that it's fine, but --

“Konbu.”

It’s the rudest greeting you’ve ever heard from him. And it’s directed at the person sparring against you.

“Toge,” you hiss, “go away.”

Inumaki turns his gaze to you. His eyes soften, and he crouches down next to you, tilting his head to the side. “Salmon?” He presses a hand against yours, the one clutching your side.

Are you okay?

You nod, gratefully accepting the other hand he offers to help you stand.

Except, when you try to resume training, Inumaki doesn’t let go. His hand remains slipped into yours, and he even interlocks your fingers with his for good measure. His hand is trembling.

“Inumaki.”

He meets your gaze quickly, stopping himself from stepping forward. And then his anger defuses, and he sighs, tugging at your arm. He gestures toward the tree a few distances away, the same one you usually relax at with everyone in-between meals, missions, training, whatever.

You shake your head.

Even though you can’t see his mouth, you know he’s pouting. Except this time it’s not just out of wanting to spend time with you. It’s a childish pout, an angry pout, and you’re all too aware of what it means.

He doesn’t understand why you're letting your ex get away with this.

But it’s when you pry his hand off yours, that Inumaki glowers at you.

He wraps his arms around your waist, gentle enough to avoid pressing against your ribs, and he pushes you away from the sparring grounds. And more importantly, away from your ex who he visibly bristles at.

“Stop, we’re not finished --”

“Salmon, salmon,” Inumaki mumbles in sympathy, but even you can detect the obvious glee behind his voice, as he presses his cheek against yours.

You want to smack him.

He lets go when you’ve reached where he wants to go, and he gazes at you with bright eyes.

“You didn't have to do that, you know.”

Inumaki looks at you blankly. A sarcastic eyebrow raises.

You sigh, already knowing why it bothers him so much. “I’m still mad at you.”

Inumaki just shrugs, tugging at blades of grass and letting them blow away in the wind. He rests his head atop your lap, gazing at the leaves breezing back and forth.

#fushiguro x reader #inumaki x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #inumaki to/ge x reader #fushiguro imagines #inumaki imagines #inumaki to/ge imagines #fushiguro megumi imagines #jjk imagines #/honeycomb

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

Note

fic request because i am d e s p e r a t e : tarlos carlos whump with supportive gabriel reyes ??? if you’re down to write him that is. i love ur work n ur whump n i think u would write a p good gabe. 🥰

holly’s august extravaganza day 1: against all odds (we're still here)

i'm always down to write gabriel! thanks for the prompt trick, i hope you like it!

ao3 | 2k | car accidents, whump, major character injury, angst with a happy ending

“I told you we should have brought the car.”

Carlos scowls over at TK, shifting one of the many bags he’s carrying higher on his arm. It cuts painfully into his skin, his good mood from earlier long since soured. The knowledge that TK is, of course, right isn’t exactly helping matters.

“In my defence,” he starts, for probably the fifth or sixth time, “when we texted your dad to see if he wanted us to pick up anything from the store, I wasn’t expecting a full list.”

“We could have told him no.”

“TK, he’s your dad and we are literally crashing his home right now. I’m not gonna tell him no.”

TK opens his mouth, presumably to retort with a comment about how his dad loves Carlos and loves having them around. Both of which are things Carlos knows perfectly well, thanks, but he’s still not interested in testing it by refusing to get Owen’s kale chips or that specific brand of shampoo which took half an hour—and two stores—to track down.

Whatever TK was about to say is abandoned when one of his own bags slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground with a depressing thud. It bursts open—because why wouldn’t it—and spills their purchases across the sidewalk. The only solace is that nothing breaks, but that’s where the good news begins and ends; Carlos’s eyes track a can as it rolls down the street and into the gutter, landing in a puddle of dirty water. TK looks forlornly between the dropped bag and those still balanced on his arms, then heaves a long-suffering sigh and crouches awkwardly, easing the other bags down as carefully as he can manage.

“Call an Uber,” he grumbles. “We are not walking home like this.”

On that point, they’re in agreement. Carlos spares himself a moment of idle amusement at TK’s predicament before beginning the arduous task of extracting his phone from his pocket without dropping any of his own shopping.

He’ll hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

Oh my god!

Someone call 911!

Are they even alive?

Just hold on, son, you’re going to be just fine.

Beeping.

Carlos frowns, slowly blinking his heavy eyelids open. It takes a minute to register his surroundings for what they are—a hospital room—and a further minute to notice the presence at his side. It’s his father, looking exhausted, turning his cowboy hat in his hands as he stares at the floor.

“Dad?” he croaks, wincing at the soreness in his throat. “What happened?”

His father’s head jerks up, his eyes going wide as he sees Carlos awake. “Mijo. It’s good to see you awake.”

“Dad, why am I here? What happened?”

He sighs, reaching out to pat Carlos’s arm. “There was an accident,” he explains. “A drunk driver lost control of his car and mounted the curb right where you boys were standing. He was speeding, so he hit you pretty hard. Your foot was crushed under a wheel, you have a fractured wrist, and you bumped your head when you fell so you probably have a concussion. The doctors say you should heal just fine, though, gracias a Dios.”

Carlos lifts his head to look down at his body, only just registering the casts on his arm and foot. There’s a dull ache radiating through his entire body and his head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, but he’s alive and he’ll heal. He should be happy about that, but the only thing occupying his mind is his dad’s silence on TK.

“What about TK?” he asks, part of him dreading the answer. “I remember him pushing me; is he okay?”

“He’s…” His dad hesitates, sending a cold slither of fear down Carlos’s spine. “Alive.”

Carlos stares, the beginnings of panic stealing his breath. “What does that mean?”

His father blows out a long breath. “It means you were right,” he says, meeting Carlos’s eyes. “He did push you, so he took the brunt of the hit. He suffered a serious open pelvic fracture and broken ribs, which punctured his lung. Last I heard, they managed to fix him up and they’re not expecting any further complications, but we won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

“He hasn’t woken up?”

“Not yet. He will, you’ll see.”

“I want to see him.”

And Carlos knows what the answer will be to that—a resounding no. He also knows that he won’t be able to argue; his father is incredibly stubborn, and when he digs his heels in, there’s no moving him. But he needs to at least try—he’s not going to stop worrying about TK until he sees him, and probably not for a long time after that.

His dad sighs and fixes him with a firm look. “Carlitos, you and I both know that’s out of the question,” he says. “You’ve only just woken up, you need to give yourself time to heal before exerting your body even more. Besides, he’s in good hands and Owen is with him, so we’ll know as soon as there’s any change.”

“Joder, Papá, I know all that,” Carlos cries, frustrated, barely able to refrain from throwing his head back on the pillow. “I just hate that he’s here, hurt, and I can’t even see him.”

“Lo sé,” His dad smiles gently, something that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but really only gets on Carlos’s nerves. “Escúchame, hijo. Descansa. Cúrate. Then you can focus on TK.”

It’s easier said than done and his father knows it, but Carlos has no choice. The conversation is effectively put to an end by his dad reaching over and pressing the call button next to the bed. A nurse comes in and quickly sets about checking his vitals and asking enough questions to make Carlos’s head spin. His probable concussion becomes definite, but otherwise he’s in good shape, all things considered.

He can’t help but wish he weren’t.

Two days later, Carlos is deemed fit to be discharged, providing he has someone to help him and providing he agrees to rest and not do anything even close to strenuous. TK is also awake now but, according to Owen, he’ll be kept in the hospital for at least another week. The break to his pelvis was bad, so he’ll need a wheelchair for a while even after discharge, and his refusal to take strong painkillers means his recovery is going to be long and painful.

Carlos is itching to see him. It’s been torture cooped up in his room without knowing how TK was doing—there’s only so much relief messages passed through their fathers can bring. It had only been his father’s stern and steady presence that had kept him in that bed when he felt like he was losing his mind with worry.

But now, finally, he’s being wheeled into TK’s room and helped onto the chair next to the bed. Owen stands off to the side, watching the two of them with a mixture of affection and sadness in his gaze, and his dad hovers behind him, but Carlos only has eyes for TK.

He looks incredibly tired, but he attempts a smile when he rolls his head to look at Carlos, extending his hand out across the distance between them.

“Hey, Ty,” Carlos says softly, taking TK’s hand in his good one. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better. Not sure if I’ve been worse. I think this might just beat getting shot to that title.”

“That’s not funny.”

TK just hums, his eyes drifting closed for a second. “Maybe not.”

“Why did you push me?”

TK’s eyes fly open at the question, confusion overtaking his expression as he stares at Carlos. He moves as if to sit upright before groaning in pain, his face screwing up. Carlos reaches out for him, but he’s beaten to it by his father, who places a reassuring hand on TK’s shoulder.

“Take it easy, son,” he says gently. “Don’t move too much.”

“I hate this,” TK mutters, his body relaxing bit by bit. His gaze is still clouded when he looks back over at Carlos, but he manages a soft smile all the same. “I pushed you because I didn’t want you to get hurt. The car would have hit me either way; I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get you out of the way in time.”

Carlos blinks at him, dumbfounded. “You’re sorry?” he asks, disbelief colouring his tone. “Ty, you’re in the hospital, seriously injured, because you chose to save me instead of yourself. Why would you do that?”

“You know why.”

Carlos does; of course he does, but it’s not enough to assuage the guilt still bubbling in his stomach at the sight of TK in the bed.

TK sighs, squeezing his hand. “You would have done the same for me,” he points out. “We both know you would have, so don’t you dare ask me to apologise for my choices.”

“I know. I won’t.” Carlos closes his eyes, deflating a little. “I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“And I hate seeing you hurt, so maybe you can do us both a favour and go home. I’ll be fine.”

Carlos must need his hearing tested, because there’s no way TK just said that. There’s no way his boyfriend told him to leave right after calling him out for hypocrisy. Except apparently he did, because he’s trying to disentangle their hands, and Carlos is not having that.

He grips onto TK even tighter and glares at him. “TK, if you think I’m leaving you here—”

“Carlos,” TK interrupts quietly. “I get it. But, babe, you need to rest and heal, and you can’t do either of those things sitting here.”

“Watch me.”

“No.” TK shifts his gaze over Carlos’s shoulder, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “Mr Reyes, can you make sure he rests?”

His dad laughs, leaning over to pat TK’s shoulder. “Of course. I’m sure once his mother sees him, she won’t let him out of her sight for a week anyway.”

TK grins. “Good to know.” He yawns and resettles himself slightly in the bed, his eyes fluttering shut. “Carlos, if you’re still here when I next open my eyes, I’m not kissing you for a month.”

“You shouldn’t make threats you know you can’t follow through with.”

“Don’t make me make it two.”

Despite himself, Carlos laughs. He leans over and presses a lingering kiss to TK’s temple, then stands as well as he’s able, leaning on his dad for support. “Alright, I’m going. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

TK already sounds half-asleep when he mumbles, “Love you too,” back, and Carlos can’t even be embarrassed by how ridiculously smitten he must look, even though he’s in front of both their fathers.

He allows his dad to move him back to the wheelchair and says a quick goodbye to Owen, keeping his eyes on TK for as long as he can. Just as they reach the door, he catches TK’s eyes opening to slivers, obviously checking to see if Carlos is actually leaving. Carlos shakes his head at him, causing TK to flush at the knowledge he’s been caught. His eyes slam shut again, his tongue poking out childishly, and Carlos laughs, a lightness settling in his heart even as TK’s room disappears from view.

It’s going to be a long few months for the both of them, but they have family behind them to help them get through it.

And they have each other. Which, given everything, Carlos thinks is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.

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tavern-aa · 4 years ago

Text

hii !! i hope youre having a great day/night.

can u do the prompts “Wow, i didn’t realize you were that…flexible.” and/or “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” “Yes we can.” for zuko atla ? maybe hes the firelord and they go on a trip to the woods with the rest of the gang ? male reader please.

A/N: Yo…Leviathan wrote this with the help of a friend. Teddy was gonna write this and then said, nah. Not my ZuZu so I was tasked with editing our friends draft and I…may have gone overboard and just like rewritten it even though I have a distaste for smut.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut, +18, voyeurism, tons of subtle fire puns sue me

x Male Reader

Smut Prompt: 63

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were that…flexible”

Smut Prompt: 110-111

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?”

“Yes we can.”

They had travelled for hours to make it to the Western Air Temple, their feet heavy and their heads warry, and yet as soon as they set their belongings down, Aang suggested a sparing match. For fun of course, to blow off steam, get everyone a little sleepy so that they could rest a little easier that night. Zuko agreed, partnering up with the air bender whilst Sokka turned to Y/N, the only other non-bender in their group.

Y/N let out a hefty sigh at the look of tired determination on his friends face, “don’t go easy on him, Y/N,” he heard Katara call from where she was setting up the fire to cook for the Gaang’s dinner. Toph walked over to the side and stomped her foot on the ground erecting a tent of rock just large enough for her to fit inside.

Sokka huffed before approaching Y/N for their fight, both landing blows with fist and weapon though the two seemed evenly matched as usual. That changed the moment Y/N’s gaze drifted towards the other men’s fight, his eyes watching as Zuko moved unaware of his stare. Sokka took the opportunity of Y/N’s distraction to land a particularly hard blow to his friends leg swiping it out from under him.

“Point to Sokka!” He exclaimed in excitement as he danced around Y/N’s prone being.

“Shut it, boomerang boy. I was distracted,” Y/N pouted not having noticed the other two had finished their sparring match. Aang laughed loudly at the nickname for Sokka causing him to blush a deep red.

“Stop laughing, Aang! And it was fair, doesn’t matter if you were distracted or not!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

With that, Y/N used his leg to swipe Sokka’s feet out from under him before clambering over and holding the blade of his knife to the other man’s throat.

“How ‘bout that for fair?”

Sokka huffed before pushing the knife away with his finger, pushing Y/N off gently and getting up.

“Yeah yeah, your win again…I’m starving!”

Y/N watched Sokka run over to the camp fire and start bothering Katara before he too made his way closer to the others, grabbing his tent supplies to set up his and Zuko’s shared tent. The two were forced to share a tent due to lack of space; Sokka, Aang, and Katara were sharing the larger tent and Toph made her own so the other two males were left with the smaller tent.

The non-bender tried to set up the shelter as quick as possible, but we all know that tents are stupid and never want to be easy. His ear perked up as he heard the others laughing with eachother, but he paid no mind, instead keeping his focus on the task at hand.

A hand on his shoulder a moment later startled him out of his trance like state of trying to put the pole into the fabric.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to startle you, it just looked like you needed help with the tent?”

Zuko.

Y/N’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes turned to meet the other’s.

“Oh, uh…yeah, that would be great,” he muttered. It’s not like he was nervous around Zuko because he was a fire bender, no he was nervous for a much different reason. Zuko had been so kind to him ever since Y/N joined the Gaang, like sure he was close to everyone but Zuko was especially sweet to Y/N and the non-bender didn’t know why.

“Hey, are you feeling okay…by the way? I uh…I noticed you took a pretty hard fall earlier when sparring with Sokka,” Zuko questioned, raising his head momentarily to glance at the smaller male.

“Oh…ha, you saw that huh? Yeah I’m fine, a little sore, but I’m fine.”

“I could stretch you out if you want?”

Y/N’s face grew bright red, his grip on one of the poles turning white as his head snapped in Zuko’s direction.

“Huh?” He managed to squeak out in shock as Zuko looked up in confusion.

“What? Did I say somethi- oh…oh no that’s not- I-…” Zuko quickly cut himself off, his face also a deep crimson color from realization.

“No, no you’re fine, I’m sorry that was on me,” Y/N awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck before standing up from the now pitched tent.

“But I do think I’ll take you up on that offer, I have some really bad kinks in my neck and back.”

Zuko’s face turned a deeper red as he heard Y/N’s words leave his mouth this time causing the smaller man to sputter and stumble over his words.

“Wait- I- no…I just…”

“This is so awkward to watch…” Sokka commented from the campfire, a spoon being held in front of his mouth. Y/N immediately flipped him off in response, his eyes cast downwards in embarrassment.

“Come on Y/N…let’s just get in the tent and stretch your muscles,” Zuko suggested, gently guiding Y/N into the tent before he zipped up the entrance, “So just uh…take off your shirt and lay on your stomach I guess.”

Y/N’s face stayed the crimson color as his hands reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in a quick swipe. His hands shook as he tossed it to the side of the area before lowering himself onto one of the sleeping bags on the ground, shivering slightly as the cool material of the fabric.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, a pair of warm hands made contact with Y/N’s back.

“I’m gonna start now,” Zuko whispered as he slowly dug his fingers into the smaller males back. Y/N let out a soft gasp as he felt the man’s fingers press into the sore sports of his body.

“Tell me if it hurts okay?”

“Y-yeah, it feels nice so far.”

Zuko nodded in response though he realized a second later that Y/N could not see him and blushed in embarrassment. After working on his back for a few more minutes, he tapped on the boy’s side.

“Can you turn over, I’m gonna do your legs now.”

Y/N felt his face flush before he slowly nodded into the fabric of the sleeping bag rolling his body over to expose his bare chest to the older male. Zuko’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the pink nubs that stood erect on Y/N’s chest wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab them, play with them, and have them in his mouth, just to make the smaller boy squirm in pleasure.

He quickly shook the thought from his head as he let his gaze trail down towards the younger male’s legs, eyes pausing only momentarily to stare longingly at the bulge in Y/N’s pants.

“Can you uh…can you take your pants off too? So I can get to the skin! Not anything weird!”

Y/N let out a nervous giggle before sitting up slightly and tugging off his pants revealing his briefs.

“A-alright, thank you,” Zuko breathed, his eyes trailing along Y/N’s legs in awe of the color and how incredibly soft they looked. He gently placed his hand on one of the smaller boy’s legs, gently lifting it to get it into a position to stretch out the muscle. This particular stretch has Y/N’s leg up in the air with Zuko’s body directly pressed against it and situated between his legs. Zuko felt his heart start to hammer against his ribs as he began to push Y/N’s leg towards his torso causing a small whimper of pain to release from the smaller boy’s mouth.

“Was that too far?”

“N-no it felt good, keep going.”

Moving on, he continued to push Y/N’s leg all the way up to where the boy was almost doing the splits.

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were that…flexible,” Zuko gulped, his eyes staring directly into Y/N’s. Y/N blushed deeply as he raised his hands to hide his face from the other man.

“I was close friends with Ty Lee and her family growing up so…” the younger male stated, his body shaking in nervousness.

“You’re shaking,” Zuko observed, pulling back from the stretch but keeping the smaller boy’s leg propped over his shoulder, his finger’s slightly digging into the skin.

“A-am I? That-that’s strange, ahaha.” Y/N felt time stop as he watched the fire bender turn his head to look at the smaller boy’s leg before placing a gentle peck against the skin. Not to be cheesy, but the place where his lips touched felt like a flame had been placed and spread from there sending a heat to his stomach.

“Zuko?”

“Hm?” Zuko hummed in response, slowly leaving more burning kisses along the length of the smaller boy’s leg, “What is it, firefly?”

The was it, the straw that broke the camel’s back. Y/N was hard and obviously so especially since Zuko was still pressing his body against the non bender’s.

“Zuko…” Y/N breathed, an argument playing out within his head debating on whether or not to continue with the actions the two were about to partake in. There were so many possibilities that something could go wrong, but…he could be with Zuko finally. His head felt light as he weighed the options before he finally made up his mind.

Zuko watched slightly amused as Y/N dropped his hands from covering his crimson face and sat up so that their faces were centimeters apart.

“I want you.”

Zuko’s face flushed softly across his cheeks before he nodded slowly, using his free hand to cup the younger man’s face, bringing their lips together in a heated kiss. Y/N let his shaking hands slide into the silky hair of the Fire Lord. A grunt left Zuko’s throat as he adjusted his position, accidentally not so accidentally grinding his growing bulge into Y/N’s raging hard on.

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, a gasp escaping him before Zuko plunged his tongue into the younger man’s mouth. Their tongues seemed to wrestle for ages, but soon Zuko won out before he gently guided Y/n’s body back onto the sleeping bag.

They parted for a second to catch their breaths, Y/N’s entire being seemed disheveled, his hair was a mess, his clothes were missing, and his lips were glossy and swollen from their passionate kiss. All in all, Zuko was close to going feral over that sight alone.

Y/N’s hand reached out and gently stroked the scarred side of Zuko’s face before he pulled the older man back down to him to place a few soft kisses against the scar.

“You’re so handsome…” he whispered against Zuko’s skin causing the Fire Lord to shiver.

“I could say the same to you,” Zuko chuckled, his fingers gently tracing over the smaller mans face before he trailed his hand down towards Y/N’s exposed chest.

The non bender’s back arched into Zuko’s hand as soon as it made contact with the pink bud, a whimper leaving his lips, begging him to touch him properly. Zuko let a smirk cross his face as he took the bud between his fingers, gently tweaking it carefully and yet enough to make Y/N squirm, soft breathy moans escaping his lips.

“Zuko, take your clothes off too…” He whined, reaching up and tugging at the Fire Lord’s tunic. Zuko shook his head in amusement before he stopped his actions, letting Y/N’s leg fall beside him as he pulled his tunic over his head.

“You’re so cute, Firefly.”

Immediately, Zuko was back to attacking the smaller man’s nipples though this time he used his mouth, sucking and gently nipping at the hard buds. Small sounds of pleasure left Y/N’s mouth at the assault, his fingers gripping at Zuko’s hair. The taller man raised an eyebrow at the action, lifting his head slowly to gaze at his partner with a slight smirk.

“What is it now, hm Firefly?”

“I-I wanna touch you too…”

Zuko’s eyebrows raised higher in shock before his smirk grew exponentially.

“If you want to baby, I’m not gonna stop you,” he chuckled, sitting up slowly to allow the other man room to move if he so pleased. Y/N took the opportunity to sit up before switching up his position to be on his knees. He then crawled toward Zuko slowly before letting his hand rest just above the waistband of his pants.

Y/N looked up at the Fire Lord for any hesitation, seeing none, and then continuing to grab both the waistband of his pants and his boxers, slowly pulling them down to expose the older man’s length. The smaller boy felt his heart stop at the size. It wasn’t the longest he had seen but fuck, it was a girthy motherfucker. He swallowed harshly before taking it into his hands, slowly pumping the length of the shaft before leaning his head towards the tip.

His tongue slipped from between his lips, letting it kitten lick the very tip of Zuko’s cock before he slowly engulfed the head with his mouth. His head was spinning as he began to pump his head up and back down the shaft, though he couldn’t get very far seeing as his mouth was slightly small for the width of his cock. A few seconds into the endeavor, Y/N felt Zuko’s finger’s slide into his hair causing him to glance up at his partner.

Zuko’s eyes were glazed over in ecstasy as he stared down at the smaller man, his teeth harshly bit his lip as Y/N ran his tongue up the side of Zuko’s cock once more before traveling down to his balls. His mouth continued to roam the areas he knew were weak points, exploiting them and causing Zuko to groan a little too loudly.

Both males froze in sudden fear of their friends hearing them. They stayed frozen for a few seconds before Y/N looked up at Zuko with concern.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?

“Yes we can,” came Toph’s response causing both men’s faces to flush violently as they jumped away from each other.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Y/N squeaked out before sliding into his sleeping bag and hiding his face from Zuko. The taller male’s face was in no better shape than Y/N’s was but he let out a soft chuckle before crawling back over to Y/N.

“I didn’t get to finish,” he whispered in the smaller man’s ear causing him to tense, “What are you gonna do about it?”

The next morning, Zuko and Y/N woke to the bleary, dark circled eyes of their friends.

“Good morning everyone,” Y/N chirped happily, his face seemed to be glowing after the previous night. The four people sat around the camp fire sent exasperated looked back at both him and Zuko who had just ducked out of the tent.

“Yeah, morning guys,” He stated before slinging his arm over Y/N’s shoulder nonchalantly.

“I hate you guys,” Sokka stated before turning back to his food.

568 notes · View notes

whumpmatsus · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! 👋 Two things! First, a fic request (again Ichimatsu whump because I'm sorry but I have to): Ichimatsu takes a hit meant for one of his brothers (be it accidental or on purpose) and is pretty badly injured. Cue the rest of the Matsu Bros. to the rescue!

And second, um...would you be okay with it if, let's just say hypothetically, I made fan art of some of these fics? 😺

FIRST OF ALL thank you for this because it's LITERALLY the longest thing I've written on this blog so far!! so I hope u enjoy it fully uwu

Matsu Bros plus a cameo by Mama Matsu!! <3

second... YESSSS THAT IS ALWAYS DEFINITELY OKAY!!! aaaaaaa you flatter me <3 <3 <3

When Ichimatsu first wakes up in the hospital, he doesn’t remember why he’s here. Hell, he barely even remembers who he is.

All he really knows initially is that he’s in a lot of pain. It hurts to breathe, his face is kind of numb in spots, and his leg feels weirdly positioned, plus heavy and uncomfortable. His shoulder feels kind of sore… as does his wrist.

There’s also some strange fog drifting around his mind that’s making it difficult to really focus on anything.

He feels a hand in his own. Not very tight… he thinks it’s someone giving just enough pressure to let him know they’re here. That he’s not alone. That’s comforting, he thinks.

Then he starts to remember things.

He was out walking with some of the others; Karamatsu and maybe Totty? What they were doing is a little fuzzy and isn’t coming to him instantly. He just recalls they were together, walking on the sidewalk. They came to a crosswalk and waited their turn. Karamatsu, as the eldest out of the three, stepped forward first to cross.

Ichimatsu thinks Karamatsu’s intention was that he would hold Totty’s hand to keep the youngest safe while they crossed, and Ichimatsu could follow after them. He doesn’t believe Totty had any objections.

They waited. They followed all the rules they were supposed to. The crosswalk light told them they were allowed to go.

It was someone else who broke the rules, tearing through a stop sign, the car headed right for his brothers. He… thinks he remembers Totty had only just come forward to grab Karamatsu’s hand, so he wasn’t quite there yet. Karamatsu was the one in the most danger.

He doesn’t remember much else. Running forward, pushing his baby brother behind him and yelling for his big brother to move.Then an impact. A lot of pain. Black and nothingness and warmth.

Now he’s awake. Putting the pieces together, he’s pretty sure he shoved Karamatsu forward and ended up getting hit by that car.

He thinks, in his haze, that the car should have hit Karamatsu, because he was the one who went first, because things happened so fast. But he’s glad it didn’t happen that way.

A couple groans catch the attention of whoever’s in the room, and he gets a squeeze to the hand. “Ichimatsu? Honey? Are you awake?”

“Mmh…” It hurts a little to move his head. He does it anyway, getting a glimpse of his mother. “… Mom…?”

It looks like she’s smiling… relieved, maybe. “Yes! Yes, my sweet boy, Mama is here.” She reaches her free hand over to gently stroke his hair. It feels nice. “Thank goodness. How do you feel?”

He closes his eyes. “I hurt.”

“Well, I should hope so! I’d be worried if you weren’t in a lot of pain right now. Do you remember what happened?”

Although he tries to move around, it’s difficult simply because it’s so painful. “Uh, yeah, kind of… I got… hit by a car, right? ― H… hey… Karamatsu and Totty… where are they? Are they okay?”

“Yes, dear, they’re both fine. Karamatsu has a couple of scrapes, but nothing serious. You, on the other hand, are lucky, young man. You’ve got a broken leg, a couple of broken ribs, and a broken wrist. You did have a dislocated shoulder, but they got that back into place. The doctor said it could have been much worse. She said you got off easy compared to some people who get hit by a car.”

She combs his bangs back in a way that mitigates any anger or frustration in her next words. “What were you thinking?”

“The car was coming for Karamatsu…” He frowns as the memory surfaces again, in slightly better detail. Damn. “… And Totty didn’t see it… he was gonna step out, too…”

Everything seemed to happen so fast. How the hell did he manage to get his older brother out of the way and keep his younger brother out of the way when everything happened so fast?

Matsuyo sighs and continues stroking his hair. “Oh, I know… they were both in tears when we all arrived. Totty was inconsolable… saying that Karamatsu would be dead if you hadn’t run forward and that he thought you were dead because you weren’t responding. I should be mad that you scared your brothers… but…”

She leans forward to kiss his forehead. “… You did a brave thing, Ichimatsu. Mama is very proud of you. I just don’t like any of you boys hurt… if you’re inclined to do this again, pull the other person back instead of taking their place. You silly boy,” she adds with an affectionate smile.

“Hah…” he laughs weakly, wincing at the pain in his chest. “Sorry, Mom. Everything hurts… I wanna go home.”

“Mhm, they’ll probably let you go pretty soon now that you’re awake. That’s the main thing they were waiting for, I think.” She moves her hand down to pat lightly at his forearm.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be home before you know it, and your family will take good care of you.”

Coming home is kind of weird.

Ichimatsu can’t really walk on his own. Since his leg is broken, the doctor gave him a crutch that he can use with his good hand, but it’s an awkward movement and leaves him feeling unbalanced. It’s just easier to lean on one of his brothers to walk ― in this case, Choromatsu has volunteered to help if Ichimatsu needs to walk somewhere. Though… he gets the feeling that the others would be more than happy to volunteer if the third eldest were somehow busy when he needs to get up.

Every motion, from sitting up to reaching for things to just breathing, is painful thanks to the broken ribs. There’s nothing that can really be done for those, so he’s evidently got to just suffer. He remembers the doctor saying they should feel quite a bit better in a couple of weeks. Most of this is going to take a month or more to fully heal, which is… according to Osomatsu, a ‘major boner-killer’.

Sitting around doing nothing but being in pain is going to be the end of Ichimatsu. He’s sure of that. He can’t go outside to feed the cats, and it’s difficult to cuddle with them inside with all his injuries. That alone is pretty depressing.

The pain medication they sent him home with is also a little frustrating. The first time he takes it, it makes him so tired he sleeps right through dinner.

He falls asleep on the couch in the spare room, he knows, because it’s where he has to be set up for now. There’s noway he can sleep in the futon with everyone else while he tries to heal; that runs the risk of running into someone, or having one of his brothers accidentally run into him.

His leg’s in a cast and his wrist is in a splint, to protect them as they fix themselves, but if those areas have someone roll onto them, it’ll probably result in more damage. Which means more pain and more time added to his recovery.

It’s apparently a bad idea to sleep on the couch. When he wakes up, everything is sore and screaming in pain. Justified, unfortunately, since he fell asleep in the same position he was relaxing in.

Someone else… is here? There’s something warm pressed up against his side.

He glances over to find that he’s evidently been resting on Karamatsu’s shoulder, likely for a while given that Karamatsu’s eyes are closed too. It looks dark out, and Ichimatsu’s foggy mind busies itself wondering what time it is.

There’s a soft chuckle beside him, and looking over reveals one of his big brother’s eyes is cracked open now. It’s swiftly followed by the other one, then the sudden absence of a pressure around his shoulder makes him aware that Karamatsu had an arm around him. “Awake, hm?”

“Yeah…” He tries to stretch, stopped short when a jolting pain in his chest reminds him that it’s definitely a bad idea. “Oww. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“That’s alright. You started to get a bit drowsy about half an hour after Osomatsu-nii-san gave you your medicine. We saved you a plate from dinner, though, if you want me to go warm it up.”

Ichimatsu blinks. “I slept through dinner?? Shit. How late is it right now?”

His brother shifts a bit more to take out his phone. “Hm… a bit after midnight.”

“Midnight?” Well, fuck. Although he can justify an hour nap or so, he’s just slept like six hours. He missed dinner, he missed going to the bathhouse, he missed maybe a game of cards before bed.

Karamatsu laughs again, his hand tousling Ichimatsu’s hair fondly. “That’s right, my brother. Don’t worry. Osomatsu-nii-san said fatigue is a side effect of your medicine, and your body needs sleep right now, anyway. So, are you hungry? Mommy made soba and yakitori for dinner, but if you’d rather have something else, just say the word. Your wish is my command!”

Honestly… he’s not really that hungry. He knows he should probably eat; his stomach is just trying to tell him not to have anything heavy. Another side effect of the medication, maybe. “Are you… sure? I kind of just feel like plain miso and rice. Other stuff doesn’t sound good.”

“Of course! I’d be delighted to go heat some up. You simply rest and I’ll…” When he goes to stand up, something catches Ichimatsu’s eye, and he grabs his brother’s hand, weakly, with his own injured one. It’s painful, but…

Karamatsu’s eyes focus on his younger brother, brows furrowing. “Ichimatsu? What’s the matter?”

It’s… that cut on Karamatsu’s face. Ichimatsu didn’t notice it before. Now that he’s a bit more alert, it’s practically all he can see. It’s not very big, maybe the length of one of their little fingers, and not deep. It looks like a scrape from falling off one’s bike or something. He thinks maybe it had a bandage on it at one point. The color has faded into something dull; the skin around is still bright pink, though, suggesting that it’s irritated despite not being cut.

His gaze shifts down to find similar wounds on Karamatsu’s hands. On the palms, where he probably got a sort of road rash when he tried to catch himself after Ichimatsu pushed him out of the way.

His own wrist protests with a violent throb as he reaches to let his fingers graze lightly over Karamatsu’s wrist. Image after image of what might have happened to him if Ichimatsu wasn’t fast enough comes unbidden into his head. Karamatsu could be the one with a broken leg or broken ribs, or it could have been worse.

“Y… you’re okay… right?” As soon as those words are out of his mouth, tears start spilling. All at once he’s pulled into a hug, loose fists resting against his back. He can’t stop himself from leaning in, pressing his face against Karamatsu’s shoulder.

He can feel the soft rumble of mirthless laughter his big brother gives. “You’re the one who was hurt, Ichimatsu. I’m only okay because of you. If you hadn’t seen… I wasn’t paying attention…”

The words, “It should have been me”, hang heavily in the air even though Karamatsu doesn’t say them.

He brushes a delicate kiss over the side of his little brother’s forehead. “Heh… you would have been a better big brother than me. You kept us all safe when I failed. You probably saved my life, you know. Thank you.”

Ichimatsu isn’t sure why it’s now that the full weight of everything has hit him. Now, when he’s home and out of danger, when everything is okay. Shouldn’t he have been falling apart when he first woke up in the hospital? It shouldn’t have taken seeing Karamatsu’s small injuries to remind him that they all could have died when he’s the one in a cast.

It’s hard to keep himself together, to keep his breathing normal so he doesn’t completely go to pieces. (Though, if he did, what better place to do so than in his older brother’s arms?) “… You’d do the same for me, right? So it’s only fair.”

“I would,” Karamatsu hums. “Without a second thought. You’re my little brother and I love you very much and if I could save you from being hurt, I would. I’m… sorry I was so careless that I couldn’t do it this time.”

Ichimatsu grunts, slipping his good arm around Karamatsu’s waist in an effort to be closer. “Don’t feel too bad. The next car’ll be yours.”

After eating as much as he feels like he can, Ichimatsu allows Karamatsu to help transfer him to the floor. It’s already set up with a spare futon, a blanket, and a pillow, probably because someone guessed that sleeping on the sofa wouldn’t be comfortable.

He’s still in so much pain. The shoulder that was reduced back into place aches like an old war wound, and his chest is sore even when he’s lying still. To say nothing of his wrist and his leg. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, except worse.

Although Karamatsu insists he’d be just fine to stand guard all night, after a few minutes Choromatsu comes in and sends him back to the bedroom. Ichimatsu doesn’t hear too much of the conversation ― mostly whispers that Karamatsu needs to go get some sleep, that Choromatsu is glad to take a turn.

Soon enough, though, Karamatsu relents and comes to tell Ichimatsu goodnight before he leaves the room. Ichimatsu gets one more kiss on the head and a reassuring squeeze to his good hand and exchanges another round of “I love you”s with his brother, then heads into the bedroom.

Choromatsu came prepared, setting his own pillow up on the couch and tossing a blanket at the end just in case he needs it. “So… how are you feeling, Ichimatsu?”

“Mm… like crap, kinda.” He looks over to where his brother is trying to get settled in. “I can’t believe I slept six hours and I’m still tired. What kind of shit did they put me on?”

“Hah… y-yeah, it’s the good stuff, probably. Is it at least helping the pain a little?”

“A little. Like Mom said before we left the hospital, I… guess it’d be more worrying if I wasn’t in pain right now. I did get hit by a car.”

Choromatsu leans forward and places a cautious hand on his little brother’s head. Once that earns him no punishment, he gingerly combs through Ichimatsu’s hair. It certainly feels relaxing. “You sure did. I… I can’t believe you kept both Karamatsu and Totty safe. Adrenaline’s a… a weird thing, huh? I’m glad you’re all okay. Hopefully the pain medicine will work better once you’ve had a few doses.”

“Mh. I hope so.”

“Yeah. For now, just, uh… just try to get some more sleep, okay? Your body needs a lot of rest while you’re healing.”

Yep, that’s what Karamatsu said, too. Two of his brothers saying the same thing can’t be wrong. … Well, they could be, but it would be weird. “I’ll try. Thanks for… being here. I dunno that I’d really want to sleep alone for the whole night. Guess Totty’s rubbing off on me.”

A low chuckle leaves Choromatsu as Ichimatsu closes his eyes. The sound of rustling suggests that his older brother has laid down and pulled a blanket over himself as well.

After a moment of quiet between them, Ichimatsu becomes keenly aware of a sensation that definitely isn’t going to allow him to sleep. “Uuuugh. Shit.”

“Huh?” Choromatsu is sitting up in an instant, ready to practically spring out of his skin. “What’s wrong, Ichimatsu?”

“― My leg itches.”

“O-oh. So… scratch it??”

He throws his head back in frustration. “No, the one with the Goddamn cast on it.”

“Ohhh. Okay, uh, well…” Choromatsu gets up and rummages through one of the drawers for a few seconds.

After that, a pencil is pressed into Ichimatsu’s good hand with a smile. “Here, try this. Stick the eraser end down in the little space between your leg and the cast, then keep moving it. If the itch is high enough up, it should help.”

Ichimatsu raises an eyebrow at the advice. Well. What’s he got to lose, after all? He spends a moment trying to get the itch scratched after slipping the pencil down, and finally he sighs in relief. “Fuck, that’s a lot better. How’d you know that was gonna work?”

Choromatsu grins self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Ah, well… remember when I broke my arm? When I went for my checkup, I had this itch inside the cast that was driving me nuts. So the nurse showed me this trick. It doesn’t always work, but…”

“Huh… well… thanks.” After everything, he’s just really tired and ready to sleep now. He would cross his fingers that nothing else disturbs him if he felt like moving at all.

“Heh, no problem. All good now?”

“I think so.” When he sees his brother straighten up to head back to the couch, his brain evidently thinks it’s good to say something. “H… hey. Choromatsu?”

Choromatsu looks back down, concern etched on his features. “Ah, yeah? What’s up?”

His heart is hammering so fast it feels like it’s trying to break more of his ribs. He doesn’t really want to embarrass himself. It’s just… he feels… “Can you… can you… stay for a minute? Down here?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. I can’t stay too long… I-I can’t sleep next to you. I might accidentally hurt you.” Even so, he lowers himself back down, sitting cross-legged and reaching to stroke Ichimatsu’s hair.

He nods. That’s part of the problem. Even though he normally wouldn’t have much complaint about being left to his own devices… he’s used to sleeping next to his brothers. Right on the end beside Karamatsu. When he’s not feeling well, being absent from them is apparently not doing him any favors. “I know. It’s just…”

His eyes drift closed once more. It must be the medicine making him feel out of it and way too honest. “… I think I’m gonna get lonely sleeping like this.”

“O-oh… gosh.” He can practically hear the frown in Choromatsu’s voice. The other man’s hand combs through his hair, a rhythmic and repetitive motion that makes him sleepy again. “I can probably… sleep like this, propped up against the couch. Is that okay?”

“Mmmh… I don’t want you to have to do that… you’ll make your back sore.”

He chuckles. “Ah, I-I think I can handle it. Even if that’s true, it’d be worth it to me so you don’t have to feel lonely. It’s the least I can do for my little brother.”

“I can’t stop you,” Ichimatsu mumbles. Sleep is scrabbling its tiny, strong fingers at him, trying to pull him down. It’s getting hard to resist. “If you want…”

“Yeah… yeah, I wanna do this for you.” Choromatsu leans down to press a small kiss to the top of Ichimatsu’s head. “Hey. Love you, Ichimacchan. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He doesn’t have to tell Ichimatsu twice. Within a minute of Choromatsu’s urging, he’s fallen back into a peaceful darkness.

When Ichimatsu wakes up the next morning, Choromatsu’s presence has been replaced by Jyushimatsu’s.

As much as he loves his immediate older brother, he doesn’t have any complaints. He and Jyushimatsu are very close, and his younger brother being here is pretty soothing to wake up to.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet, though that’s not to say he isn’t his usual energetic self. He appears to be flipping through baseball cards, maybe organizing them in his little album, humming to himself. There’s also one hand free to play with Ichimatsu’s hair, which he supposes is why he still feels relaxed.

“Hey, Jyushi.” His body reminds him why stretching is a bad idea right now, so he settles for arching his back a little in an effort to make something pop. Everything is sore. Even that little bit of movement hurts his ribs enough that he has trouble catching his breath for a minute. “Fuck… morning.”

“Oh! Yeah, it is morning!” Jyushimatsu is chipper as always, though when he leans in for a hug, he’s surprisingly gentle. “How’d you sleep, Ichimatsu-nii-san?”

“Okay, I guess. I still hurt a bunch.”

“Yeahhhh, you were crying in your sleep! But it’s okay! Because guess what? Jyushi is here!” He grins, nuzzling his cheek against Ichimatsu’s. It’s a bit weird, but par for the course as far as Jyushimatsu is concerned. Besides, the hug is nice after the fear of being lonely last night. “Did you have nightmares, huh?”

Now that he mentions it… yep. Ichimatsu’s dreams, or what he remembers of them, were filled with horrible things. The memory of being hit by the car, or the images of either Karamatsu or Totty being hit because he wasn’t fast enough.

He recalls one piece of a dream which involved looking into his own chest and seeing the end of a fractured rib shatter his glass heart.

A shudder runs through his body, prompting Jyushimatsu to tighten his grip just slightly. “Oh, you’re cold! It’s past breakfast, ‘cause you slept for a really long time, but I’ll go get you some tea!! Sound good?”

Given that his appetite hasn’t come back from war, that sounds better than anything else. Though he did manage to choke down that rice and miso last night, he’s not sure if he wants to eat even anything bland. “Yeah, sounds good. Put just a little bit of agave syrup in it for me?”

“Yeah! Anything for Ichimatsu-nii-san! Be right back, okay?”

With Jyushimatsu, ‘be right back’ is typically how it goes. He’s only gone for a few minutes, or at least it only seems like a few minutes.

Regardless, Ichimatsu has a cup of tea in his hand relatively quickly. Almost as if his brother predicted that it would be difficult to hold something very hot with only one hand, the tea is warm, not boiling hot.

It’s easier to balance it with one hand, plus this means it’s pretty much the perfect temperature to drink. As he starts to sip it, he feels Jyushimatsu’s hand, covered entirely by his sleeve, rubbing affectionately between his shoulder blades. “It’s good, huh?”

He swallows and gives the other a nod. “Yeah, pretty good. Thanks.” Thankfully, it should wake him up, too. He’s still feeling kind of groggy.

“Good!! Osomatsu-nii-san said he’s gonna give you your medicine in a minute, since I told him you were up and hurting.” Jyushimatsu shoves his binder of cards away, shifting up to sit on the sofa. “Do you want me to move you up here after you’re done drinking?”

“Probably, yeah. You got anything you wanna do today?” Another sip, and he sighs in relief feeling the warmth flow through him. Damn.He can’t believe he could take something as simple as a cup of tea in the morning for granted. “I can’t really help with baseball practice… but we could watch TV together or something.”

“Sure! We can watch whatever you want!” After only a few seconds, Jyushimatsu wiggles himself back down and leans against his big brother’s shoulder. “Hey, Ichimatsu-nii-san… I’m really glad you’re okay. Even though you’re hurt and everything, you’re home with us instead of… being not home with us!”

The least he can do is let his head rest gently against Jyushimatsu’s. “Yeah… I’m glad I’m home, too. Don’t think I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jyushimatsu nods eagerly, making a brief, dull wave of pain wash through Ichimatsu. However, he’d rather have that pain than not have his little brother close. “We’ll take really good care of you! Just say if you need anything, okay? I’m really strong and I can get anything! … And if I can’t, Osomatsu-nii-san probably can!”

“Heh.” Ichimatsu takes another gulp of his tea. “You guys are the best.”

True to Jyushimatsu’s word, Osomatsu is in pretty soon to give Ichimatsu the painkillers. For whatever reason, even when he can’t be trusted with literally anything else, the eldest is pretty good at monitoring medicine when one of the others needs it.

All things being equal, Ichimatsu has a lot of faith in taking medicine when Osomatsu keeps track of it. He knows how much was dispensed, how many Ichimatsu is supposed to take and how often, how many are left, and all the related things. He’s like some kind of idiot savant who was put on Earth to be a pill counter.

After he takes it, he expects to start getting tired again, so he silently begs Osomatsu to stay on the couch with him. They’re all supposed to be hanging out anyway, based on what Jyushimatsu said, so right now he decides he wants to be close to his oldest brother for a little bit.

Osomatsu seems all too happy to oblige, snuggling Ichimatsu as close as he dares to. It’s probably not a good idea to use normal force, so the touches are… lighter than usual. It’s not so bad.

He settles in on Osomatsu’s shoulder, trying to get his eyes to focus on the show Jyushimatsu turned it to for him. It’s kind of unfortunate that he’s almost certainly going to fall asleep on it. “You guys are taking really good care of me,” he sighs, letting his eyes slip closed. “You want my allowance? Or, like… a bag of sardines?”

Osomatsu snorts. “What? You’re nuts, man. We’re taking care of you because we want to and because you need it. I mean, if I was sitting here with a broken leg, a broken wrist, broken ribs, and had to have my shoulder cherry popped back into place, wouldn’t you all be like, ‘Wow, maybe we should give the poor bastard a hand’? We’re just doing the same thing for you that we’d do for any one of us.”

Ichimatsu huffs. “Yeah, well… you’re all doing a lot. Karamatsu went in the kitchen past midnight to make me miso and rice, Choromatsu probably fucked up his back sleeping against the couch so I wouldn’t be lonely, Jyushi’s waiting on me, and you’ve got my medicine on a damn schedule or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Osomatsu grins, “I can’t leave it up to you, crackhead.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. Even so, it’s not going to make him totally drop this. “I’m serious. You guys are…”

Osomatsu nudges him carefully. “We’re being brothers, you boner. I know we suck at showing it sometimes, but… you know we all love each other, right? I guess it’s easier to show it when one of us is sick or hurt. Just so happens you’re the hurt one right now. And also your ass is on painkillers, so everything seems weird to you.”

… Okay, so maybe he can’t fault that logic. Still, though.

They’re both quiet for a long moment while they watch the screen, then Osomatsu lets out a soft hum. “You did good, you know. I don’t like that you tried to get yourself killed, but you did good.”

“I wasn’t trying to get myself killed,” Ichimatsu retorts with the nastiest facial expression he can muster right now. “I didn’t wanna get hit, either. But Karamatsu and Totty weren’t paying attention… I didn’t want them to get hit. I was trying to get us all out of that way… I just wasn’t fast enough.”

Osomatsu scoffs before reaching his hand up to ruffle Ichimatsu’s hair. He appears to be getting a lot of pets like that lately, not that he’s complaining. It feels really good and is one of the biggest comforts he has right now. “You protected them, anyway. I can’t say too much, because you didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done if it were me.”

Ichimatsu offers a low, mocking wail. “Oh, shit. I’m turning into you. I think I’d rather be a cat. If I were a really bratty cat, you’d still be nice enough to feed me sardines and scratch behind my ears, right?”

“Uhhhh, I guess. You’re changing the subject, you dick.” A small puff of laughter makes his bangs move. “I just… wanna say I really respect you, man. Sometimes I remember the days when you would kick Karamatsu in the leg just for breathing the wrong way. And when you used to blow Totty off to hang with your friends in high school.”

He gets a shrug in response. “People change. We’ve all changed a lot.”

“Yeah, sure. I know.” His arm shifts down and he squeezes Ichimatsu’s good hand in that reassuring, proud way only an older sibling can. “They haven’t all been good changes. But seeing you trying to keep the others safe… that’s a a good change. Just gotta give you your props, Ichimacchan.”

He’s too tired to really argue with Osomatsu. Despite the fact that he knows he’s the shittiest of them all, he has to at least silently acknowledge that what he did prevented one of his older brothers and his baby brother from being in the same pain he’s in right now.

Instead of saying anything meaningful, he just presses himself in more against Osomatsu and mutters, “That’s nice. I’m tired.”

Osomatsu snorts and Ichimatsu feels a light kiss on top of his head. “Alright, dumbass, get some sleep. The pills are probably kicking in. Let me know if you need anything.”

Ichimatsu thinks that, right now, all he needs is his big brother to be the perfect pillow, and he’s doing a pretty good job of that.

Although it’s not dark at all the next time Ichimatsu wakes up, it’s significantly later than he meant to sleep. 3 P.M., meaning that once again he’s slept through a meal ― lunch, this time.

Just like last night, he finds that he’s not really all that hungry. Even so, it might be a good idea to eat, so probably he ask Osomatsu to get him something small.

When he shifts and looks over, though, Osomatsu isn’t there anymore. Instead, there’s Totty…

… Oh.

He’s holding onto Ichimatsu pretty tight. Ichimatsu isn’t sure he can move too much with the way Totty is holding him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Totty? Everything okay?”

His little brother stiffens, wide eyes suddenly turning up to look at him. Unlike what he noticed about Karamatsu, Totty doesn’t have any physical injuries, but… the skin around his eyes is red and puffy. “Y… yeah, it’s all good. Sorry, am I hurting you?”

“No… not really hurting.” He doesn’t remember having seen Totty too much after everything happened. He visited Ichimatsu in the hospital, all teary-eyed and not talking, before they were all allowed to take him home. Once he got home, though, he can’t recall Totty being around a lot even though everyone else was.

He assumed Totty was freaked out after everything and avoiding him just because he’s emotional right now. Seems Ichimatsu was right about that.

He maneuvers his good arm to put it around Totty’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. “Have you been crying? You sure you’re okay?”

Totty sniffles and dips his head down. “Yeah, sorry… I just…”

“Don’t be sorry, dumbass.” Even though it hurts a little to move so much, Ichimatsu cuddles his brother in against him. “It’s fine, you big crybaby. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I should be the one making sure you’re okay.” Regardless, Totty nestles in, tucking his head under Ichimatsu’s chin. It’s a bit of a weight on his hurt ribs, but it’s not that bad. “… H-hey. I, um. You know. I… I love you.”

Huh. It’s been a while since Totty has said that point-blank to any of his brothers, Ichimatsu thinks. It’s kind of nice to hear. He closes his eyes and offers an appreciative hum. “I love you, too. That it?”

Totty lets out a frustrated sigh, and Ichimatsu can just imagine the pout he has on his face. Kinda cute. He can’t really help himself; the youngest is always gonna be the baby, always gonna be adorable, even when he’s acting like a little bitch or if he wants to deny it. “I wanted to… say I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“For… everything! Y-you know, for almost getting hit and… I mean, you got hurt trying to protect me and Karamatsu! If I hadn’t tried to follow him without even looking… you wouldn’t have had to worry about me. And… and I haven’t been with you too much since you got home…”

He nuzzles his head against Ichimatsu’s collarbone, kneading his hand against the top of his brother’s good leg. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just… I’ve been… really upset. It was scary, seeing the car hit you…”

The hum Ichimatsu gives this time is lower, pensive and understanding. “Yeah. Mom said you were crying a lot when she got to the hospital. ‘S okay to be kinda freaked out, you know.”

“Yeah, I know… and I was… am.I was scared the whole time… Karamatsu tried to wake you up, but you were just lying there and you wouldn’t…” Totty sniffles and his hand curls into a weak fist against Ichimatsu’s knee. “I didn’t wanna lose you, Ichimatsu-nii-san, and I was really afraid you were gone. I’m happy you’re okay… I just… I-I was pretty sure I was gonna cry the first time I tried to take care of you, so I… wanted to be alone with you. Crying in front of all you guys is…”

Ichimatsu nods to quiet his brother, ghosting a kiss over the top of Totty’s head. “I get it. It’s okay, Totty. C’mere, okay… you don’t have to be sorry for being freaked out and not wanting to cry and all that shit. I’m sure Karamatsu’s freaked out, too. And everyone else. Don’t apologize for your feelings, stupid.”

An indignant huff is the response he gets, before Totty presses in against Ichimatsu’s uninjured shoulder. “It just makes me think a lot,” he finally confesses.

Ichimatsu smirks. “Right. And you’re so out of practice with thinking, it’s hard. I know.”

“Th-that’s not it, you jerk!” Totty whines and brings his arms in, curled against his chest. His knees come up onto the couch, folded under him, as he tries to get comfortable. “It makes me think… anything could happen, at any moment, and that… might be it.And I know we’re all shitty to each other a lot of the time, but… but I love all of you.”

He sniffles, snuggling against Ichimatsu when his big brother pulls him even closer. “The thought that one of us might… die… I-I didn’t… I didn’t know how afraid I was of that… till I thought it happened. If one of us wasn’t here… it… it wouldn’t be the same anymore.”

“… Yeah.” Ichimatsu gives Totty a squeeze that’s maybe a little tighter than necessary. It’s not like he can pretend that Totty is wrong. He’s right. Even though they’re all assholes and treat each other like crap sometimes, the last thing any of them want is for their family to be… incomplete.

They sit quietly for what feels like a long time, holding each other. Breathing. Just existing in sync, in perfect understanding for a while.

Sometimes, it’s true, Ichimatsu is kind of a death seeker. Sometimes he really does want to die. Sometimes he doesn’t care about anything, and just wants it all to end so he doesn’t have to deal with the weight of life anymore.

Sometimes, though… sometimes he fights death with all he has. He thinks maybe that’s what happened after he got hit by the car.

It would have been easy to die then. To just let his injuries swallow him up and put out his life like blowing out a candle.

He’s in a lot of pain right now, but he’s not dead. There must be a reason, right?

He thinks this is the reason.

Holding his youngest brother and realizing how broken his absence would leave his family, thinking about how broken it would be if anyof them were gone, how much they love each other…

… For once, he’s happy to be alive.

#Osomatsu san #whump #Ichimatsu #Allmatsu #Iromatsu #Nenchuumatsu #Suujimatsu #Parkamatsu #110matsu #car accident #broken bones #medication #caretaking #HEY LOOK AT THESE AWESOME BROTHERS BEING AWESOME #SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG BUT I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF.........#PLS ENJOY THE FOOD <3

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mai-sau · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt "give me attention" for kidnap family?

"haha, im gonna take it easy with prompts this time around, only a few hundred words -" cue spongebob title card "2.3k words later"

seriously tho thank you for the prompt!! (and sorry about the wait!) i had fun working on this one bc well i love any chance to write about this lil family of murderers and tiny bois :') hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: "Give me attention."

“Nelyo.”

“Ne-”

Thump. Maedhros slammed his book shut. A puff of dust wheezed out from the crusty pages; Maglor could make out the swirl of particles flying about in the dim shafts of sunlight peeking into his brother’s study from windows that he was sure were clean at some point in their existence.

Said brother tossed a glare over to Maglor from the other side of his desk.

“You’re allowed to be here. Quietly.” Maedhros threw a pointed look towards the abandoned scroll in Maglor’s hands.

“But I’m so very lonely, Nelyo,” Maglor pouted, and dropped the scroll on the desk. The parchment rolled out towards Maedhros, whose face was fast approaching the same shade as his hair. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of all my correspondence for the day. Nothing much else to do, really, but seek out the company of my darling brother.”

“I’m older than you,” Maedhros grit out, rubbing his temple in terse little circles. Which one of them he was reminding Maglor couldn’t say.

“Only by a few years,” Maglor teased. He let the corners of his lip curl up - he was well aware this made him look like “a cat about to feast on the fattest saucer of milk it’s ever conned” according to his brother, and that was why he did it.

On top of that dusty old book, Maedhros’ fingers twitched. Got you.

“Come on, Nelyo,” he whined. “Give me attentiooon.”

Maedhros threw him a positively hateful look, but Maglor knew he wouldn’t throw him out just yet. By this point, Maglor liked to think he knew his brother well enough.

There were some things he didn’t, of course, and this was fine. When his brother would wake and traipse out to the courtyard in the dead of night, staring at the moon hungrily for hours and hours as if he would never glimpse its light amidst the pitch dark again; when one of the many elves around Amon Ereb would do something wrong - not when one of their craftsmen made the same excited little exclamation as Curvo used to, or hunters fletched their arrows just how Tyelko did, Maglor understood these, at least - but a request phrased too sweetly, an abrupt movement, a smile too wide, and Maedhros’ throat would tighten, his words clipped, before excusing himself to go lock himself in his room for an hour, or two, or three: these parts of his brother Maglor may never know.

But he knew much, or at least enough. A few months after they’d taken in the twins, Maglor had just finished mopping an explosion of jam on the dining floor and sweeping up the shards of what was once the hefty jar that contained it. He’d first gently let Elros know that if they wanted food, they need only ask; he’d then let him know that no, of course they wouldn’t cast him out for breaking the jam jar, with no small amount of tears or internal panic on either end of that conversation.

By the time Maglor slunk into Maedhros’ study that evening to go over reports from around the fortress, he was maybe a bit tired. When Maedhros told him to wait for just a few minutes while he wrapped something or other up, Maglor might’ve let slip a touch of petulance and no small amount of theatrics into his voice when he asked when his dear Nelyo could spare just a moment for his poor baby brother, simply wilting away from the neglect.

Maglor had frozen, fearful of what his second-most severe brother would have to say in response to - well, whining. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let himself do so. Oh, he’d been quite the brat in Valinor, and used to be quite proud of that fact, thank you. Each and every one of his brothers’ last nerves practically had his name on it. But it seemed ever since they arrived here, it was as if they simply couldn’t afford the waste of time. Ribbing was a favored pastime of his in Aman, but Beleriand offered no such frivolities.

But living with the twins, putting on playful words and coaxing laughter from two young faces that Maglor couldn’t bear to see two seconds from breaking anymore, had apparently loosened his discipline.

He’d thought Maedhros would treat him to one of his signature frowns, barking at him that neither of them had time to make things any harder for each other, but instead he’d… laughed. Just the slightest huff of air, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Maglor hadn’t heard his brother laugh since…

Well, if anything, he was honoring his cousin’s memory.

So Maglor experimented over the years, let a few more teases and whines slip into his day-to-day interactions with Maedhros. His brother had since mustered a valiant effort to act annoyed, but Maglor could still catch a muffled chuckle or smothered grin here and there.

So. All in all, he’s sure he knows his brother pretty well at this point, and Maedhros was not troubled (bad), just bothered (good).

Which, of course, meant they could continue to play; Maglor would show no mercy.

“Please? Please, please? Just a smidgen of tender love and care from my dearly beloved big brother?” Maglor asked, eyes wide and pleading, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over the desk. His hair, inky black, spilled all over his scroll.

Maedhros’ nose twitched. His right ear flicked. Oh yes. He was close to a chuckle now, he could tell. His dearly beloved big brother stood no fucking chance.

“Oh dear Eru, let my brother pay attention to - MANWË’S TITS!” Maglor shrieked, springing up from his seat after spotting a dark shadow peeking through the window.

His brother whirled around. Quick as a viper, his hand darted out to grasp the hilt of his sword. Despite this, Maglor could hear a choked noise he was more than halfway certain was the chuckle he had so desperately hunted. Oh well.

A chubby face stared right back at them, eyes round as saucers. Wait, make that two faces.

Both Maglor and Maedhros sagged with relief.

“Elros, can you please come in?” Maglor croaked, feeling five feet to the left of his physical body. “You too, Elrond.”

The two of them nodded bashfully, heads bobbing as they fumbled over to the glass. And they were… flapping. Each twin sported small brown wings on their back, looking much like the falcons Tyelko used to play with as a child. Maglor supposed, thinking of a great bird soaring away over the sea with light itself clutched tight in its talons, maybe they should have expected this one in particular.

Elros pushed once, twice at the windows, tiny arms straining against the pane and looking more panicked by the second. Behind him, Elrond simply pointed to the - oh, the window latch. Yes.

Maedhros stood up and flicked it open. Elros came tumbling through, nearly bashing his skull on the desk before Maedhros caught him midair.

Elrond flew in smoothly and landed on Maglor’s empty chair, wings neatly folding in. Maedhros dumped Elros on his own chair. His wing smacked Maedhros’ arm by mistake.

“We talked about this. No new shapeshifting without me or Maglor there,” Maedhros said, fixing each of them with a stern look.

Both the twins looked down at this. Elrond wrung his little wrists.

“We’re sorry!” Elros burst out, tears welling up in his eyes. “We won’t do it again, promise!”

“That’s what you said last time, sweetheart,” Maglor told him.

“And the time before that,” Maedhros grumbled.

“What we’re saying, dear, is that we understand that you’re sorry. But keeping your word has to take first priority,” Maglor explained softly.

Maedhros coughed.

“Or, er, not doing it again,” Maglor corrected. “That’s what counts.”

“We understand,” Elros sniffled. “It’s just, we wanted to hear, but you weren’t there to check with, because well, you were here, and, well, um, yes -”

“Bringing us to the next point of order,” Maedhros rumbled. He raised a brow at both of them. “Eavesdropping. We have also been over this.”

Oh dear. Elros looked like he was about to drown in a puddle of tears. Maglor rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades soothingly, careful of the new feathery appendages.

Thankfully, Elrond stepped in. “We remember, it’s not nice because we like to be in private sometimes and it’s not fair for us to not let other people be too,” he recited shyly. “Um, we just… we know you both meet up a lot like this, and we know it's important… but… um…” His lip trembled; his voice cracked. “Do you... talk about us? Do you not want us to hear because it’s bad? Because we can do better!” He promised quickly, eyes wide and wet. “Elros is getting really good at his music lessons, he’s practicing a lot! And I’m working on my writing lessons every day!”

Something in Maglor’s chest twisted. “Oh, honey, no -”

But his brother beat him to the punch. Striding out from behind the desk, he knelt down in front of Elrond. “Can I hug you?” he asked very quietly.

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, Maedhros wrapped him up in his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, Maedhros’ hulking frame wrapped around Elrond’s body, like a drape of russet locks, leather and rich furs. When his brother finally pulled away, he gave a heavy look to both children.

“We will never give you away because you’re not good enough. Alright? You will always be good enough. Both of you,” he told them. He reached out and covered Elrond’s tiny hand with his own, fingers curling around and intertwining. “And not because you’re caught up on your lessons, or do what we say.”

“Though those are certainly nice,” Maglor added. He flashed them a teasing grin before taking care to soften his expression once more, and laid a gentle hand on Elros’ shoulder. “You will always have our love. And nothing, not even the worst jam spill, or missed harp lesson - don’t think I didn’t notice that last week, dearest - can ever reach in and steal it. It is your’s by blood and birthright.”

“Love you,” Elros sniffled. Elrond echoed him, voice no less wobbly.

Maedhros gifted them with a small smile. “Love you both, starlights.”

“And -” Elros started, hiccuped, and continued. “And same for me too. Nothing can change that! I’ll always love you two.”

Maglor felt a pang of sickly guilt invade his chest and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maedhros stiffen.

“Me too,” Elrond said, voice suddenly clear. Maglor glanced at him and met a gaze that seemed years ahead of its time; he froze, rooted to the spot. “We’ll always love you no matter what you do.”

“Well -” Maglor started. “That’s…”

“No need to worry about us,” Maedhros recovered quickly, waving his hand. “Now then, it’s nearing bedtime, hm?”

“But wait!” Elros cried. “What were you two talking about then?”

“Yes! We saw Atya going like this,” Elrond clasped his pudgy hands together and shook them. “And his voice sounded all funny, and then he prayed to Eru about Atar paying more attention to Manwe’s t-”

“ALRIGHT!” Maglor yelped, clapping his hands. His face must’ve been steaming, his cheeks were burning, oh stars - “Bedtime!”

“But we want to know why you were saying all those funny things,” Elros complained loudly. His voice slipped into a high pitched whine, dripping with petulance. “Nelyo, Nelyo, give me attentioooon -”

“I do not sound like that!” Maglor gasped, scooping up a giggling Elrond to be carried to bed.

“I do not sound like that!”

Maglor turned around, gaping. That was not Elros’ voice.

Maedhros stared back. His eyes glinted with mirth and the most shit-eating grin curled his lips. In his arms was a starstruck Elros, who looked no less shocked than if the clouds themselves had just burst into song and danced a lively jig. And quite frankly, Maglor would be less surprised.

Maedhros dealt him one last smirk before twirling on his heel and walking out of the room to go deposit one elfling in his bed. Maglor still had the other, who poked his cheek.

“Atya? Are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor felt a smile grow across his face. His eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve before they could fatten and spill over his cheeks and probably make Elrond worry even more.

“Wonderful, dear.” He frowned for a second, considering. “Although I think there is a dreadful amount of mockery in my future.”

He looked down at Elrond. His son merely tilted his round head, offering a blank look. Maglor sighed happily. “But that’s okay.”

XXX

In time, it became clear that there was no need to worry about the looming threat of brotherly teasing paid back in full; Maedhros may have been looser with his laughter, but even this was a rare occasion still. Maglor did not mind, for any time he saw his brother’s eyes alight with anything other than fatal passion was a gift.

The true threat that lurked within Amon Ereb made itself known eventually.

Two weeks later, Maglor was scurrying to meet up with one of the smiths to discuss pending repairs but stopped short in front of a small figure in the courtyard blocking his path.

“Not now, sweetheart, Atya’s very busy,” Maglor told Elrond, harried, ready to flag down someone on the way to attend to whatever his son needed.

And then it happened. Elrond’s face crumpled just so. His eyes widened: big, round, and wet. His lip wobbled. When he opened his mouth, his voice took on a tone so absolutely, horribly pitiful that Maglor half-suspected the echo of Lúthien herself lived in his words.

“Please, Atya,” he begged, every word a death sentence. “Give me attentiooon.”

Oh Eru, Maglor despaired, even as he opened his arms for an evil little elfling to leap into, repairs forgotten. I’ve made a monster.

#this was also my first go at writing more humor #but the hurt/comfort managed to sneak in #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #my writing #writing prompts #fic #jaz-the-bard

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i-want-candy · 2 years ago

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Space Camp [Part Five: Electric Love] ! [Canvan]

In which Vanessa and Candace’s internships come to an end and they discuss their relationship...[takes place: August 30]

@vanecessary-conditions

[tw--noNE]

VANESSA: So. Things were. Weird.

Vanessa didn’t like to talk about her feelings, but in this particular case, she knew that if she didn’t talk about her feelings, she’d explode. She already felt like she was going to explode all day. She messed up some simple calculations and Jess teased her about it and then she snapped at Jess and realized she was being a dick and Jess told her, hey calm down it was okay. And then, with a knowing look in her eye, Jess told her very very vaguely about the story of how she asked her girlfriend out and how she thought it would be totally embarrassing and how it had been totally scary but worth it. And then Vanessa stuck out her tongue and said she didn’t know what Jess was talking about and that was that.

Anyway, Vanessa got home before Candace and she paced around the apartment for a little bit, so restless that she actually started to put the dishes sitting in the dishrack away (something she rarely did until the rack was so stacked it toppled over).

She was so on edge that when the door did open, Vanessa nearly jumped. She looked at Candace. Candace looked back at her.

“Do you wanna go on a walk?” Vanessa blurted out. She lowered the dish towel. “I want, uh, to talk to you about something.”

CANDACE: “Oh, uh—sure?” Candace said slowly as she closed the apartment door.

Her heart kicked up, pounding insistently against her rib cage. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she was worried Vanessa was gonna stab her and dump her body in the bay. Ha. (That was a joke, it was just easier than thinking about how something had shifted between them and Candace had no idea why.) (She did know why but she didn’t want to consider it.)

“Let me just…” she moved further into the room and slid her bag off her shoulder, letting it drop to the couch. She reached up and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She considered changing but she was already wearing a pair of jeans and sneakers, so as long as they weren’t hiking, she’d probably be fine.

“Er, okay. Ready!”

VANESSA: Vanessa thought about backing out of this. It was a bad idea. She could make something up, say that she just wanted to talk about her final intern project or about returning to Swynlake and Pride U or about splitting the cost of cleaners so they didn’t have to waste their last day picking up the apartment.

But then Candace said okay and then she was ready, and even though Vanessa wasn’t, she gave Candace a thumbs up and out they went.

At first they were quiet. Well, Vanessa made some bad small talk about her intern project and she let her voice trail off. Where they were wasn’t particularly walkable, so they ended up walking past a Walgreens and a bank once they left the apartment complex, which wasn’t exactly the vibe that Vanessa wanted to go for.

She wasn’t sure what the vibe she wanted to go for was, though. She just wanted it to not be bad. But she had a bad track record of fucking things up and Candace deserved better than that.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows on the asphalt.

“I’m kinda ready to go back to Swynlake,” said Vanessa, after a few minutes of silence. She slowed down a little, as they reached a park. “It’s nice here, but I miss… I dunno. Not bad traffic. I miss Tiana’s Place, too.”

CANDACE: It was really bright outside. The sun reflected off the cement sidewalk and basically blinded Candace as soon as she stepped outside, making her eyes water and everything. She squinted against the glare, wishing she had brought her sunglasses with her, but she’d been so caught off guard, she hadn’t thought to grab them from where she’d set them down on the counter when she walked through the door.

Focusing on the brightness was easier than thinking about whatever it was that Vanessa wanted to talk about. Something about this whole situation had Candace feeling off kilter and anxious. She had no idea what it could be. Was she mad about the CaNDyPoP101 situation? Had Candace ever said thank you for that? Or was it something about something that had happened in Swynlake? Or was it some horrible prank that everyone in the intern cohort was in on? (Obviously, it wasn’t that.)

She kicked a piece of broken concrete that looked like a rock down the sidewalk and glanced at Vanessa when she finally spoke.

Candace’s brow furrowed a bit as Vanessa talked about Swynlake. Was she just…being nostalgic? All of this was so weird.

“Really? I thought you wouldn’t want to leave like…Jess and the rest of them.” There wasn’t any jealousy or bitterness in her voice, even if she still felt that way. She just said it…matter of fact. Obviously Vanessa would want to stay. She was having a great time.

VANESSA: Vanessa shrugged.

“Yeah, I mean I’ll miss them. And I’ll miss some stuff about being an intern. But there’s also not much magic here, you know? Like, San Francisco is technically Magick-Friendly but it doesn’t really extend out to Mountain View.” Vanessa was very aware that she was just stalling. Because she still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.

“I just miss seeing it everywhere, I guess. Even if I have to deal with the Henry Charmings of the world — sorry,” she added, hastily. “I know you two are friends. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not like him.”

She walked over to a bench and plopped down on it, one arm swung over the back. After a moment of deliberation, she lowered it, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her knees, so that she was hunched over a bit. She glanced up at Candace.

“I do miss Swynlake, but I dunno how it’s gonna be when I get back. When we get back.” She swallowed. “I guess I just wanted to know if… you wanted things to go back to how they were, y’know?”

CANDACE: Vanessa was rambling. Candace realized that she did that sometimes. She had noticed it over the years. It was…cute. When it didn’t spiral into her starting to insult people just because she got worked up about something. (Which also happened.) It was weird to look at her now and know that was what was happening. Candace didn’t realize when it had happened. When she had started to notice these things, when she had started to like them.

She also had no idea why Vanessa was so nervous and acting so weird. And she realized it was making her nervous too, her stomach fluttering unsurely.

Was Vanessa trying to tell her that she was going to stay in town? Even though she said ‘when we get back’ that was till Candace’s first thought.

Her second hit her hard: she didn’t want Vanessa to stay. She wanted her to be in Swynlake.

With her.

Vanessa asked her a question and while Candace could pretend she didn’t know what she was talking about. She did. And she knew her answer too, but how did she…say it?

Sitting on the bench, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and then put her hands under her thighs, hunching forward a bit too.

“I--”

A loud semi-truck steamrolled passed them, drowning out anything that Candace was going to say.

She scowled after it. “Rude.” Then, she laughed a bit, trying to dispel some of that nervous energy. The butterflies were stronger again.

“No, uh--I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t think I could do that.” She glanced over her shoulder towards Vanessa. “Do you?”

VANESSA: “No.” Vanessa didn’t hesitate. When she put her mind to something, she never did. When she took that step forward, she kept on walking — running, leaping forward. And now that she’d said something, she could continue to say somethings.

“I think we get along well when we don’t fight,” said Vanessa. She sat up and turned to face Candace, staring directly into her eyes. It was a little bit like staring into the sun. Actually, it was like literally staring into the sun, because the way they were sitting, the sun was right behind Candace, which meant her face was all shadowed and the orange glow illuminated her hair like a halo.

She looked at Candace and she knew there was no going back now.

This could be a mission failure, but she’d already pressed the launch button.

“I think you’re really smart. And I think that I like you a little bit. And by like you, I mean like. Like-like. And by a little bit, I mean… not a little bit.” She sucked in her breath. “I don’t want to pretend that you’re just someone I kinda know and find annoying when we go back. I don’t want to be your friend either. I mean, I do. I’d take that. But I think I’d spend the entire time thinking about kissing you.”

Her heart felt like it was gonna ricochet out of her chest and also, she felt like scream-laughing in Candace’s face. But she didn’t do that. She pressed her lips close together, to stop any more words from tumbling out of her mouth, and she dug her fingernails into her thighs.

CANDACE: No, Vanessa said. In that same snotty, bratty way that she always did. Except, this time, Candace heard the current of surety there. Like crackling electricity. It sounded scary to her. In a way that made her stomach flutter again.

I think you’re really smart. Candace was pretty sure that was the only nice thing that Vanessa had ever really said to her. Even if it wasn’t, all others before were erased by it. That was what she wanted to hear from people. That she was smart.

The rest was lost in an avalanche. Everything that Vanessa said just buried her and buried her, over and over again. Until she was laughing. She didn’t even notice it at first. It just happened. She started laughing. It felt surreal. Like she was going to wake up from a dream at any moment.

She knew it wasn’t, because she could feel the sun burning her shoulders. (She was probably going to be pink when they got back to the apartment.) And Vanessa was looking at her with an expression that she never had before. Okay, well, she had been. Now, she was looking kind of pissed. Shit.

“I--” Candace said, putting her hands up to her mouth and shaking her head as she surpressed her giggles. “Sorry…sorry. I just--nervous.” She reached over her shoulder and pulled her ponytail into the front so she could fiddle with it. Her hand smoothed over her shoulder. Vanessa was looking at her so intensely, Candace was afraid to look. It’d be like staring into the sun. It would burn. Maybe she wanted to. She certainly didn’t mind burning in the California sun, on this bench, while a girl--and not just any girl, but Vanessa, told her she like-liked her.

“I spend a lot of time thinking about kissing you too,” Candace admitted, glancing up at Vanessa. “I, uhm--I think you’re infuriating but…I dunno. I think you also…get me. In a way a lot of people don’t.” She shrugged, crossing one of her feet over the other. “And I admire how bold you are. I mean--I never would’ve…had the guts to say anything.”

VANESSA: Candace started to laugh and Vanessa felt her heart plummet. She knew she did this wrong. Said something wrong, did something wrong. She wasn’t sure what, but it would be sooo typical, wouldn’t it? Vanessa fucked something up. Any time she got something good, she fucked it up.

Then Candace spoke and at first Vanessa wanted to just stand up and cut her off and tell her it was okay and they could just forget that this ever happened. But Candace wasn’t rejecting her. (Okay, sure she had called Vanessa infuriating, but at this point in her life Vanessa wore that like a badge of honor).

Around Candace, the sunlight glowed orange. Her cheeks flushed a warm pink and Vanessa could snatch it right off her face. She wanted to. She really wanted to. Her fingers squirmed. Without realizing it, she reached a hand —

And she touched the side of Candace’s face instead, brushing a thumb across the top of her cheek. Candace’s skin was soft. Vanessa’s fingers fit perfectly behind her ear.

Her breath caught.

“Sorry,” she stammered. But she didn’t move her hand. “Is this okay?”

CANDACE: Vanessa cupped her cheek and Candace flinched, just slightly. Her lips parted, a little breath sucking in through them. Her eyelashes fluttered quickly, but she didn’t pull away. Vanessa’s hands were warm. A little sweaty, but Candace didn’t mind. Her stomach was doing somersaults. She had always thought that Vanessa’s eyes were really pretty brown, but they actually had green in them? Candace had never noticed that before.

Was this really happening?

What would Pacifica say? Rose? Henry?

Reaching up, Candace grasped at Vanessa’s wrist, as if she was going to pull it away.

Candace found she didn’t really care all that much what her friends had to say. Fuck the haters. She just wanted to kiss Vanessa’s plush lips again and kiss them often. Whenever she wanted to. Nothing felt as important as that.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She leaned forward, eyes flickering closed and she kissed Vanessa. In the daylight. With no tears and no taste of alcohol on their lips. When she pulled away, she was bright pink and she moved her hand from Vanessa’s wrist to tuck some hair behind her head.

“I--uh…does this--I mean, are you…asking me out or--?”

VANESSA: Candace kissed her.

A real kiss. Not a desperate one, not a drunk one. A soft kiss. A gentle kiss. A kiss that felt like the wings of butterflies or something stupid and corny, yet still true. And Vanessa felt her heart hammer hard in her throat,

It was a quick kiss. When Candace pulled away, Vanessa could still feel the heat of her mouth. Without even really thinking, she parted her own lips, running a tongue over her bottom lip, as if she could taste Candace from that.

The sun was setting. They were in some dinky park in Mountain View, California. Their internship program was almost over. Swynlake was an ocean away. Summer would end and fall would come and maybe when they were back in Swynlake, Candace would feel differently. She’d look at Vanessa and all she’d see was a problem again.

Vanessa tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about how she would inevitably fuck this up.

Because just for a moment, everything was swathed in that golden glow of the setting sun and everything made sense.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Vanesaa. She nodded, as if to convince herself. “Yes. Yes I am — do you wanna go out with me, Candace?”

CANDACE: This was not how Candace imagined this going. Getting a girlfriend. Getting a girlfriend who was Vanessa. The thought had always felt taboo. Any time it came to her, she pushed it away. It was confusing and strange, wanting Vanessa. For so long, she had thought she hated her, but just like everything else in her life right now—things had turned upside down.

She was going to be a scientist, not an actress. And she was gonna date a girl like Vanessa. All sharp edges and chipped black nail polish, instead of girls who wore flowy dresses and curled their hair.

Maybe, Candace wasn’t who she thought she was. Maybe that was part of growing up. Figuring it out. There was some old cliche about that, wasn’t there? Candace couldn’t remember it, she was too busy getting a girlfriend.

Candace smiled wide, all teeth.

“Yeah,” she said, for once not overthinking things. She didn’t think about going back to Swynlake. What her friends would think or if it would be different. She was just thinking about Vanessa. “Yeah, I think I do.”

#swynvanessa #canvan #space camp arc #nasa arc #electric love #otp: there's nothing wrong with crazy

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sohin-ace · 4 years ago

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Doppio - Frog Princess

Fairy tale AU and lots of love for my small man.

Doppio dragged his feet across the garden, restless and desperate. He sighed and whined to himself, taking the opportunity of being all alone to voice his pain and concerns, something he was never allowed to do.

"Aww jeez... This prince life isn't made for me..."

He huffed again and tugged at his very uncomfortable, gold adorned collar that was almost suffocating him.

Doppio looked around him, sure enough, the tall trees surrounding him did a great job at hiding him from the potential workers on the castle grounds that could possibly be looking for him.

He could finally have a little moment for himself and sneak out, maybe to cry to himself a little bit.

"O-ow... That still hurts..." The boy whined and rubbed on his bruised fingers, the results of angry professors punishing him for each mistakes he made. "I'm no good, I can't do anything right..."

That's right. Prince Doppio was a clumsy and anxious boy who lacked capacity in every domain. He always tried his best and obeyed every and each order, he wasn't undisciplined, oh no, young Doppio was a good boy.

He was just bad. He hardly managed to keep the required straight stance for more than ten seconds, was better at petting the horses than at riding them, couldn't follow etiquette at all, or protocol, was extremely forgetful and sadly, mother nature did not grace him with the strongest physical traits a young man his age was expected to have.

"Tch... Trish was so popular everyone courted her and she was so easy to marry, but me... No one would want to marry a good-for-nothing like me..."

He angrily kicked some rock and held his back that cracked at the movement, in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and sobbing at the sore feeling. That last lesson of fencing went so terribly wrong, how did the others do it?

"I'm so tired... Why meee...?"

"Ribbit!"

"Huh?" Doppio was startled at the very sudden but intriguing croaky sound and approached its direction near the pond.

He couldn't see anything at first, but then a tiny little creature jumped out of its hiding place. Doppio's honey eyes widened and he quickly wiped his warm tears, crouching down towards the animal.

"A frog!" He exclaimed happily, almost like a small child, new to the world. "Hi! You're so tiny, what's your name?"

"Ribbit!"

He knew very well the animal couldn't respond to him with actual words, but just the feeling of having even a one-sided conversation soothed a bit of his loneliness down. He cupped his hands together to invite the frog in, and the animal obliged by jumping on them.

He looked down and observed the chubby little creature. It had the cutest, roundest eyes, almost sparkly in the dim forest light, its green color was so bright and homogenous, there weren't any marks or patterns that frogs usually had on their skin. Even its limbs were tiny and soft, Doppio couldn't help but pet it with one careful and shaky finger.

"O-ooh! Oh my god!" He squealed uncontrollably. "You're so squishy!"

"Ribbit ribbit!"

The quiet and high-pitched croak felt so pleasant to his ears, it meddled with the sound of the water next to him and made him feel so much at peace. He loved to hear that cute sound and how the frog's belly puffed up like a balloon with each croak.

"What are you? A boy or a girl? I'd say you're a girl because you're super pretty and have a tiny voice."

"Ribbit Ribbit! Ribbit Ribbit!"

Doppio gasped loudly. "D-did I get it right?! Oohh yes!! That's so cool! Well... Not like I would have minded if you were a boy... Or both... Wait, do frogs have genders? Oh it doesn't matter."

The young prince felt like this frog was currently the only thing keeping him sane. He had no one else to talk to, there was no one who actually cared for his own well-being and he had no friends.

The only real person to actually show him some kind of recognition and love was none other than the King Diavolo himself. But even his sweet words and affection seemed somewhat back-handed and laced with pressure and severity.

"You know, you're lucky, little thing..." Doppio started with melancholy. "You don't have to worry so much about your life... I'm bad at everything and I'm all alone... I don't know what to do..."

"Ri-rib, ribbit!"

"Even if a nice princess wanted to marry me, I would turn her down because she would deserve better... Sometimes I wish I could disappear..."

"Ribb-ribbit!"

Doppio's eyes softened on the small frog. That's how sad and pathetic he was. Talking his problems out with a frog.

"Why do I feel like you actually understand me...? Thank you for listening to me and being my only friend."

Without even thinking, he lifted the small frog and brought it towards his face, giving it the tiniest of pecks. He smiled at how weird the feeling was, the animal was cold and slightly humid, a bit sticky too which he did not mind surprisingly.

He sighed and looked up mindlessly before his eyes were suddenly striked by a blinding flash of light.

"Wh-what the hell?!"

The light flashed brighter and brighter, coming from the frog in his hands. What was going on?

Doppio could only drop the creature and shield his eyes with his arms desperately as the frog sparkled like a thousand fireflies and grew in size.

The boy squinted his eyes shut and fell back right onto his butt before he felt a strong weight pressing on him, the mass eventually pinning him down onto the ground.

"U-uughh..." He groaned and rubbed his head, a sharp headache from the harsh light hitting his sensitive eyes still slowly fading.

He looked down only for his eyes to widen like saucers. He couldn't believe what he was currently witnessing and thought that maybe he went blind from the flash and was hallucinating right now.

The weight on top of him revealed to be the figure of a girl laying unconscious. He couldn't see her face buried in his chest, but he could make out her beautiful hair, smooth skin tone and the very frilly green dress she was wearing.

And that wasn't just any dress either, the golden ornaments, the tulle, the silk, the lace, the satin... That was an expensive dress, was she...could she be... A nobleswoman? A baroness? A...

...A princess?

"A-aah..." The girl moaned quietly before pushing herself up, not without struggle and Doppio gasped.

"A-are you okay signori-..." The boy could barely finish his sentence and only mumbled open-mouthed nonsense.

He was beyond mesmerized at the beauty who had just ever-so-slowly lifted her face up to look at him. Her shining wide eyes, her innocent glossy lips, her rose dusted cheeks and her hair framing her perfect face made him believe he just stumbled into some sort of forest Goddess.

"Ah-I... U-uuhm.. Y-you...uh.. W-ah-...eh... I-I'm..." He stammered awkwardly, his brain melting like ice in summer as his face and ears burned a crimson red, his breath catching in his now dry throat.

"Ah! My stars!" The girl gasped as she hovered over the immensely flustered prince. "I am so sorry! I must be crushing you!"

The young girl fretted anxiously before trying to scramble over on her knees and straighten herself up to give the poor man some much needed space, but as soon as she did, she was hit with a wave of dizziness and lost balance again. Doppio was quick to sit up and catch her against his chest, wrapping careful arms around her.

"A-are you okay, miss? What happened to you? What's going on?" The boy asked worriedly, regaining his composure slowly.

"Ah y-yes... It's just... It's been so long since I've been glamoured..."

"You've been... Glamoured?" Doppio couldn't be more confused than this, but the girl explained further as she leaned back slightly.

Her name was Y/N L/N, daughter of the King L/N. Many years ago, she had been the victim of a curse cast by the one and only sorcerer Dio, who was overcome by fury and rage against anyone affiliated with the Joestar Empire, or those who refused to become one of his pets, casting spells after spells, and curses after curses.

"He turned me into a frog and swore to me that nobody would ever come to save me from my demise... But you..." Y/N looked up at Doppio's honey eyes and couldn't help the tears pooling at her eyes.

She was free, at last.

"I was all alone... And you came here... My savior..."

Her soft voice cracked with thick emotions and she stared into Doppio's golden eyes with soft ones, her vision blurred by warm tears. Doppio gasped lightly, moved by her story and she shyly wiped her tears.

"A-ah, forgive me! How shameful of me, to weep in front of a prince like this... I'm just.. So..."

"No, princess, don't apologize." He gently held her wrists to pull them away from her timid face. "You have the right to be overwhelmed... Nobody's here, besides... I cried too, earlier, in front of you. Nothing wrong with showing your emotions."

She sighed dreamily at his gentle words and soft touches, the now more confident boy stirring her heart. "What is your name, my prince?"

"Doppio." He gulped, stiff as a rock at her saccharine gaze and tone. "Doppio Vinegar."

"You're a good person, Doppio..." She breathed out, her words dripping with warm sincerity. Doppio's heart could only skip beats at each and every one of her actions.

The boy may be clumsy and bashful, he surely wasn't dense. He well knew he was deeply falling in love with this frog princess, but something in him told him she may not be completely disinterested in him either, despite his overall appearance and personality.

But maybe, just maybe, it was because she didn't know him enough. She didn't know this extent of his foolishness, how worthless of a man he truly was. This was the perfect opportunity for her to just push him away and run back home, only to never see him again.

But against all he could have ever expected, he was completely shaken out of his low self-esteem filled transe when he felt her leaning her delicate hands and head against his chest, closing her eyes and relishing in his warm hold still on her.

"Prince Doppio... I feel so safe when I'm in your arms... I'll forever be grateful for granting me my deepest wish..." She lifted her head just enough to look at his blushing freckled face, his mouth agape. "How could I ever reward you?"

Was she... Really serious? Nobody has ever told him they felt good around him. Nobody has ever felt safe around the small and skinny man that was Doppio. Could he be strong enough for her?

Well one thing was positive, he didn't want to let her go, and if he had to eat razor blades to protect her, he would do it without batting an eye.

She actually wanted to, or at least seemed to, stay with him. She felt grateful, for him, of all people!

He hoped she wouldn't hear his heart go feral in his chest. She would do... Anything for him? Could he be selfish? Could he ask the inimaginable? Would she say yes? He wouldn't force her but... He would love to think about himself only, just this once in his life.

He had nothing to lose.

He gently grabbed both her hands in his surprisingly big ones, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumbs over her soft skin, as if to want to imprint his love onto her.

"Ma-... Marry me, Princess Y/N!" He confessed with loud yet clear determination. "Please, be mine! I will cherish you like my most prized treasure, you will never be alone and feel unsafe again! I promise my entire life to you, please promise me yours!"

She widened her eyes at his sudden assertiveness and his strong, meaningful words. The pink boy in front of her shook her heart in so many ways, and she had already lost everything to Dio in the past. She had absolutely no reason to deny, now did she?

The girl smiled bright and slowly pulled her hands out of his grasp, only to immediately wrap her arms around her hero's neck, nuzzling her face against him lovingly.

"Yes! I accept... my sweet Doppio."

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jjba #writing #jojo no kimyou na bouken #golden wind #vento aureo #doppio vinegar x reader #doppio x reader #doppio vinegar #doppio #x reader #reader insert #jojo part 5 #part 5

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liamloveslarry · 3 years ago

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The Boy Who Cried Wolf~

okay i’ve posted some snippets below and i’ve kept the general theme the story flows in so far, however it may not make sense as i’ve purposefully left some things out but i think u can get a general vibe from it hopefully, idk let me know what you think bc it’s been ages since i’ve picked this up and i would love to finish and post it soon!

tw for one use of derogatory language, violence, body horror/gore, swearing, experimentation, surgery & fictional medicines, mild nsfw, use of guns but at the beginning - these all sounds worse than they are, but it’s a werewolf fic so there had to be some element of ~horror.

The ground beneath Harry is hard and damp.

He can feel the wetness soak through into his already sodden socks from where his shoes had come off in the brawl, and it reminds him of being young and spilling ice cubes on the floor, trying to hastily clean the water up with his foot and feeling the cold cling to his toes.

He squeezes his fists together and bends his head between his knees, breathing deep.

There’s a chill in the air and the frost nips at his nude body, causing goosebumps to flare in his skins wake so fast it stings as they burst through his flesh.

His long hair acts as a barrier against the frigid air, but every time he rocks back, the metal bars stood tall behind him hiss against his skin and cause him to whimper and growl.

He looks up and wraps his arms around his knees, shielding what little modesty he has left.

He can see two guards standing either side of the cell, each holding firearms in their sturdy arms. Their fingers on the trigger ready to shoot if Harry so much as thought about doing something he shouldn’t.

There’s another body to the right of him that looks in bad condition. He can smell it before he sees it. The person’s leg appears to be injured judging by the sluggish trail of blood that’s pumping into a puddle on the floor, and there are multiple cuts and grazes across their torso and face.

Deep enough that Harry can see muscle and bone. Deep enough that Harry can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

If he focuses enough, he can hear them breathing.

Or maybe that’s just himself.

Harry’s feet scuffle on the floor as he tries to get a closer look, but it causes one of the guard’s head to twist towards him and narrow his eyes, gripping his gun even tighter as he opens his big, fat mouth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He growls.

Harry whips his head up and looks him in the eye. He retracts his arm slowly from where he was reaching out to touch the person’s pulse point and places it on the floor.

The guards face is pinched and sweaty, as if he’d be afraid of Harry if there wasn’t a thick barrier of metal between them. He can hear the hitch in his breath when does so much as blink, confirming the theory further that he’s more afraid of Harry than Harry is of him.

“What am I doing here?” His voice his shot and gruff, a reminder of just two hours previous when he’d been snarling and shouting, trying to tear chunks of flesh from their bodies out of fear while they’d held him down and stunned him into submissive shock.

He doesn’t remember much after being shoved into the back of a truck and led to where he assumes, he is now, cooped up in a dingy cell with a half rotting body and two wankers as company.

The guard punches out a laugh, the tip of the gun clanging against the metal as his body jerks forward. It causes Harry to wince as the sharp sound penetrates his ear drums.

“For a dog I thought you’d be smarter. But it looks like you’re just another dumb bitch.”

Harry’s fingers catch against the grain of the floor as the tip of his claw protrudes and causes the concrete to shift and crumble beneath him. He can’t help the rumble in his chest while the thought to bare his teeth becomes more prominent each second the guard smirks and cocks his gun mockingly at Harry’s head.

“Calm down puppy, it’s not even a full moon yet so I dunno why you’re gettin’ all hyped up.”

Harry doesn’t feel himself move but he can see the guard’s eyes sweep across his form, right from the tips of his toes to his hairline as he clenches his gun tighter, which means he now must be standing.

He knows better than to step forward, knowing he’ll probably get shot if he dares so much as inch his pinky out.

He can feel his bones shift and his muscles twinge, and there’s a deep throbbing coming from his thigh which he only notices now. As he casts his eyes down, he can see it’s torn and open. There must be something slowing the healing as usually something like that would’ve closed up by now.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The guard cocks his eyebrow.

“No.”

Harry’s hands clasp into fists and he takes a deep breath.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

He can see the guard smirking, albeit if he narrows his eyes slightly, he can still see his pulse jumping under his skin as if trying to scramble from his body. He shifts his hip slightly to take the weight off his injured leg, causing his cock to slap against his thigh.

The guard’s eyes drift down and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smirk.

“What’s the matter? Never seen one this big before?”

The guards face turns red and he splutters, his pig face scrunching up as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon and he scrambles to point his gun through the bars and at Harry.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking dog! I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out you mutt, you utter cu- “

“That’s enough.”

They both whip their head towards the second guard as his hand inches out and places it on the other guard’s gun, pushing it down slowly.

“You!”, he says, eyes piercing into the other man and gritting his teeth, “need to shut your fucking gob and stop riling Lassie up; and you!”, he turns and sweeps his gaze over Harry’s form, boots coming to rest against the edge of the metal, “need to stop asking so many sodding questions and shut up.”

Harry blinks down at his wet socks and frowns.

“Can I at least have some clothes?”

The second guards gaze lingers on his abdomen.

“No,” he smirks, eyes trailing upwards and resting on Harry’s face, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Harry growls out “fucking pervert” and doesn’t think twice before moves his foot forward, which causes the first guard to panic and fire his gun.

The bullet doesn’t pierce his skin, but it’s made of something hard and it smacks full force him in the chest, instantly knocking him backwards and winding him.

He can see both of the guards arguing and waving their arms at each other, but his hearing has gone woofy so he can’t understand what they’re saying.

The room is starting to spin and the pain in his thigh and upper chest are getting worse, causing Harry to sway on the spot and collapse onto his knees.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of an alarm before his vision blurs and turns to black.

It was dark by the time he’d left the office, nodding and waving at the receptionist who was sat in the tiny booth on his way out. It had also been raining, which Harry realises now he probably should’ve driven in, but the morning had been so frosty and clear with dew drops settling on autumn leaves, that he couldn’t help but walk through the winding paths and bramble bushes to get to work. Even if it did take him thirty minutes.

He remembers pulling his hood up and walking down the road until he reached a narrow ginnel that acted as a bridge between the small town and his house.

It had been here he’d been attacked.

At first, he thought it was just somebody mugging him and he knew it wasn’t best placed to chomp his way out of it, it wouldn’t look too good if a local hooligan had been found with teeth marks imprinted onto his skin, so he’d done his best to ignore him, promptly shoving them off; only to realise there was two of them and one had what looked to be a gun.

Stunned, he’d tried to run but they’d pinned him down and cast a sickening blow to his stomach. It had caused Harry to go into sensory overload as he could smell the cheap cigarette smoke on their collars and their nasty breath wafting up his nostrils, causing him to heave and snarl. It was only a matter of time before his abilities kicked in and his claws and teeth had decided to make an appearance. He’d nicked of the men on his jaw and tried to bite his neck, but the other man held an electric rod against his ribs and shocked him.

She’s fair skinned and has light brown hair that’s held up in a ponytail. She doesn’t say much as she checks the stats on the monitor screen, but Harry does his best to smile whenever she looks over at him.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

She startles and nearly drops her clipboard, grasping it at the last second before it falls to the floor. She looks at him wide eyed and says nothing.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise”. He grins and wiggles his fingers slightly in the straps. “Not like I can do anything, anyway.”

She stares at him for a beat longer and lowers her head.

“Mary.” She mumbles, fiddling with the pen and twisting it in her fingers.

Harry smiles again and tries to get her to look up.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. My name’s Harry, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

She blushes and looks away, busying herself with the buttons on the monitor and biting her bottom lip.

She’s nervous, Harry can sense it. But if he wants to get out of here semi-unscathed, he needs to play nice with those who so far, haven’t been very nice to him. She seems kind enough anyway, judging by the fact that she wasn’t poking any fingers into his wounds or prodding at his teeth.

“I know you probably can’t say much, and I understand that; I really do, but.” He sighs and looks down. “Please can you tell me where I am?”

She continues to ignore him, taking out a needle and flicking the cap. She pumps it a few times and Harry watches as the liquid inside begins to bubble up.

She goes to inject the tip into his thigh but he catches her wrist just as she was about to press in, claws forming a shield around her delicate bone.

She looks up at him wide eyed, her breathing heavy and scared.

“Mary, please. Please tell me where I am. I won’t let go until you say something.” He can feel her small hand trembling but he isn’t going to give up without a fight.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around the needle and she tries to force the tip into his skin, but his hold is stronger and she lets out a gasp.

“Please stop, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry, I will, I promise. But not until after you tell me where I am.”

Her fingers seem to seize and stop, dropping the instrument onto the bed and her quiet, shaking voice splits the silence open like a knife cutting through paper.

He can smell the winter air and the frost settles in his bones, calming him instantly. He’s also very aware that he’s still in a gown and participating in a full moon event of his own.

He’s about to step over the threshold when a hand tugs him back.

Harry turns around, and he sees Mary for the kid she is. Barely an adult and shivering in the cold.

Her nose has turned red already.

He lets out a ragged sob and pounds his fist against the floor. He tries to move his leg and bend his arms to press against the solid ground so he can at least heave himself up when he notices a beaming light coming towards him. He turns his head and sees through tears, rain and the dirt prickling his eyelids, the headlights of a car that’s heading his way.

The car eventually slows down to a stop in front of him, but he can’t see much through the business of the windscreen wipers and the headlights shining in his eyes. He must look a right state right now, and he’s shocked the car even stopped for him.

If it was him, he would’ve kept on driving.

There’s a click and the engine turns off. The lights stay on, albeit they’re dimmed a touch.

The car door opens from the driver’s side and a man dressed in a parka and joggers hesitantly makes his way around the front of the car.

There’s silence for a few moments until the man opens his mouth.

Harry doesn’t know how long they drive for. He’s content to just let the sound of the quiet radio wash over him while he huddles into the blanket more, directing his toes underneath the heater. He appreciates that Louis probably has a multitude of questions he’s dying to ask, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, humming along to the radio every now and then.

They drive through the tiny town of Barnstable and the car jostles as they drive over cobbled streets and the sporadic pothole. The occasional light flickers from the shore to the right of them, but other than that the streets are as dark and as quiet as the night sky.

They tumble upwards towards a hill and Louis leads them through winding roads and sharp bends. On a particularly keen one, the car lingers to one side and Harry’s thigh moves with the turn, bashing slightly against the inside of the car door.

He winces and Louis catches it, sending a look of sympathy his way.

“Sorry, mate. Won’t be long now – another couple of minutes.” He nods down at Harry’s leg which has started to seep blood through the material. “We’ll get that patched up straight away, just try and keep some pressure on it for now.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, wrapping a part of the blanket around his fist and pressing it harder against the wound.

He grabs some shampoo from the holder that’s stuck to the wall and squirts a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together and lathering it through the strands. He does the same with the shower gel and starts to wash his body as he thinks.

What he remembers from the night feels fragmented and broken, tail ends of memories flashing before they disappear. He sighs and dips his head backwards underneath the water and washes the shampoo out.

Whatever they shot him with must’ve delayed or hindered his healing abilities as usually anything superficial or worse, only takes around an hour to heal. Granted he’s never been shot before, it should’ve only taken a little longer before it had fully closed up, instead it had gotten worse the longer the bullet had been trapped inside his leg, rooted underneath muscle and skin.

He looks down and feels as well as sees, his skin starting to knit back together. Bits of flesh fusing as one around the stitches like solder to an iron. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Louis in terms of there no longer being a wound or a scar left in its wake, but he figures he probably doesn’t need to be semi-nude around him again, so he decides not to say anything.

He scrubs the last remnants of dirt from his body and turns to switch the shower off, taking his time to grab the towel left for him on the radiator and wrapping it around his waist.

He pads over to the mirror and looks at his reflection.

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheekbones look hallow. His long hair is dripping lukewarm water down his chest and onto the floor, but he can’t find the energy in him to do something about it.

He spins towards Harry, blue eyes tired and sleepy, with a soft smile etched onto his face. He lifts his arm to ruffle the back of his hair and his arm muscle expands slightly, filling out the sleeve of his hoodie. It makes Harry swallow, a quiet click due to his dry throat echoing through the room.

“You’ll be okay in here, right?” Louis asks. “You know where the bathroom is and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the drawer, feel free to get up when you want and have another shower and stu- oh!” Louis pauses and places his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling a small box out. “There’s some paracetamol here in case you need them in the middle of the night for your leg – pretty sure there’s a spare glass in the bathroom too, just in case you didn’t wanna stick your head under the tap.” He places the box down onto the bedside table and throws a smile Harry’s way.

Harry won’t need them but he nods and smiles anyway, yawning out a thank you. He forgets momentarily that Louis is still in the room when he starts taking the hoodie off, and only remembers when a cough sounds out against the silence and he whips his head up.

Harry unclicks his seatbelt and goes to open the car door when Louis’ hand stops him. He turns back.

Tired, green eyes meet concerned, blue ones.

“Just.” Louis pauses. “Just be careful out there, okay?” Harry stays silent while Louis’ fingers tighten around his arm.

It doesn’t feel unsafe.

“When I found you, I thought you were dead. I haven’t asked you what happened because I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. And you still don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He rushes to say, then pauses to stroke his thumb lightly over Harry’s arm, hair standing to attention and swaying under soft material and fingertips. “So just, be careful. Please.”

His eyes feel like they’re boring into Harry’s soul, each pupil filled with worry and pleading as if for Harry to promise him. Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he gently places his hand on top of Louis’ and smiles kindly.

“I promise. It was just a,” how does he word this “– a bad night. And hopefully it won’t happen again.” He figures he might have to verbalize what happened one day, but today is not that day. Where would he even start? ‘Thanks for saving my life and oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf?’

One headache is enough for now.

Louis looks at him for a second longer and breathes out, squeezing his arm one last time and dropping his hand back down, resting it on his thigh.

“I’ll call you.”

Harry nods and opens the car door, turning back one last time.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Making his way through to the living room, he flicks the light on and watches as dust bunnies flit about the air, as if to say welcome home. The machine to the right of him is flashing relentlessly, signifying there are messages waiting for him. He presses the voicemail button and listens as a robotic voice, followed by a woman’s, floats through the speaker.

Beep. Three new messages.

Beep. First Message.

“Hi, love. It’s only me. Just checking to make sure you’re alright? I know you said you had a busy week so wanted to catch up before the weekend.”

Beep. End of first message.

Beep. Second message.

“Hi, Harry. Me again. Not sure if you got my first message and I know you’re probably having a minute to yourself after work, but just give me a call back when you get this.”

Beep. End of second message.

Beep. Third message.

“Harry, it’s me. It’s nearly 8 o’clock and I haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to worry, will you ring me back, please? I swear to god if something’s happe-yes! I’m ringing him again, he’s not answering, Har-”

Beep. End of third message.

No more messages.

If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the hedgehog’s tiny teeth tear through the slop, gurgling as he swallows. Small wheezes puff through his narrow nostrils when he pauses, the spikes on his back sparkling under the stars. Harry’s eyes adjust better than any humans could while his ears hone in on the sounds around him. Voles and mice race through the grass, snatching worms and bugs alike. Owls hoot in the distance while foxes rummage through bins, rubbish galore. He can even hear the moths fluttering their tiny wings as they quiver and vibrate through the dark.

The plate is nearly empty when he hears something snap. Even Bob pauses licking the ceramic to sniff the air; black, beady eyes darting right to left. He must think they’re in the clear when he starts moving again, nifty nose nudging through wet food. Harry continues to watch the garden when he hears another snap.

This time it’s louder.

Claws replace fingernails and grip the step below him, twists of PVC twirling underneath sharp talons as they’re sliced from the ledge.

Forgive him for he usually wouldn’t be this on edge, however getting oneself kidnapped and tortured has made even the scariest of monsters slightly fearful.

Though his eyesight is much like that of a hawk, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bushes and leaves sway slowly in the breeze, every now and then a hoot echoes in the distance.

He stops breathing when he feels something brush against his ankle and his claws pierce the delicate skin of his palm; but he realises when he looks down that it’s just Bob nuzzling between his sock clad feet, trying to reach a meaty grub that’s getting away. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He shifts his feet so his three-legged friend can reach his dessert. He decides it’s enough for one night and reaches down to pick the plate up. He stands and casts his eyes around the garden one more time, settling on a tree branch that rests over the fence. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he feels the chill of the air whip against his face. Blinking out of his stupor, he shakes his head and lets out a small huff, breath casting white shapes into the cold air.

“Bed,” he whispers, “just go to bed, Harry.”

It’s the middle of the night when he needs the toilet, bladder unrelenting as he shuffles sleepily out of the tent, torch in one hand as he makes his way over to a nearby tree. He’s resting his palm against the trunk when he hears a snap and a low moan coming from somewhere next to him. He tries to hurry his peeing as fast as he can, shaking himself off and guiding himself back into his shorts when something barges into him, slamming him down onto the forest floor.

His head knocks against the ground and he groans, mind going fuzzy. He can’t see for shit what’s on top of him but it’s dark and big and it’s groaning. Rumbling screams clutching at his bones. He tries to shake it off but it’s larger than Harry, at least seven foot and it drags him about like prey. He goes limp and cold, as if his mind is disconnected from his body. All he can remember is a white-hot flash of pain from where the thing had sunken its jaws into Harry’s side, teeth seizing around his rib cage and pulling, twisting, sinking. He remembers trying to scream but no sound escaped his lips. It was like he was watching from above. Watching as his body was tugged and heaved from left to right. Sharp claws scratched and hooked at his hip bones, making sure he couldn’t get away.

He could feel blood oozing out from where he’d been bitten and torn at, and the pain he felt was almost blinding. His fingers twitched at his side until they felt something smooth and hard. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, Harry had lifted what he assumed was a rock and slammed it down onto the thing’s head, once, twice, three times. Until its jaws had become loose and its teeth unclenched from around his bones. Blood spurted onto his face, lining his lips and staining his eyelashes. The thing went limp and sagged against Harry’s body, white eyes rolling back into its split skull as it shivered, seized and stopped.

He remembers pushing it off his body as best he could and trying to scramble away from it, bare feet and toes digging into the soft earth as he pushed himself backwards. He gulped when he hit the back of a tree and lay panting, hands shaking as they touched his side, feeling nothing but hollow bone and air. Looking down there was only red. Torn flesh and muscle protruding and dangling down as if no longer part of his body.

He remembers sobbing as he blinked through the tears and tried to get a good look at the figure lying dead in front of him. Holding both hands against where he’d been bitten and pulled apart like leftovers.

He remembers looking up at the sky above him, the moon big and bold as she stared back at him.

He remembers feeling like he was going to die.

A book is placed into Harry’s hands and he looks confused at the two men before Zayn just nods his head at the item, encouraging Harry to open it.

“What is this?” He asks.

“Just read it.” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

It’s black and the corners are worn. It isn’t a big book either by any means, but it’s chunky and smells of old leather. Indented in gold on the front page are what look to be like nymphs and needles, wound tight around flesh as if both are becoming one. He turns to the first page and registers the thin, waxy paper.

Harry nods, doesn’t feel as though he can speak properly before stepping onto the train. His foot barely reaches the entry when his name is called behind him. He turns his head and sees Zayn walking up to him.

“I,” he coughs, looking around him a touch awkwardly, Niall turns away and bends down, pretending to busy himself with his shoelace. “Stay safe, yeah?”

He pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into Harry’s hand. “Call us if you need us, anytime. I mean it.”

And with that he’s spinning around and walking up to Niall, clapping him on the back and nodding towards the exit. Harry tightens his fist around whatever Zayn had given him and ducks into the carriage, finding a seat near the far back and sitting down.

He rests his head against the cool glass and shuts his eyes.

Tries to keep his racing thoughts from becoming nightmares.

Page 37.

Sally.

ne.re.id. sea.nymph. mer.ma.id.

August 13th 1989. 15:07pm.

Found near the North coast of Portknockie in Scotland. Terrain is rocky and waves were at high speed. Out of plain sight to any passersby, however not so hidden she wouldn’t have been spotted by cliff dwellers. Water is salty meaning she has not swum from any freshwater rivers or lakes. Around 250cm in length, including the tail which has been jaggedly severed from fin upwards. The creature is unconscious but has a strong heartbeat. A mixture of morphine and hematide has been administered into the left arm of the creature and she remains stable.

Despite her long frame, she has a petite torso and fine hair decorating her entire upper half. Subject has dark hair and green eyes. They seem to change to lilac under fluorescent lighting while her pupils dilate. She speaks in broken sentences, mostly garbled hums and high-pitched warbles.

Subject has webbed fingers and sharp nails. Subject also does not have a belly button nor any eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers freeze around the handle of his mug and he places it down onto the table shakily, taking another steady breath inwards. Outside the bin men are talking joyously as the disposal unit crunches in the distance while the neighbours next door are having yet another argument about who’s turn it is on the computer. But nothing registers, and Harry can only focus on the words standing stark against yellow stained paper below him.

September 7th 1989. 14:24pm.

Subject ‘Sally’ has been prepped for surgery. Subomunex was dispensed into the subject’s neck gills. We have found this to be most effective when operating on water-based creatures as it releases certain toxins and nutrients to ensure the subject can breathe without the need for H20.

Research into the common cold occurred almost one year ago, and we have found certain elements that make up a nereid’s larynx fight most, if not all symptoms of a ‘sore throat’. Today we shall create a medium incision into the subject’s neck muscle and remove the larynx, most commonly known as the voice box, from the subject’s throat. Delicate strands of tissue and muscle will be removed and sent to the Section B lab where it will be tested and if successful, dispensed into edible capsules and distributed among Pharmacies across the UK.

A tiny proportion of the larynx’s genetic makeup will be extracted and re-created to ensure there is enough material for us to provide in the long term.

There’s a picture underneath the paragraph of what looks to be a theatre and Sally stretched out along a bed, four doctors are also in the photo, two standing either side of the creature and if Harry squints, he can see their smiles through their surgical masks.

“H-hello?”

There’s silence before the other person speaks.

“Uh…is this Harry?”

He doesn’t register the voice and his brows furrow in confusion, nose sniffling.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Louis?” the voice replies, “I picked you up from the middle of the road, uh. About a week ago?”

God, has it really only been a week?

All of a sudden, his eyes widen in stark realisation and he clutches the phone tighter in the palm of his hand.

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry, hi. How are you?”

There’s a little huff of laughter and Harry imagines Louis’ eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate. Are you? You sound a little…off.”

Harry leans against the living room wall and rolls his head sideways, “uh,” he glances at the book, “just a sad film, proper got to me, had a little cry as you do.”

“I should probably leave.” Harry says, and carefully dislodges Cliff’s head from his leg, placing it down gently onto the couch cushion beneath him. He doesn’t even move, just wiggles his back slightly and twitches his paw from where it’s resting in mid-air.

“If this is about you dribbling on me, I really don’t care. I’ve had worse things on me.”

Harry’s blush darkens, and he mumbles out, “it’s not about the dribble thing, I just think I should go.”

He stands up and makes his way into the hallway, vaguely aware Louis is talking to him, but the words are muffled against the heavy sound of Harry’s beating heart. He grabs one of his shoes and slips it on his foot, patting down his chest and pockets, trying to search for his keys while shielding his face so Louis doesn’t see how red his cheeks have become.

“-think you should just stay the night.”

Harry’s in the middle of slipping on his other shoe, when he braces his arm against the wall to stop him from tripping up, and turns to face Louis who’s piercing Harry with his gaze, despite the warm flush that’s expanding across his face.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should just stay the night.”

“I-,”

“I don’t mean, um,” Louis huffs a laugh, a telltale pink blooming on his cheeks, “in my room, or anything. I meant the spare room again, if you want?” He places his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back a little on his feet, “it’s just really frosty outside, and dark, so I’d feel pretty shitty if I let you drive back now.”

“Lou-“

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m being pushy, I don’t mind, really! It’s just,” he sighs, lips pursing and fingers reaching out to scratch at the chipped paint on the wall, “I’d just hate for something to happen, y’know, like last time,” he murmurs quietly, a sad sort of smile sweeps across his lips and he looks down, shrugging his shoulders.

You’d think what happened that night fucked him up a little too.

Maybe it did.

After all, he was the one who made sure Harry was alright and pulled a bullet from his leg, right over where Harry casts his eyes into the kitchen.

He groans and lifts his body to sit upright, leaning down and massaging his leg with his hand.

He drops his head forward and sighs, insides feeling like they were going to jump out of his skin any second and run off the excess energy without him. He stands up and stretches, fingers pointing upwards towards the ceiling while his back cracked along his spine.

It felt like a shift, bones and muscles repositioning under flesh, like tectonic plates moving and slotting into the different crevices of his body. But it wasn’t time, and Harry had learned to control the urge quite early on after he’d found himself naked in the local park after a midnight stint, bleary eyes opening to find ducks quacking nervously in the pond and a jogger staring at him with his mouth hanging open; probably wondering what he was doing lying there nude at four in the morning. He wasn’t too far from home that he couldn’t sprint back in time that nobody else noticed him, covering his delicate parts with his hands as he ran through the streets in the milky morning light.

His clothes had been torn to shreds and he doesn’t remember much, not a great deal of evidence either from the night before other than the dirt that had gathered underneath his fingernails and twigs in his hair. He also felt different somehow, as if his body finally relaxed into itself and took one huge breath out.

Louis slides the door fully open then and steps into the room, toes sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. He isn’t wearing anything other than his boxers and Harry’s very aware he’s in just the same.

“Can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head, fingers spreading out along the bed and clutching at the tight bottom sheet, trying hard not to think about how Louis’ shut the door behind him, not fully, but just enough to bathe the majority of the room in moonlight and heavy whispers.

“Me neither.” Louis huffs, lips morphing into a small smile and feet shuffling forward. “Feel like my body’s just pent up, y’know? Usually I’m out like a light.”

“Same.” Harry replies. “My brain won’t switch off so I’ve just been,” don’t tell him you’ve been snooping, “counting sheep.”

“And the bang?” Louis laughs.

“Oh! Uh, I just got up for some water and tripped into the bedside table.”

Harry doesn’t think about how it’s becoming easier and easier to lie.

“Do you need anything for it?” Louis asks, coming closer as if trying to inspect Harry’s foot. His toes scrunch inward under the careful scrutiny, as if they don’t want Louis to see how unblemished they really are.

There’re only a few feet between them now and Harry can feel the sleepy heat radiating from Louis’s body, can count the chest hairs that sit between his pecs and can smell the fabric conditioner of his bed sheets caught up in the hairs on his arms.

“No, I think I’m good.” He swallows, throat clicking and fingertips twitching beside him as if they’re aching to reach out and feel just how soft Louis’ skin is underneath quivering patterns of swirly flesh.

“Okay.” Louis whispers, eyelids blinking slowly, heavy with heady want, tongue inching out to lick his dry lips.

#the boy who cried wolf #mine #pls dont post this anywhere #i know its long but it would be lovely if u could tell me what u think #i know its a little different #sally is my fave but im biased #sorry not sorry for leaving it on a cliffhanger

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in-tua-deep · 5 years ago

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Prompt idea that I sincerely don't know anywhere else to put out, but what if, one mother of the seven like... delayed giving up the baby idk why, but like, in the end the child goes to the academy, but like... they know the world outside this mansion full of all sorts of abuse and violence, and so is trying to bring good sense and awareness to all of other children somehow, even though like... you don't know very much or correctly the things in general, but is trying anyway because yeah

okay okay i will bite

it's gonna be Five bc u know how I roll by now and you didn't specify a child, so this is a non-twin world uwu

I see some people naming him Fievel so we're gonna have to go with that, nicknamed Five by the other kids who thought it was absolutely hilarious to ask "which one?" whenever Reginald snaps “Five!”

Though officially, of course, Five is number seven.

So Fievel is born in a park to a mother who was never prepared to have achild, but held him in the hospital and looked into the eyes of a man offering her money for her newborn and she says - no.

Because she’s poor, yes, and she’s working two jobs to make ends meet, and this man might be able to provide for her child but - she doesn’t like the fact that he offered her money. As though he could place a price on a human life.

(His stupid mustache might have played a role as well. Bastard.)

So she keeps little Fievel, and it’s hard. It’s so hard. Babies are expensive, and she was barely making enough as it was, but her best friend works from home and offers to take him sometimes during the day instead of a more expensive daycare. Some of her other friends ask around relatives and friends and hunt through garage sales until she has a passable amount of baby items.

It would be easier if Fievel wasn’t such a precocious child. He’s curious and into everything, a loud baby that demands attention.

“C’mon Fi,” She begs her three-year-old son from where she’s draped across the sofa. Aren’t kids supposed to sleep a lot? Why did she end up with the one kid in the world who is on the go twenty four seven? “Can we please take a nap?”

“No.” Fievel says with a mulish look in his eyes and he shoves a book towards her face and almost takes her eye out with a corner of it, “Wead to me.”

And she sighs, and she’s so tired, but she hauls herself up and pats the sofa next to her and her little boy beams at her with such - such love that it almost takes her breath away. “Dogger, again? How many times have we read this?”

Fievel kicks at her with his little soft foot, and she catches it in a hand and smiles and she drops the book in her lap to bring her other hard over to dust feather light fingertips against her baby’s sides.

He’s terribly ticklish and giggles even as he shrieks “NO” loud enough that their neighbors will probably complain to her about it again. But in that moment she doesn’t care as she brings her head down to blow raspberries on her son’s stomach and make him laugh.

She loves him so much.

(But she never has any time. Her friendships are more distant now, because she’s either at work or spending time with her son. She’s always exhausted because she works such long hours and Fievel keeps her awake when she’s a home. She doesn’t blame him, he didn’t ask to be born into the world any more than she asked for him, really. But it’s hard.)

Fievel is a curious child. She takes him to children’s museums and zoos on the discount days and watches him run around with seemingly endless energy. She has to keep a careful eye on him otherwise he will disappear, get distracted and wander off no matter how many times she’s tried to tell him to never do so.

Then he turns four.

Her baby is so smart. And he’s restless. And even though the place she works has a daycare through them, the people there are one incident away from banning Fievel. She thinks that’s dumb, considering they’re the ones that didn’t watch Fievel closely enough and lost him almost four times in recent months.

So she signs him up for preschool.

She gets him a brand new outfit for the day, fussing over him until he’s all squirmy and pouty and slapping her hands away with all the grump that a four-year-old can muster.

She sends him off to daycare with ruffled hair and a wide smile and tries not to worry too much.

She’s at work when she gets a call from the school informing her that they’ve lost her son. She hurriedly lets her boss know and sweeps out of work without a backwards glance, showing up at the school just as her phone rings again and a flustered individual informs her that they’ve located him.

“I have no idea how he got out.” The frazzled teacher looks close to tears when she meets with the poor woman, giving Fievel a fierce look that promises that they will be having a talk about this.

“I din’t do anything.” Fievel pipes up mulishly, “I didn’t go nowhere, the class did.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, and faces the teacher apologetically. After a pointed comment from a friend, she’s been vaguely looking into ADHD since her kid is like this, “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“I’ll - I’ll make sure to keep a better eye on him.” The woman looks floored that she isn’t tearing strips out of the school administration for losing her toddler. Actually when it’s phrased like that she probably should be more pissed off. But she also knows her kid and what a handful her is.

So she takes him home and sits him down.

“This can’t happen again, Fi.” She tells him, and he’s got his little arms crossed and he’s pouting with his entire body. “I mean it. I had to leave work, and you know I have to work.”

“You don’t hafta.” Fievel says harshly, “What about me?”

She sits on the couch next to him, heart heavy, “Baby, you know I have to work so that we can have things and go places.”

Her son scrabbles up on his knees and puts his hand on her arms and gives her big eyes, “I don’t need lotsa toys. An’ we don’t hafta go to the zoo.”

“Oh baby,” She pulls him into her arms and lets him snuggle into her, “I gotta work. And you gotta go to school and be good. Okay? You can’t be leaving the classroom again.”

“I din’t mean to.” Fievel sniffles, and she hugs him just a little tighter as the tears start to flow.

“It’s okay.” She murmurs into his hair, “I got you.”

To his credit, Fievel does his best. He still manages to leave the classroom somehow, seemingly whenever the teacher is looking away. No one seems to know how he does it. Emma who sits next to him exclaims that he just vanished like he went BAM and wasn’t there all of a sudden!

(Oh, the imagination of four-year-olds, the teacher thinks to herself.)

But whenever he does he seems to come back within fifteen to thirty minutes. Sometimes the teacher doesn’t even notice he’s gone before he’s knocking on the (locked) classroom door to be let back in. They don’t call his mother about the incidents anymore and the teachers nickname him Houdini with a sort of despair.

Fievel is four-and-a-half when he’s taking a walk with his mother down to the park. He’s got his little rainboots on because he always wades into the pond and he likes the slosh of the water on his feet when it goes over the top, and his little duck shirt. He’s making loud quacking noises which don’t actually sound anything like a duck but when he looks at her for approval she nods with a smile.

They’re crossing the road at the crosswalk, holding hands because they always do, when the car comes careening around the corner.

She can’t react in time, eyes widening and she’s hollering and she moves to push her son and she only has eyes for him as she places her body between him and the car and -

She watches his eyes go wide and afraid and she

watches

him

disappear

and then the car clips her and she’s sent sprawling and that’s the last thing she remembers.

She wakes up in the hospital hours later with a concussion, a broken arm, several broken ribs, and a lots of scrapes. She’s lucky, they tell her. She demands to know where her son is.

Hours later, when she’s worked herself up into a right tizzy, her son sprints into the room followed shortly by some very harried looking cops and she has to haul him into the bed so that he doesn’t hurt himself getting up.

“Gentle, gentle.” She warms him, wincing when he bangs a knee into her bad ribs, “I’m a little tender at the moment, baby.”

“You got hurt!” Fievel yells at the tops of his lungs and then immediately bursts into loud and terrified tears. So she ignores her bad ribs and messed up arm and cradles him close to her making shushing noises and stroking his back until he’s cried himself out and drops off right there in the hospital bed.

She gets out of the hospital with a cast and a bill she can’t afford right now and she sits Fievel down on the couch.

She wants to write off the fact that her son literally vanished before her eyes to the concussion. But - she thinks about a locked preschool classroom and a son that has a tendency to vanish when she takes her eyes off of him and -

It makes too much sense.

“Baby.” She asks, “Can you teleport?”

“What’s tell-ee-port?” Fievel asks, scrunching up his nose.

“Do you find yourself in other places without getting up and going to them?”

“Yeah.” Fievel states it so easily, like she’s dumb. “I told you so.”

She pressed her fingers to her face, “Can you do it now?”

Fievel frowns and then scrunches up his face real hard and then -

He’s gone. And then he’s opening his bedroom door and scurrying back out. He runs over and tugs at her pants eagerly, “I did it! Did I do good?”

She crouches down and ruffles his hair even though it kills her ribs, because she can’t pick him up with a broken arm. “Yeah baby,” She praises him, mind moving at an hour a minute, “You did good.”

That night she lays in her bed and watches Fievel’s chest rise and fall as he sleeps. He sprawls out like a starfish but sometimes in the night always buries himself into her side like a tick. She’s put a pillow in between them to try and spare her poor ribs, but she has doubts it will work.

Her son can fucking teleport.

That’s when she cries. Because she loves her son, but he’s a handful. She didn’t even notice. She didn’t notice that he son has a superpower. Doesn’t that make her the worst mother in the world?

Crying is a terrible idea. Her ribs are painful enough that she can’t sleep. She needs to ration her pain medication because they really can’t afford it.

How is she supposed to handle this? How is she supposed to raise a child that can vanish without a second thought? Her bright beautiful boy who loves feeding the ducks and being pushed on the swings and playing unfathomable games with his friend Emma that she can’t even begin to understand the plot of.

(She’s almost certain one of them is supposed to be a cheetah for some reason? Or a lion? There’s a lot of running involved in the game, and hiding.)

It’s a few months later when her arm is healed and her ribs are better and Fievel is turning five when everything comes crashing down. Because she doesn’t get a call from the school. She gets a call from the police.

Apparently Fievel managed to get out of the school far enough away that he got lost. He admits tearfully to her that he’s been getting further and further away when he ‘jumps’ - and it’s not his fault. He tries not to jump. But it happens whether he wants it to or not and if he keeps getting further and further away then -

She thinks of a car and a road and putting her body between death and her son. And she thinks about the fact that when he jumps, she isn’t there.

Look. She’s not stupid. She always knew that her kid wasn’t exactly a normal child.

(Hello. He’s practically a miracle. She wasn’t exactly a virgin but that doesn’t really matter when she was very suddenly nine months pregnant where she hadn’t been before.)

So she reckons that the powers have something to do with that. And who does she know that definitely has a child who was also one of the miracle babies?

(He’d mentioned he’d already acquired like, what, four kids when he came to see her. As though that was supposed to make her want to give up her kid even more.)

So she requests some vacation days (that she can’t afford) and she pulls Fievel out of preschool for a week (it’s preschool it’s not that important) and they fly over to a city where she can hopefully get some answers.

(Fievel spends the whole flight with his face pressed to the window and his plane toy clutched tightly in one hand and his stuffed dog in the other as he enthusiastically makes whooshing noises.)

And she goes up the the big mansion thing and knocks and goes inside where she smiles at Fievel and tells him to go play with the other children while she talks to Mr. Hargreeves, thank you baby.

As she clenches her hands into fists and listens to Sir Reginald Hargreeves condescend to her about her ability as a mother, Fievel enthusiastically bounces over to the kids his age who stare at him like they’ve never seen anything like him before in their life.

(“I’m Fievel!” He introduces himself loudly, “And this is Doggy! My mama is here to speak to your dad.”

“Uh. I’m Six.” A bewildered little girl says back.

Fievel blinks, “Oh! I just turned five.”

The girl giggles, “No! No I mean my name’s Six. but I’m five-years-old as well.”

“That’s a funny name.” Fievel says.

“Nuh uh.” The girl refutes, “Your name is weird. See, ‘cause we’re all numbers ‘n you’re not.”

And he’s introduced to them all. One is tall and awkward looks. Two hides behind the others a little bit. Three has her hands on her hips and she looks at him, but softens when he tells her that he likes her hair. Four is a skinny wisp of a kid, with big wide eyes and no sense of personal space. Five sticks pretty close to Four. And Six, of course, is the one who talked to him first which obviously means that they’re temporary best friends.

Temporary, because of course Emma is his best friend. ‘Cause she’s in his class and they sit near each other and play together with each other first.)

And his mother comes out to Fievel bossing the others around and them going with it, all with bewildered little expressions on their faces. Fievel is balancing on the back of the sofa next to a little girl who is holding Doggy, possibly in the middle of an evil villain speech? The little girl is solemnly petting Doggy like she’s a Bond villain at the very least.

It makes her smile, just a little bit.

“Fievel, baby, can you come here for a second?” She asks, and her son beams at him and vanishes from his seat over to by her leg where he pulls on her leg so that she’ll sweep him up into her arms.

(The children gape at him, all wide eyes and staring between them and their father like they’re shocked. And they probably are. Reginald has informed her that none of them can teleport, but they do have a variety of weird powers between them.)

“You know that you’re getting big.” She says, and she tries not to cry, “And you’re not going to be in preschool soon enough.”

“Yeah!” He enthuses, “Gonna learn real stuff!”

And that’s just like her son. Voraciously hungry for knowledge.

“Well, this is a school for very special people.” She tells him, and watches his eyes go big and round, “People who... can teleport, for example.”

Fievel considers that. And then twists around to look at the other children, “You can teleport?” He demands loudly, like it’s a betrayal of the highest form that they’ve been friends for an hour and this hasn’t been brought up. And maybe it is. She doesn’t claim to understand the intricacies of children’s hierarchy.

“Uh uh!” A little boy exclaims, frowning. “I can just throw stuff real good.”

“I’m strong.” Another little boy offers. And then proceeds to demonstrate this by picking up half the couch and sending the little girl careening onto the floor with a shout, but she gets up and dusts herself off easily enough.

“Okay.” Fievel says brightly, appeased by this somehow as he twists back to his mother expectantly.

“Okay.” She says, her mouth dry. “Well. This is a special school for special kids. It’s, uh. It’s a boarding school.”

“What’s that?”

“It means you stay here.” She tells him. “I’ll - I’ll come and see you when I can. And you can call me whenever you want. But you have to stay here.”

“Like a sleepover?” Fievel asks, scrunching his face up in confusion.

“A little bit.” Her smile feels weak and forced and she can’t even see it. “Like a lot of sleepovers all in a row. And when you wake up, you don’t need to go anywhere because you live at the school.”

“Uh uh. I live at home.”

“Baby...” She cards her fingers through his hair. “I know it’s scary. I don’t want you to go either - ”

“Then I don’t gotta.” Fievel says, matter of fact as he starts wiggling to get down. She hefts him up in her arms.

“Baby. Fievel. Listen to me.” She says firmly, “I can’t take care of you well enough.”

He looks at her with betrayed eyes.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t control your powers.” She tells him softly, because she loves him and she doesn’t want to give him up but - “I can’t keep you safe, baby. And the teachers can’t keep you safe. But you’ll be safe here.”

“I don’t want to.” Fievel says, loudly. In the tone which says that a tantrum is approaching.

“You’ll learn how to control your powers!” She says in a forced cheery voice.

“I’m going to school with Emma.” Fievel insists in a slightly louder voice.

“You’re already getting along great with the other kids.” She insists.

“NO.” Fievel says, at maximum volume, and then he’s gone from her arms and she’s stumbling because it’s weird to go from holding something to nothing.

“He’ll show up in a bit.” She assures Sir Hargreeves, beyond tired. He’s been watching the whole interaction and she hopes he hasn’t gotten a negative impression of her son.

If he’s able to handle six other super powered children then surely he can handle hers. No matter what he asks. No matter how difficult it was to sign over the rights to her child. He promised that she can visit Fievel on weekends whenever she wants, for however long her son wants to do so.

He’s going to keep her child safe. He won’t be running out onto streets. He’ll be able to train his powers, be able to control them, and maybe one day -

(Maybe one day she’ll get her baby back. Safe and sound in her arms and able to control his powers so she doesn’t have to worry at all.)

So she leaves, and she leaves Fievel alone. And no matter how much he screams and cries and begs, no one lets him go back to his mother. He tries to run off, tries to jump away and follow after her - but a blond woman in pristine skirts comes and retrieves him.

(He tries to jump away, but she keeps coming and finding him until he’s too tired to protest when she carries him back to his new (prison) school in her arms.)

Reginald tries to lock him in his room. He jumps out. Reginald tries to put him in time out. He jumps out. Reginald says he doesn’t get any dinner. Fievel jumps downstairs and raids the cupboards in the night.

It becomes an intense battle of wills between Sir Reginald Hargreeves and little Fievel.

Locks go on the cabinets, Fievel breaks them off by bashing them with one of the bookends he manages to snag. Reginald refuses to let Fievel play with the others. Fievel runs away again and has to be brought back by the blond lady.

(“You can call me Grace if you’re so against mom.” she had told him demurely, after he yelled himself hoarse telling her that she’s not his mother that he has a mother and that she’s so much better in every way)

Then Reginald takes Doggy away, and Fievel begrudgingly has to fall in line lest he risk his stuffed companion. One of the only links to his real life he has.

(He doesn’t even get to keep his clothes. He has to wear the stiff awful uniform that the other kids wear. It’s the absolute worst. He looks stupid but no one listens to him.)

When his mother comes to visit, Fievel is sullen and still angry with her for abandoning him. He sulks and doesn’t talk to her a lot.

He grows like this. The Umbrella Academy turns six, and then others receive names after Fievel loudly points out that having numbers for names is weird and that no one should ever trust a man who names his kids numbers it’s lazy and stupid.

So One becomes Luther and Two becomes Diego and Three becomes Allison and Four becomes Klaus and Five becomes Ben and Six becomes Vanya.

And Fievel becomes Five.

They all think it’s really funny, that they all get names instead of numbers and Five gets a number instead of a name.

He’s six and Reginald sits him down and tells him in no uncertain terns that his mother essentially sold him. That Reginald controls him. And if Five isn’t a good boy then... well. Bad boys don’t get to visit their mothers.

(Reginald finds a far more... effective way of controlling Five than a stuffed animal.)

(Good boys also don’t talk to their mothers about their training. They smile and act happy and lie because they want to keep seeing her. They don’t tell her about how scary it is, how they desperately want to come home, how maybe their mother could take all the kids because they don’t even have mothers and it isn’t fair.)

So Five grows bigger, gets new uniform, clashes with Reginald as much as he dares, and settles in to life at the academy. He sprawls across Vanya’s floor and tries to remember all the story books he read with his mother.

(There’s only grown up books in the manor that they’re expected to read. And Five likes them, he loves to learn, but - he misses storytime. He misses the wonderful books about adventure and other worlds. He misses when he felt like he was going to go on an adventure because he had powers and was special!

He doesn’t wish he’s special anymore.)

Vanya asks him once why he hangs out with her, because she’s normal. Because she doesn’t have powers.

And Five looks at her and tells her that that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. He spend years surrounded by people without powers. He tells her about his best friend Emma, who definitely didn’t have powers.

“I wish I had a best friend.” Vanya tells him, face sad and drawn and Five pulls her into the fiercest hug he can.

“You’re not my best friend,” He tells her, and she looks even sadder until he finishes it up with, “You’re my sister.”

“But you have a mother.” She says, sounding confused.

Five shrugs, “Doesn’t matter. Reginald is legally my dad, and he’s legally your dad, and so we share a dad. That makes us siblings.”

“Is a sibling better than a best friend?” Vanya asks after a long moment of silence.

Five doesn’t think so. He misses Emma. He misses his preschool. He misses his life, the life before the Academy. But Vanya looks so sad and pale that he hugs her again and says “Yeah, of course. We’re family.”

The others tolerate him in varied amounts. Luther thinks he’s dumb because he’s always mean to Reginald. Five thinks Luther is dumb, and he’s definitely right. Allison constantly bugs him for information about what she terms “the outside world” and Five has told her about birthday parties at least a dozen times and she still looks wistful and asks him to tell her about them again.

(They turn eight and Five produces a paper crown for his sister because she looked so wistful when he described Emma’s birthday tiara. Allison wears it until Reginald snaps at her to get rid of it, but Five sees her tuck it in the waistband of her skirt rather than throw it away.)

When Reginald snaps at Diego for his stutter, Five snarls and snaps back, getting between the man and his new brother and yelling because he knows that’s not how you help kids! Yelling doesn’t help! His teacher said so! And his mama!

Diego is never particularly thankful for his interference, but Five doesn’t care.

Five is nine and he jumps into the mausoleum with Klaus and holds his most fragile brother and snarls, threatens to run away. To take Klaus and just go, that they’d go to Five’s mother and she would take them away from Reginald and this place and -

Klaus always buries himself into Five’s side with his hands over his ears until the morning when Five either jumps away or glares with furious eyes at Reginald even when he’s punished after.

He’s nine when he gets into a screaming match with Diego who says that Five isn’t one of them that he has his mother and if he had the chance he would abandon them in a heartbeat.

Reginald threatens to cut off his mother’s visits if he finds Five interfering with “Number Four’s training” one more time.

Five looks at Klaus, who is his brother. Who is frail and skinny and pale with dark bags underneath his eyes.

Reginald looks satisfied because Five has always backed down before when his mother is threatened. It’s his ultimate trump card.

Five is so very very tired of his mother being used against him. And he loves Klaus. And these kids, they are his siblings. (He tries not to think about the fact that next year he’ll have officially been here just as long as he was with his mother. He hates it.)

Reginald finds Five in the mausoleum with cobwebs in his hair and his brother against his side and a glare on his face and Reginald forbids his next visit with his mother.

Five keeps jumping into the mausoleum. Klaus looks at him with wonder in his eyes and Five pries up the floorboard that hides Doggy (because even after Reginald found a better way to threaten him, he remembers) and cries himself to sleep.

“You chose us.” Ben states instead of asks, very quietly, when they’re studying together.

“My mother can look after herself.” Five says stiffly, not taking his eyes off the page. “Klaus can’t.”

Ben doesn’t say anything more, but Five feels eyes on his back for a good long while after that.

When Five is ten, they debut for the first time. They go to the bank, and stop the robbers.

(“We can’t send Ben in,” Five insists, “They’ll die!”

“They’re robbers.” Luther scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re still people.” Five insists. “You definitely aren’t supposed to kill people. It’s a law.”

“Shut up, Five.” Diego says grouchily, “We just need to get this over with.”

“Dad’ll be pissed off if we let any of them escape.” Allison says, and the whole group goes quiet as they consider their father’s disappointed fury.

“I’ll go.” Ben mutters reluctantly, and Five tries to meet his eyes but the other boy slips into the vault before he can. The group stands silently as they listen to the screams and watch the blood splatter.

“This is wrong.” Five whispers.

“This is how it is.” Klaus whispers back, sounding defeated.

They don’t talk about it, after.)

Five smiles for the camera and lets Klaus lean on his shoulder and steals a thing of tissues from a reporter’s purse and uses them to wipe more of the blood from Ben’s face with a tight smile and the world goes on.

(He doesn’t know his mother watched. Doesn’t know the fury she flew into. Her son was supposed to be safe - he was supposed to be at a school. Why the fuck was he stopping a bank robbery like some kind of little child soldier?

She becomes a problem. And Reginald can be awfully practical about problems.)

Five is ten-and-a-half and he hasn’t seen his mother in a year and a half. And he’s tired and he’s rebellious so one day he sneaks out and finds a pay phone and the only reason he remembers his number is because his mother made him memorize it and quizzed him frequently.

(He’d gotten lost so often from wandering away and accidentally jumping. His rules were to approach either women with children or people who worked wherever and ask them to call her.)

Except the call can’t connect. Disconnected number.

Five frowns, and end up doing some research which involves massive lies to the library, and then he has a picture of a newspaper obituary in his hands and a hole in his heart.

Car accident, the paper says.

Five crumbles it up, and then smoothes it out again because there’s a picture of his mother next to the article and Five doesn’t have any pictures of his mother. So he hides it under the floorboards next to Doggy and cries himself to sleep and then he gets up and does his training and doesn’t talk about it.

He doesn’t tell his siblings. Not even when Luther blows up and calls him a stuck up brat who can go cry to his mommy if he think it’s so bad here. Not even when Klaus jokes about running away with a cracking voice in the mausoleum, not really jokes at all. Not even when Vanya asked him for another of his mother’s stories and he started crying in the middle of them. He’d just told her it had been a hard day of training.

(Vanya never asks him questions if he mentions training. He feels bad about lying to her and using it as an excuse but...)

He waits for Reginald to tell him. He waits, because surely someone would tell him that his mother is dead. He’s her son.

Reginald never tells him. He tells Five that he’s bad and still hasn’t earned back his visiting privileges. Five hates him so much. So so much.

Five is twelve-years-old and he is sprawled across Vanya’s bed after a particularly brutal day of training. Reginald has been trying to overtrain Five the day before he puts Klaus in the mausoleum overnight so that Five will be too tired to jump in. It doesn’t work, but it’s an exhausting enough punishment.

“I wish I didn’t have powers.” He tells Vanya.

“No you don’t.” Vanya says back fiercely, fists clenching in her blankets, “Not having powers sucks.”

Five tilts his head and looks at her, “No.” He says gently, “No one knew I had powers. And I was loved. I was so loved, Vanya.”

“Stop it.” Vanya says, face tight. “If you were so loved, why did she leave you here?”

And Five opens his mouth and nothing comes out, because it hurts.

“You don’t wish you had powers, Vanya.” Five tells her finally, and there are tears in his eyes but he’s looking at the ceiling not at her so it doesn’t matter. “You wish you had a family. A proper family. Not this - this stupid academy. I hate it. I hate it here.”

“Don’t call it stupid.” Vanya says, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you have a family and we just - we just have the academy, okay? So don’t call it stupid.”

“We deserve better. We deserve a childhood.”

“We have a childhood.” Vanya scowls, “Just because it’s not as nice as yours was or whatever - ”

“This is my childhood, Vanya.” Five snarls, propping himself up to face her, “I know you all think I’m so spoiled and - and I’m not one of you or whatever, but I came here when I was five. My memories of before - Vanya they’re fading. I couldn’t pick Emma out of a crowd if I tried. I’ve been here for years longer than I was ever there, and it’s not fair.”

“You still have a mother - ”

“No I don’t.” Five cuts her off, his voice ice. Vanya’s eyes are wide, startled by his tone. “Vanya, look around you. When was the last time I saw my mother?”

Vanya’s lip wobbles as she realized she can’t remember.

“It’s been three years.” Five tells her, eyes hard and cold and angry, “She’s gone. I made a choice, and I chose you. I chose the academy. Because despite everything, I love you guys. You’re my siblings, even if sometimes you don’t act like it.”

“Five - ” Vanya tries.

“No.” Five cuts her off, hopping off the bed and shaking his head, “I’m going to - I’m going to go to my room. You get some more practice in or something. I think Pogo picked out this piece and you know what he’s like.”

He doesn’t let her get a word in before he jumps up to his room.

Five is twelve when he stands in front of Reginald and says “I’m not using my powers anymore.”

“You have an assignment.” Reginald says severely.

“No.” Five refuses politely, and his family watches with wide eyes from the sidelines. The only family he has left. “I’ve got control now. I’ve decided I’m going to be normal now.”

Reginald locks Klaus is the mausoleum early and watches with unimpressed eyes as Five picks the lock and strolls in.

Reginald handcuffs Five to a rail. Five plucks a paperclip from his sock and picks those as well.

Reginald locks Five in a room from the outside and tells him that he’ll get dinner when he jumps out.

Five opens the window and shimmies down the drainpipe and has to be picked up at Griddy’s where he’s charmed the owner out of a free doughnut and hot chocolate with a sob story about school bullies to explain his grubby appearance (the shimmy down the drainpipe hadn’t exactly been graceful. or clean.)

He locks Five in the basement in a weird room that’s soundproofed. Five tries to hunger strike but - it’s so quiet. He can hear the sound of his own heartbeat. He can’t stand it. It’s like the room was made specifically to torture him.

(He looks at the little bed in the room. The sheets were dusty. This room has been around for a very long time. He wonders who it’s for, Allison, perhaps? She’s always been fairly obedient, maybe this is the reason why.)

He jumps out on the second day, and doesn’t talk to anybody. Reginald is smug like the cat the got the canary, and Five hates it.

Then Five is messing around, and something slots into place, and he realizes - oh, he might be able to time travel.

Once he figures it out, he’s desperate. He’ll save his siblings that way. He’ll take the to a time where Reginald can’t get them. They’ll be out of reach.

(maybe - maybe they can travel back in time. maybe he can save his mother -)

Five is thirteen-years-old when he time travels for the first time. When he runs out of the house like he’s done so very many times before, except he’s angry and frustrated and he’d tried to bait Reginald into telling him his mother’s dead again and he hadn’t and -

Five jumps. It’s snowing. He did it. He jumps again, laughing. He jumps again -

Ash.

He tries to jump, but his power fizzles out. He calls for his siblings. No one answers. He finds the academy - rubble.

So Five lives in the apocalypse. He tries to go home, he does. He buries his siblings as well as he can. He wanders around gathering food and textbooks. He picks up a mannequin and names it Dolores.

(He searches the rubble of the academy, but he can’t find Doggy or the picture of his mother. Either they were found and removed years ago, or they’re buried beneath too much rubble. Five doesn’t know.)

He takes Dolores on a road trip. He tells her it’s to see if they can find any people, any survivors.

he arrives in a graveyard and traces his mother’s name with trembling fingers. this is the first time he’s been to visit her grave. this is the first time he’s seen her in four years.

So he survives. He grows up, desperately clinging to life by his fingernails. He does complex calculations, wondering what his mother would think of him now.

He meets the Handler. He becomes an assassin.

(he’s glad his mother is dead, so that she will never see what he has become.)

And then one day, he gets home. He falls into the courtyard, and looks at the faces of his grown up siblings and -

(he’s so tired of losing people. he’s so tired of being taken away from his family.)

He hops to Griddy’s, he gets into a fight with assassins, he cuts a tracker from his arm, and he goes to Vanya’s apartment.

And he’s Five, but he’s also Fievel. And somewhere inside he’s still that same kid who loved his mother and wanted her to fix thing, who trusted her even though she didn’t have powers. His mother wasn’t ordinary, and he’s never seen Vanya as such.

So he asks her for her help.

(Later, she tells him that they hunted down his mother when they were fifteen, because they’d been absolutely convinced he’d just run away and gone back to herno matter how much Reginald insisted he was dead.

That’s when they found out about her death. Her date of death.

“I’m so sorry, Five.” Vanya says, tears in her eyes as the whole family shuffles and looks away.

And Five puts his hand on Vanya’s. “I knew, Van.”

Her head snaps up. Klaus blurts out a what in the background.

Five shrugs, “I’ve known since we were ten. It’s okay.”)

Five sends Vanya to investigate the eye.

(He asks Klaus - “Have you - ”

“No.” Klaus says instantly, shaking his head. He knows what Five is asking.

Five considers that answer, then shrugs. He’s not sure if it would be better or worse for his mother to be one of the ghosts that tormented Klaus. “After I - after, did dad get worse?”

“Yeah.” Klaus says simply, because it’s true.

Five hadn’t been there to jump into the mausoleum and try and shield his brother from invisible enemies.

“I’m sorry.” Five says quietly.

“Me too.”)

Vanya comes back and the eye hasn’t been made yet. Five swears, loudly and at length.

And maybe in another world Five snaps at Klaus and denies Vanya and goes off on his own and ignores Allison but -

In this one, Five was the only kid who not only didn’t care that Vanya was ‘ordinary’ but actively challenged her on it. Who told her in no uncertain terms that he was jealous of her.

(It’s a very different book that comes out.)

In this world, Five shielded Klaus and challenged Reginald. He jumped into the mausoleum and hugged his brother and, most importantly, he chose Klaus over his mother. And Klaus knows that. Klaus has... a lot of loyalty to Five, and even though he’d though for a long time that Five abandoned him... he knows better now and he feels - he feels guilty for doubting his brother. That guilt may or may not manifest in being a bit clingy.

In this world, Allison thought Five was fascinating because he’d been in the real world. He’d been to real school. She remembers him telling her about his mother, about trips to the zoo and the museums and the birthday parties, about sleepovers and playdates and parks.

(She has a daughter, and she takes Claire to the children’s museums and to zoos. She tries her best for her daughter and hears Five’s voice telling stories in her ears. She does her best to be a good mother, she tries so hard.)

It’s a slightly more united family that stands against the apocalypse.

But there’s always something with them, isn’t there?

“Don’t you know?” The Handler says, with her perfect lipstick smile, “I don’t have to win, I just have to take you out of the game. Your weak spot has always been the same, hasn’t it?”

“You don’t have shit.” Five says, unimpressed. “My family is fine.”

“Are you so sure about that, Fievel?”

(Five already chose his siblings over his mother the first time. The choice is... much more difficult the second time.)

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Note

Hi lovely Wolfie!

Lambden Lambden Lambden!

That’s it, that’s the prompt.

💖💖💖

Love u!

I went for Christmassy Lambden! It’s just over 1.3k

Warnings: Swearing, and mentions of sex?

______________________________

Aiden was in the middle of a routine on the dance mat when the power cut out and they were plunged into darkness. The TV crackled as it snapped off and he felt his heart sink. He’d been working on that routine all fucking day and he was sure that time had been a top score.

“Mother fucker!” He cursed and fumbled for his phone.

“What the fuck did you do?” Lambert yelled from his bedroom and the living room lit up in the bright glow of his torch on Aiden’s phone.

Aiden rolled his eyes at his housemate. He was utterly gorgeous and brilliant but at time he could be such a moron. He sighed as he flopped down onto the sofa. “I’m brilliant at many things, sweetheart, but I cannot control the weather. The snow must have cut the power. It hasn’t stopped all day.”

Lambert stalked into the room holding up his own phone as a torch. The light cast eery shadows around the flat and made Lambert look like some kind of Ghost of Christmas. “Does that mean the heating is out as well?”

Aiden nodded with a smirk. “That’s how it works.”

Lambert ruffled his hair roughly and Aiden whined. Lambert, being the little shit that is was, sat on Aiden’s feet with huff. “It’s fucking freezing outside.”

“Oh really?” Aiden drawled. “I hadn’t noticed, what with the snow.”

“Shut it, kitten.”

Aiden sighed and let his head roll back onto the sofa arm. Lambert was right, for once. The temperature would soon drop and fast. They would need to get layers on and blankets to preserve heat, and maybe light a few candles. The torches on their phones wouldn’t last very long without needing to charge them. Aiden dug his feet into Lambert’s thighs.

“Oi!”

“Get up, wolf. We need to get blankets.”

“You could’ve asked nicely,” Lambert grumbled but stood up and pulled Aiden to his feet.

Aiden gripped Lambert’s forearm and, not for the first time, delighting in the feel of Lambert’s muscles under his fingers. Aiden wasn’t weak, quite the contrary, he was just as lethal in a fight as Lambert was when he needed to me but Lambert was built like a house, whereas Aiden preferred to dance around his opponent and strike them when they least expect it. Not that he got into that many fights, but he had a quick temper and the criminal record to prove it.

Aiden pulled himself into Lambert’s space and brushed his lips against his ear. “We need to get blankets, please,” he purred and then cackled as Lambert shoved him hard in the chest and he fell back onto the sofa.

He couldn’t see in the dark but he knew Lambert was blushing. It was so easy to wind his friend up. He was pretty sure Lambert fancied him but his friend was also allergic to feelings so Aiden was doing his best to be patient. It was hard when Lambert looked like a fucking god, and Aiden was not used to waiting. Lambert was worth the effort though. He would always be worth the effort, the fucking bastard. Aiden smirked as he remembered how awkwardly Lambert had been when he’d first moved in. Lambert had kept to his room for the first week, but slowly and surely they’d become best friends.

Aiden just knew they could be the best lovers too. He just had to wait, but with the power out, maybe tonight was the time to make his move.

Together they gathered up all the blankets in the two bedroom house and rifled through the cupboards for some old candles. One had been left behind from Aiden’s last housemate and smelled like apple and cinnamon, like Christmas. Aiden had switched off his phone for now, they had Lambert’s until it ran out of battery, but he was sure he was going to die of boredom. They had no tv, no playstation, no internet. He couldn’t even read properly by candle light and it wasn’t as if they could spend the entire evening making out or fucking each other senseless… not yet at least. It was already starting to get cold even with the pile of blankets so Aiden curled up closer to his friend.

“Get off.”

“It’s cold and you’re practically a radiator. Share your warmth with me, darling.”

Lambert growled but draped his arm over Aiden’s shoulders. Aiden grinned in the darkness; point to him. Once he was sure Lambert had gotten used to the snuggling he sighed dramatically as he ran a finger down Lambert’s chest.

“Sing for me, wolf.”

“What? No!”

“Oh go on, I know you have that guitar hidden in your room. The walls aren’t that thick,” Aiden pouted at his friend in the darkness, barely refraining from commenting on what else he could hear through those thin walls. He needed to play his cards right and mistimed innuendos were not the way to go.

“Will you let me up to get it?” Lambert sighed wearily.

Aiden considered this, continuing to trace pretty pictures on Lambert’s chest seeing as he wasn’t stopping him. “No, come on, wolf. Sing me a Christmas song! It’s only two days away.”

“Which one?”

Aiden grinned and began to sing. “I really can’t stay,”

There was a pause and Aiden jabbed his friend under the ribs and repeated his line, Lambert snarled but there was a begrudging. “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

Aiden giggled. “I’ve got to go away.”

“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Lambert sang more clearly this time and Aiden basked in the warm baritone of his voice.

“This evening has been…”

“Been hoping that you’ll drop by.”

“So very nice,”

“Ok that’s enough,” Lambert grumbled.

Aiden rolled his eyes and swapped roles. “I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice,” He cooed and he took Lambert’s hand in his and then pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Aiden?” Lambert stammered.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He whispered with his lips still brushing Lambert’s wrist.

“What? Why?” Lambert cut himself off with a growl.

Aiden gazed up at his friend. His gorgeous red curls shone in the flickering candle light and he looked utterly divine. Really no one could blame Aiden for trying. He was completely smitten. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher what Lambert was trying to say. He hadn’t pulled away or shoved Aiden to the floor yet which was better than he’d been hoping for, but he was struggling. Aiden dropped Lambert’s hand reluctantly and reached up to catch one of Lambert’s curls in his fingers. “May I?”

Lambert hummed.

“Wolf?”

“Yes.”

Aiden nodded and slowly ran his fingers through Lambert’s hair. He shifted in his seat and swung his legs round so he was sitting in Lambert’s lap, straddling his waist. He gently brushed the curls away from Lambert’s face. His friend hummed and closed eyes, gradually relaxing under Aiden’s touch.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” He purred as he cupped Lambert’s cheek.

“Fuck off,” Lambert growled and buried his face in Aiden’s neck.

Aiden sighed and carried on stroking his hands through Lambert’s hair. “Please tell me I’ve not completely misread the situation, Lambert?”

Lambert groaned. “No.”

Aiden closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. He smiled softly to himself in the darkness and pressed a kiss to Lambert’s hair before singing softly. “Gosh, your lips look delicious.”

“It’s dark. You can’t see shit.”

“Humour me, darling,” He purred as he gently tugged at Lambert’s hair, pulling his head up so he could see him again.

“Hmm.”

“Can I kiss you?” Lambert nodded but stayed very still so Aiden slowly moved in and placed a kiss on Lambert’s nose. “Again?” Another nod so Aiden kissed Lambert’s cheek. “Again?”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Lambert’s hands gripped the collar of Aiden’s jumper and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Aiden laughed into the kissed but wrapped his arms around Lambert’s neck. Maybe they could spend the power cut making out after all.

________________

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#the witcher #lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #christmas prompts #winter prompts #wolfie's witcher writing #stinastar

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