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iwritewhump · 2 years

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whumptember day 6-7

title: a curse taken

prompts: “you know what you have to do”, mind control, hurting a loved one, “don’t leave me”

warnings: cursing, blood, slightly intimate whumper, poisoning, death

characters: sidekick, villain, medic, hero

1180 words

a/n: this one kinda got away from me but i like how it turned out! reblogs appreciated

Sidekick walked into the house and past the living room where Villain was watching the news. Villain mumbled a hello, which Sidekick ignored.

Here’s what you’re going to do.

Sidekick opened the fridge and grabbed out whatever lunch meat there was and a slice of cheese. He pulled a paper towel off the roll and folded it over once and made a sandwich.

Give this to Medic, make sure you only use half.

He pulled the vial, barely thicker than a pencil and less than an inch tall, out from his pocket and set it on the counter next to the bread.

Make sure they won’t notice it, hide it in some food or a drink if you can.

Bread on the towel, meat, cheese, meat; he pulled the cork out of the top of the vial and sprinkled some of the contents on the slice of meat; he pushed the cork back in the vial and hid the vial in his pocket again, meat, bread.

Villain can’t know anything’s happening. No matter what.

He walked past the living room again and Villain nodded as he passed and Sidekick ignored him again.

Villain rolled his eyes and scoffed playfully, “Bad day?”

Sidekick ignored them again, eyes clouded with tears. Villain’s eyes followed them as they walked down to Medic’s room and opened the door, but he stayed in the living room.

“Hey Sidekick! How was your day?” Medic asked, they noticed the sandwich in his hands and reached for it, “Mine? I hope so; forgot to eat lunch today.”

He handed it to them and nodded. They inspected the meat and smiled. “You’re a lifesaver. Ooh! It’s ham, I thought we were out of it. Villain must’ve bought more.”

Sidekick sniffled and nodded, then walked out. Medic said something just before he closed the door, but he didn’t catch it.

Once you’ve taken care of Medic, find Villain.

Villain was still sitting on the couch; the news had been muted and Villain had scooted over. He patted the seat next to him and sighed, “Do we need to talk?”

You have to surprise him if you want any chance of winning.

Sidekick took a deep breath and shook his head. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. He didn’t want to do this, did he?

“Sidekick?” Villain asked, “You alright?” He stood up and took a few steps toward Sidekick. His arms hung at his side, and he left his knife on the coffee table.

You know what you have to do?

Sidekick lunged at Villain, forcing him to the ground and pinning his arms to his side with his knees.

“Sidekick? Oh god, no. I told you not to go see Hero. I told you not to.” Villain said, finally noticing the cloudiness in Sidekick’s eyes. “Sidekick, you have to fight it.”

You know what you have to do.

Sidekick grunted and pulled his arm back. He hit Villain square in the nose. His hand stung, this wasn’t right. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t want to do this. Villain was good. Villain had kept him safe. Why was he doing this?

You know what you have to do.

He hit Villain again, and again, and again, he hit him until his hand was swollen and the skin on his knuckles had split, then he hit him a few times after that for good measure.

Once Villain can’t fight back anymore, you can stop. Do not kill him.

Sidekick’s eyes unclouded and he saw Villain underneath him.

“Villain?” he asked tentatively. He stood up and looked at his bloody hands, then again at Villain. “Did…did I do that?”

Villain grimaced and shook his head. “Not really,” he rasped. “I told you not to meet with Hero.”

“Oh,” Sidekick said. He shook his head and knelt down next to Villain, “I didn’t meet with her though. I didn’t. The only thing I did today was…no. I didn’t meet with her. I didn’t.”

“Let’s not get caught up in what did and didn’t happen, just go get Medic for me, will ya? They probably have their headphones on so don’t just yell.” Villain said. He pushed himself up and moved so he was leaning against the couch.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Sidekick stood up again and walked down the hallway. He pushed Medic’s door open and walked inside. They were laying down on their bed, a half-eaten sandwich on their lap.

“Medic, Villain needs your help.” he said. They didn’t respond. He stood above them and shook them by their shoulder, again they didn’t react. “Medic?”

“They won’t wake up.”

Sidekick spun around, his hands up ready to fight. Hero chuckled and rolled her eyes. “There’s no point in that, Sidekick. We both know you don’t have enough energy to fight me right now.” She walked into the room and reached into Sidekick’s pocket. His jaw clenched and he closed his eyes until she pulled away again. She held a vial in the palm of her hand, it was half full. She shook it gently and held it out in front of him.

“You gave them this, don’t you remember?” she taunted. Of course he didn’t remember, not with what she’d done to him.

“What’s your game? What do you want from me?” he asked.

She hummed and closed her eyes with a small smile on her lips. “What I want from you…is something you’d never give me. That’s why I had to take it from you.” she turned her hand and her sleeve fell down just so he could see her wrist.

The bracelet an old friend had given him was back around her wrist, sitting just above the cuff of her sleeve. He breathed out slowly and reached to his wrist, where the bracelet had resided hours before.

“You took it back?” he whispered.

She nodded and he laughed. “What’s funny?” she demanded.

He threw his head back and laughed, “You took it back!”

She grabbed his jaw and pushed him against the wall, “This isn’t funny. This was the last thing you had of her and now it’s gone! You can never have it back! Don’t you understand that?” she screamed in his face. “I took it from you! Which means I win!”

“Oh, you win alright. And I can finally leave. After thousands of years, I can finally leave!” he kept laughing, even as she pushed him harder against the wall, “that wasn’t a gift, Hero.” he spat, “That bracelet was a fucking curse, and I’m finally free of it. So thank you. And goodbye.” he muttered something under his breath and disappeared from under her hand.

Hero fell forward and hit the wall, her breath knocked out of her from the force of the fall.

“Don’t leave me!” she shouted to no one. “Don’t you fucking leave me! I won! I fucking won! You can’t leave!” her voice broke and she looked at her wrist again. Instead of pride, a wave of nothingness flowed over her. She was still alone.

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ghoulishpencil · 2 years

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“I’m sorry about my daughter. She’s not one to hold her tongue, even if she could help it. I’m Mathilda Peters, her mother.”

“Aster Marcadet.” She took the woman’s hand, shaking it firmly. Her stomach growled again, and she looked down, ashamed. “And that would be my stomach, rude as always.”

“That’s quite all right. Come through and I’ll put together a sandwich or something.” Mathilda led the way through, gesturing for Aster to sit at a too crowded table. There was barely a place to put a tea cup with the pile of papers and dirty bowls and things. “And I’m sorry for the mess. My husband is more of a ‘clean as he needs it’ sort of baker.”

“That’s all right.” She just folded into herself, feeling more than a little too big in the small home. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“Not a problem cherie.” A bread knife was waved, dismissing her. “Marcadet though? Would you be related to Mr. Marcadet the doctor?”

“He’s my father actually,” she said with a faint little smile. That got a puzzled look from the woman before she turned back to her counter.

“Your father? I thought he only had three daughters.”

Aster’s smile disappeared, and she licked her lips, heart skipping a beat. It took her a second to work the words from her throat. “Did he mention any other children?” she asked right after swallowing hard.

“No… he hasn’t. Just the three daughters.”

“Ah.” She went quiet, brow furrowed. Had she been forgotten? Surely even if she wasn’t Aster to her father, he’d still remember Cassian?

“Perhaps it’s just slipped my mind. Here you are. Hope you don’t mind. It’s mostly leftover cuts from last night’s dinner.” Mathilda handed over a fat sandwich, the bread still warm against her hands. She took a bite, groaning. Nothing had ever tasted quite so good as this very sandwich in this moment. It was like the Lady’s food was nothing but a shadow of this. How could she have forgotten just how good food could be?

“Thank you so much.” She barely remembered to keep her mouth covered, staring down at the sandwich.”

“No problem cherie. I’m just going to check on Anne right quick. Be right back, and then I’ll get you something to wash that down.” Aster nodded, listening to her disappear upstairs. Two sets of footprints came back down, and she could hear the front door shut quietly as Mathilda returned.

“How does milk or tea sound?”

“Tea,” Aster said, standing. The sandwich was all but gone. “But please. Just show me where everything is, and I’ll make us both a proper cup.”

Aster was still waiting for the kettle to boil when the front door opened and she saw Anne run past the door. “When did — “

“Mrs. Peters?” A booming voice made her freeze out of fear, reaching back to hold onto the counter. “Anne asked for me to come over.”

If Aster had felt too big in the small home, the man who entered was absolutely massive. She tried not to shrink into the door. mentally comparing him to the beast. The man was definitely bigger, but his hands were just. Hands. No claws.

#story #fic #romance #paranormal romance #fantasy romance #unplucked

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shurisneakers · 3 years

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shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you.

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water.

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him.

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off.

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash.

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place.

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went.

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time.

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there.

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank.

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely.

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out.

He had just left. Decided he was done and left.

You stared at the last option.

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation.

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong.

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway.

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in.

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing.

It took a second for his reply to return.

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space.

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?”

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed.

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead.

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic.

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head.

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry.

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back?

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did.

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store.

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago.

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily.

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping.

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself.

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.”

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief.

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused.

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised.

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute.

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be.

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy.

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

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ronalddear · 3 years

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Experiment.

hey! this is a little one-shot into some DH tent angst (really doesn't get better than that) this is my first time writing any fanfiction at all so bear in mind that this is very armature.

I've been thinking about this idea for a couple months now and it's officially my headcannon replacement for the Harry-Hermione dance scene in DH, which i'm not the biggest fan of. I've already rambled on a bit but please feel free to reblog and comment your opinions and possible improvements!

The ground was inexplicably hard where Ron stood, the canvas tent behind him violently thrashing through the harsh night wind. Perhaps his thin shoes were wearing out after years of being hand-me downs, or months of endless use while they aimlessly trudged around Britain.

Ron knew though, that he was just tired. He didn't know how his shoulders managed to sag with exhaustion while remaining tense in discomfort but that's how he's been since he woke up in that god-forsaken tent.

He checked and re-enforced the wards, something that he was insanely adamant about after returning, paranoia finally setting in. It was constant at this point, hunger had become somewhat familiar and his fingertips were always a faint purple.

Not that he was complaining, he had Harry and Hermione within arms and ears reach now and he could not possibly ask for anything more.

"Ron! Dinner!", Harry's voice rang through his ears, disrupting his thoughts.

Shit. He had done it. He wasn't aware how long he had been wallowing outside and he was sure the porridge he had taken his time making for the three of them had overcooked on the stove.

He could picture Hermione's look of disdain clearly and cursed himself, not wanting her to get more mad at him but also acknowledging how he had wasted their already near non-existent supply of food.

"Merlin, I'm sorry! I'll try and find something else to-" he began with pace and halted halfway through.

Harry stood expectantly in the tiny living room area in front of Hermione who was neatly sat on their tiny couch. Harry's hands were raised excitedly yet awkwardly in an 'L" shape gesturing towards the worn table where Hermione's books usually lived.

Except there was a small space cleared, and it was occupying a small plate which had about 4 stacks of bread, with jam doused in-between and on top, with the wand that he had given Harry stabbed in the middle, a tiny flame at its tip.

Bloody hell it was a birthday cake.

"My birthday already?" he mumbled, still in awe of the poorly presented but beautiful stack in front of him.

"Well-"

'It was yesterday, I checked the calendar this morning." Hermione cut Harry off shortly, her eyes shamefully anywhere but Ron.

"Oh" he said, wishing so desperately that she would just look at him.

"Come on then mate, make your wish, because I'm not bloody singing" Harry encouraged, his eyes shining fondly at Ron.

With a soft chuckle, he sat on the ground at the table, feeling Harry follow next to him. He blew out the 'candle' softly, not even thinking about his wish, there were simply too many.

Harry gave a low whoop and reached over Ron with a knife and fork and haphazardly cut the cake into thirds.

When Hermione's eyes finally reached his, because yes, he had not taken his eyes off her, his stomach gave a jolt and a small smile graced his lips. Her lips however were still set in the line that she had been giving him for the past couple weeks but her eyes were so gentle and loving, almost unwillingly so, as if she was trying so very hard to be mad. After Harry hurriedly plated their shares and they began eating, a small lump began forming in Ron's throat. He willed himself not to cry, it was just sodding jam soaked toast after all.

He looked up at his two best friends as they ate, observing as Harry scarfed down his portion and as Hermione ate slowly, taking sips of her weak tea in between, knowing it was far too sweet for her taste.

"Wish we could have given you a gift." she said so softly, that he had taken a few seconds to register that she said anything at all.

Her eyes were still on her plate.

"Don't need one", he murmured, hoping that he sounded earnest enough that it could translate how very thankful he was.

"Really?! You sure?", Harry said, and Ron swore for a second that it was eleven year old Harry speaking to him. It was evident that the boy was prone to sugar rushes, even if it was a tablespoon of old jam.

"I have all I need.", he said, voice steadier this time, flashing a grateful smile at him, which was returned.

"Really? Not even a special birthday snog Ron? Because if you want I'll do it again-"

"Harry I'm fine! Merlin's Beard!', Ron interrupted Harry's rushed teasing with loud laughter, Harry's roaring laugh following close behind.

"Wait what do you mean again?" Hermione chanced at Harry, her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively and mouth adorably agape.

Breaking their giggling fit, they both turned towards her , eyes widening at the exact same time. It was then Ron realized that there was soft music playing, presumably from the wireless that was on the table. Has it always been on?

'Nothing don't worry."

"Nothing!"

Harry had followed Ron with the most non-convincing 'nothing' he had ever heard. Sensing what was about to happen, he suddenly felt the strongest urge to slap Harry on the back of his head.

"No no, you said again" Hemione retaliated, her eyes wide as ever, it was the most lively Ron had seen her for months.

"It was once in fourth year!"

'Don't worry about it Hermione, it's fine."

Ron's head snapped toward Harry cursing the stupid sugar in the stupid jam that apparently made Harry, quite frankly, very stupid.

"Wait wait! what?!" Hermione was energetic now and had fully swiveled to face them both.

Realizing that he physically could not lie to Hermione straight to her face, he accepted his fate and both boys began rambling at the same time, Harry excitedly, Ron bracingly.

"Look after the Yule ball-"

"This is rather depressing actually-"

"Shut up Ron, you liked it."

"I don't recall saying I didn't-"

'Anyway, after the shit-show that was the ball, y'know, we wanted to see if-"

"Oh my god I can't believe we're actually- We said we wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Bit late now Ron, anyway, we wanted to-'

"To see if what?!" Hermione gaped at them both, she was clearly teasing now, after seeing Harry's frantic (and hand waving heavy) storytelling and Ron's hair to toe blush.

"Just experimenting-"

"Just for fun!" Harry interjected.

They turned towards each other, eyes wide and then proceeded to practically scream at Hermione.

"Just for fun!'

Just experimenting!"

Great. Now they've switched excuses.

Hermione burst into loud laughter, after much suppression. It was, by far, the most beautiful sound Ron had ever heard and he wished for it to never stop.

This unfortunately, did not halt his maroon blush or the clearly embarrassed look on his face, which made her laugh even more. The second he took a glance at Harry and their eyes met they erupted into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, Harry doubling over and Ron throwing his head back. Drunk on laughter perhaps, Harry leaned over to the wireless and increased the volume, a slow yet rhythmic song filled the small tent.

"Let's have a ball yeah? Like last time?' Harry said, eyebrows wiggling suggestively on the last part, causing Ron to start laughing again, completely red faced.

Hermione struggled to breathe giggling as she looked on at them clearly trying to ballroom dance and failing miserably. The form was so bad no one was sure who was leading at this point, Ron's shoulders much too stiff and Harry's hands much too loose around Ron's waist. They were jumping around madly in the tent laughing harder than ever. Hermione managed to tease once more through gasping breaths,

"Should I leave before you start snogging or-"

"Oh shut up you!", Harry exclaimed, accompanied by a rude hand gesture and Ron simply stared at her and grinned.

'Come join us then', Ron said, holding out his hand for her.

She pretended to think for a moment before getting up, the thin blanket around her laid forgotten on the couch. They rotated for a couple moments, Hermione taking turns in being spun by Harry and Ron, all three of them a giggling mess, their threadbare socks squeaking on the wood floors.

Ron and Harry began a much too rough slow dance once more and Hermione was lightly swaying on her own before standing behind Ron, wrapping her arms around his stomach and tiptoeing her furthest, her nose barely reaching his shoulder. Effectively sandwiched between the pair of them, Ron was thrashing widely in attempts to throw them all off balance, cheeks impossibly red. The lump that was in his throat earlier had developed into free flowing tears and sniffles and he didn't care to stop them.

It didn't bother him because he knew he saw Harry's watering eyes and wobbly smile and felt Hermione's soft sobs through her giggles.

It was definitely the sugar or perhaps the sheer sadness of it all but for a moment they were still children who didn't have any worries or wars to fight on their own. Hermione nuzzled into Ron's back, still giggling, and placed a shy but firm kiss on his jumper-clad shoulder. He reached behind him for her hand and gently pulled her to the front, now spinning both Harry and Hermione, his heart glowing with joy. He tugged her towards him and gave a soft, chaste kiss to her hairline. Now both giggling, they seized Harry and planted two very hard kisses on his cheeks from behind, startling him enough to let out a disgusted squeak and he roared with laughter as he wiped his face on his jacket.

It was insanely messy but it was perfect. So perfect that Ron didn't care that in the morning he would have to second guess if Hermione was even close to forgiving him or that Harry would brood all day about the Hallows and be distant from them both, a war on their shoulders. He was with the two people he loved the most and for that he was thankful.

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 years

Text

Wings. [Pt.6]

Daryl Dixon x Reader [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5]

A/N: The last chapter! I wasn’t sure if I was gonna be able to find a good opportunity to write an ending into but I did. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I had fun writing it <3

Daryl woke early that morning, his mind not getting much rest after his dreams kept showing him many ways to ruin the talk he was planning to have today. Mulling over what he had seen over the course of the night he just couldn't lay still and got out of bed, careful to not wake you up.

He got downstairs and dug around for something to eat, feeling strange to look in someone else's cabinets. Thinking of it, it was actually kind of rude to feed himself from your stash. He quickly came up with a new plan; shared breakfast. He continued to look around what you had laying around and took out everything he could use. Then he made his way out of your place as quiet as possible and checked his and Carol's place for anything to complete his breakfast plan. Carol never expected him home and almost threw a kitchen knife at his sneaky entrance.

"Hey Daryl, what brings you back here?" she asked while going back to her doings. "Jus' grabbin' some stuff ta make breakfast." He mumbled, grabbing the items he was looking for. "Imma head back now, later." He called to her and left.

Getting back to your place he was pleased to see you were still asleep. Daryl knows he isn't the bets cook, but he also knows that it's the idea that counts. Not that he'd be disappointed if his breakfast sucked, so he went with something simple enough. Making food was already difficult with the limited recourses, but not really knowing how to cook made it even more of a challenge. But he did find some bread in your cabinets, and took some of the meat Carol had prepared. She let him take it after admitting he was making breakfast for the two of you. He also found some eggs. Now the plan was to make some nice tasty sandwiches for the two of you and have breakfast in bed.

Upstairs you were still sound asleep thanks to the tightly drawn curtains. Not much light managed to make it into the room so that you could catch up on some much needed hours of rest. That was, of course until the reconstruction work on the wall started and woke you up. Groaning you stretched and rolled out of bed. Of course Daryl was awake already, he was always up early for hunts. You put on some comfortable clothes and went downstairs to start your day.

The smell creeping up the stairs wasn't one you'd expect. If you had to expect any kind of smell it would be cigarettes now that Daryl was staying with you, but eggs and-- You couldn't really place the rest --wasn't it at all.

It didn't smell bad at all, and the idea of Daryl making food for you was one you'd happily get used to. When you got to the hallway you could hear soft curses coming from the kitchen. Daryl was complaining something about the eggs and you decided it was time to go have a quick look before he'd throw your only usable pan out of the window. Quietly making your way over to him you observed some more. The kitchen was a mess, but you could see two plates set with bread and meat on them. Turning the corner you yawned a good morning, hoping to convince Daryl you had just gotten downstairs and hadn't been staring at him for the last few minutes.

"Ah, g'mornin'. Crap." He sighed. "Was gonna surprise ya with breakfast in bed." You smiled sweetly at his confession and awkward cooking self. "Thank's okay. I prefer breakfast at the table anyways." You reassured him. "I think the eggs are good, by the way." You pointed towards the pan and walked over to the plates Daryl had set on the other side of the counter. Helping Daryl with the last bit of breakfast felt nice. It was all still weird to you, so homey and calm. Like there wasn't a threat outside of the community walls.

With your food in hand you walked over to the coffee table with Daryl following you closely. You sat down and waited for him to be seated as well before taking your first bite. It was surprisingly good for how much you heard him curse earlier. You hummed in delight.

"S' really good, thanks, Daryl." Getting complimented by you got his heart feeling all warm and fuzzy, something he wasn't used to and didn't really know how to react to. "Thanks, you." He said between munches. It was honestly so cute so see him outside of his usual, oil covered, walker hunting ways. Daryl in a normal day-to-day house setting was good. It felt good. You wanted life to be good so you had to keep the good things close.

"So, you wanna move in with me?" You blurted out before your head could agree that it was a bad plan. Daryl half choked on his sandwich at your sudden question. You knew Carol was seeing Ezekiel so there was a high chance that she was gonna be staying at the Kingdom for longer periods soon and then you and Daryl would both be alone in your own houses.

Daryl sat there, thinking of how to continue this conversation, not really sure how to. "How 'bout we finish our food first, yeah?" On one hand, so it wouldn't get cold. On the other to give him more time to think. You nodded in agreement and quickly finished your sandwich. But not fast enough to not enjoy it every single bite. Daryl happily finished his as well, although slower than you did.

You let Daryl eat in peace and went to the kitchen to clean up a little. During breakfast you had noticed Daryl being a little tense so you were gonna let him do his thing at his own pace. You knew that was the best option.

As you had expected Daryl came into the kitchen, leaning against the wall and putting his place on the counter. “Can we talk now?” He asked, to which you nodded yes and picked up his plate to put it in the sink. You nodded your head towards the back door and walked onto your back porch to sit down against the wall of the house. Daryl joined in next to you and sat cross legged, turned towards you.

“So, we eh..” he was still digging for the words he had been rehearsing in his head the whole morning. Maybe that was also why he almost ruined the eggs. “We finished our run. An’ we lived.” It came out as a statement, but you were already aware of what was gonna come afterwards. You both agreed you had to talk about the two of you if you managed to come back from the run unharmed.

“Yeah we did. I’m glad we did.” You stared mindlessly in front of you. “If you move in with me you can have the garage.” You added matter-of-factly. Daryl’s head turned back towards you immediately at that and you laughed. “Is that a yes?” Daryl couldn’t help but laugh as well, “Imma talk to Carol first, yeah?” he said, pointing in the direction of his house.

“That other thing, though.” He added, biting at the skin on his thumb.

“The dating thing, yep.” You nodded your head again. “I eh..” you just had to say it out loud. “I love you. You know that by now, right?” You asked carefully.

Truthfully there was no way he didn’t know after that whole thing with Kelly and Judith. “Also, please don’t think I won't let you go on hunts anymore if we’re gonna get more serious. I know how important those are and I don’t want to keep you locked in here.”

Daryl turned his back against the wall and leaned towards you, putting his head on your shoulder. “Thanks for all’a that.” He head and kissed your jawline.

“I love ya too.” He returned, “Just don’t go stayin’ awake all the time ta wait for me ta get home, okay?” He now looked you in the eyes. “Ya need yer sleep ta care for everyone here.” Now it was your turn to move a little and kiss him properly, putting your legs over his and hugging him close.

“Now,” you breathed and got up from his lap. “Wanna go fix that garage?”

Daryl happily took his hand in yours and let himself be led by you, ready to start this something new with you.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd #twd x reader #twd imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #twd daryl #imagine #x reader #twd fanfiction #fanfic #sometimes I write

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noctumbra · 4 years

Text

angel face

summary ─ “it’s a date, angel face,” he said as he was walking out of the kitchen. you smiled at him and watched him walk away.

pairing ─ bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ kissing, mentions of a drunk night kissing

a/n ─ i’ve been listening to music and got inspired all of a sudden. hope you like it!

After the drunk night you had spent with Bucky, things have changed for… you didn’t know for what. You couldn’t say for good because whenever he was around, you tensed up and waited for something that hadn’t happened yet. You also couldn’t say for bad because even though there was this tension, it wasn’t the bad kind. It wasn’t awkward, either.

It was also hard to say where you guys were standing now.

That night you guys had come close. You remembered that you kissed him, but the rest was blurry. Even though nothing but just kissing happened, it was a kiss nonetheless. It wasn’t something that could be ignored, was it? For as you could remember, the kiss wasn’t a chaste one. The kiss you shared was the heated and sexy kind.

“Ugh,” you grunted to yourself and buried your face into the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing to your beautiful face?” You heard a fake gasp from a very familiar voice, and you lifted your head. “Don’t bash it up, it’s too pretty.” Bucky sent you a playful wink while supporting a soft smile on his lips. You rolled your eyes and rested your chin on your hands.

Watching him preparing himself a sandwich, you could feel the weird tension, a pull, on the air. You frowned slightly, eyes too focused on Bucky’s quick movements with knife and some vegetable. The kiss could be nothing… right? You could kiss a friend and say that it was nothing─ I did it on a dare! Well, Bucky was your friend, too, so the kiss you shared could be nothing.

Did you want it to be nothing?

“Ugh,” you grunted again. Bucky threw you a look over his shoulder, he was done with the vegetable, and now cutting some cheese.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He asked, finishing up the cheese. You watched him put the things he was done with in the fridge again, totally ignoring his ask. You weren’t okay, but not that you were going to tell him that. You couldn’t bother with the details he was going to ask. He squeezed some sauce in his sandwich and put the second piece of bread on top. Then, he cut it in half and pulled two plates. “Are you gonna answer me some time this year?” He frowned in concern as he placed the second plate in front of you.

“You made me a sandwich?” You asked instead. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You looked hungry. Besides I ate like literally thirty minutes ago, this is dessert,” he said and bit down on his sandwich. You grimaced.

“Your ability to eat is disgusting me, Buchanan,” you murmured. Bucky swallowed his bite and grinned toothily. He looked so silly, you couldn’t help but let out a snort. Bucky chuckled silently and took another bite.

“Seriously, though,” he grumbled with his mouth full. “You okay?” You nodded absently, biting down on your own sandwich. “You don’t look okay.” You sighed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just… lost in thoughts, I guess.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything. You finished your sandwiches in silence. There were no more questions, no more concerned looks.

The tension was still present, though.

“Okay, spill,” Bucky blurted after he put the dishes in the machine. His arms crossed on his chest, he stood straight in front of you. “There’s something bothering you for days now, and I feel like it’s about me.” You frowned.

“No! Why do you think that?” You asked, shocked. Bucky sent you a look that was practically calling you out.

“Really?” He said, eyes now dark. “You tense up everytime I step into the room, you try not to stay alone with me, you always make excuses whenever I want to hang out with you. Spill. You have a problem with me, you come clean about it.” You swallowed harshly. You should have guessed, actually, he was a spy after all, and spies were observant. Bucky paid attention to the details all the time, and this one shouldn’t have surprised you.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” you said, hands up in the air. “I was thinking about the night. You know, I was drunk and we… sort of… kissed…” You could see Bucky frowning in confusion with the corner of your eye. “I keep thinking about it because we didn’t talk about it, and…” You exhaled in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“Is there something to talk about?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowed and confusion still present on his face. You played with your fingers.

“I don’t know,” you murmured. “I mean, we are friends and we kissed? I feel like we should talk about it, but…” You trailed off. Bucky tilted his head to his side. He loosened his arms, reaching out to you over the counter.

“Is there a personal reason why you want to talk about the kiss?” He asked, this time. You felt your cheeks burn slightly, not knowing how to answer, you shrugged. “Y/N,” Bucky called out softly. You hummed, but didn’t look at him. He grabbed your chin with gentle fingers. His eyes were so blue and sincere and warm, you suddenly wanted to cry. “Would you like to do it again?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The kissing. Would you like to do it again? You were drunk and maybe you want to remember it better,” he answered. His blue eyes were boring into yours in the most intimate ways, you shuddered. “Say yes,” he whispered, his eyes were now fixated on your lips. “Please, sweetheart, say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathed and his lips molded onto yours in a blink.

You remembered the outline of his kiss from that night, but you couldn’t remember how good he could kiss, how soft his lips and how safe and warm you felt when you were kissing him. Traitor, you said to your brain. Didn’t let me remember the most amazing details.

Bucky grabbed your face with both hands, cradling your face in his palms softly. You melted in his touch and panted softly when you felt his wet and warm tongue kindly nudging your lips. You parted them slightly. Bucky moaned, his tongue licking your lips hungrily. You held onto his wrists, pushing your lips against his even more. Bucky hummed, one of his hands slipping into your hair. You gasped. Taking the opportunity, Bucky licked into your mouth.

“Bucky,” you moaned his name.

“I’ve dying to kiss you again,” Bucky whispered, his eyes closed.

“We’re in the kitchen still,” you said, eyes closed and your forehead was against his. Bucky answered you with a hum only. You pulled back a little. Bucky placed one last kiss on your lips. Pulling back, he smiled.

“How about my room tonight?” He asked. “After the movie. I promise I’ll make it worth your time.” You exhaled slowly, processing what Bucky just said.

“Okay,” you found yourself agreeing. You blinked. “Yes, okay. Your room after the movie tonight.” Bucky grinned. His hand fell from your face and slipped out of your hair, and you felt a little cold now that his warmth was gone. You were going to get them back tonight, though, you thought to yourself.

“It’s a date, angel face,” he said as he was walking out of the kitchen. You smiled at him and watched him walk away.

A date.

You had a sex date with Bucky Barnes.

The night couldn’t come faster.

───

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fics #angel face

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scabopolis · 3 years

Note

Ummm because my brain could never come up with something as genius as yours, I will ask—nay, BEG—for more LoVe Vampire AU from Day 1 AU week.

Title: do not engage (part two of this little ficlet) Rating: PG-13 (some swears…because girl is still stressed) Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars, Additional Tags: Secret identity, vaguely vampire hunter related things, filed under: relationship obstacles, sharing of bagels, vampire Logan is probably far too schmoopy, tried to write angst but whooops I think it's fluff? Word Count: 1,800

For you, dear, @ayy-ohh? Anything. This one really got me stuck because...like...world building? What is that? And would vampires eat bagels? And why DOES Logan have a cell in his basement? So many questions. Anyway! Here it is! *** That she can’t remember ever seeing Logan Echolls in the daylight should have been Veronica’s first clue.

It’s just, given the nocturnal demands of her profession and thus her morning grumpiness, it was easy to miss. Easy to be grateful for. Easy to be relieved that Logan wasn’t like her college boyfriend—the kind of guy who insisted they wake up at 6:00 AM to go running and felt a day spent inside with the shades drawn was a day wasted.

There were, of course, other clues she missed.

Weirdly cryptic statements and obfuscations. (Given she was also prone to said crypticism, she didn’t press for fear he’d do the same.) His reticence towards beach days. (It seemed logical! Who doesn’t hate dodging tourists?) The weird way he’d linger at doorways of unfamiliar houses. (Again, given her own antipathy to socializing, his hesitation was something she understood.)

In retrospect, given that not pressing Logan on his vague answers landed her here—in a weird cell gnawing at the ropes her ex-boyfriend tied tightly around her wrists—she supposes she should have tried harder. She hears Logan’s footsteps on the stairs into the basement but doesn’t stop her attempt to undo the knots.

“I hope you have a good dental plan,” Logan says. She rolls her eyes and continues to work at the strands with her teeth. “Is there even a vampire hunter’s union? Might be something worth looking into. Though, given the general mistrust the position requires, electing a president might prove tricky.”

“God, staking you would have at least gotten you to shut up.”

“But then there’s the crushing guilt.”

“I would have managed.”

Do not engage. In the 36-ish hours she’s been in this cell, that’s been her motto. The secret to coping with the fact that your boyfriend is a vampire and that you and your dad are vampire hunters is to remain detached and cold.

Except it hasn’t been easy. Because her wrists hurt, she smells bad, and oh yeah, apparently she’s not as out of love with the bloodthirsty monster wearing the hell out of a henley and holding a bag of takeout as she thought.

“I got bagels,” he says.

As soon as he says it, the scent of cinnamon raisin wafts from the bag. He doesn’t wait for her to stand; simply slips the paper bag containing her bagel through the bars and slides it to her. Much like he’s done for their previous shared meals, he sits on the ground a safe distance from her and settles into eating his own.

She tears the paper bag and sees that not only has Logan brought her a bagel, he’s also brought her some sort of sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie. God. What an asshole.

What is his endgame here? If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it by now. It’s only a matter of time until her dad begins to question whatever story Logan texted him from her phone. Her dad will show up and he will have questions. What will Logan say then?

“What will I say to who?” Logan asks.

Shit. Detachment is also easier when inside thoughts remain inside thoughts. “No one.”

“If you’re talking about your dad, he’s out of town for the rest of the week.”

She concentrates on the pattern of the cinnamon swirl laced throughout her breakfast. “What do you mean?”

“According to the text he sent you last night, he had to go to Vegas. Vampire gambling ring of some sort?”

“You’re lying.”

“Takes a liar to know a liar.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and takes a large bite of her bagel, surveying the interior of her holding cell. And yes, fine, she technically has a policy of not engaging with the pointy fanged one, but she has questions.

“What is the point of having a cell in your basement? Is it for weird sex stuff? Or weird vampire stuff?”

“Who says those two things are mutually exclusive?”

She rolls her eyes. “Spare me, please. I’m eating.”

“I’ll tell you but you won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“My friend, Mac?” He extends his legs out in front of him. “Once a month, this is her guest suite.”

Veronica frowns. “For weird sex stuff?”

He raises an eyebrow in amusement which, fair, she should probably stop using the phrase weird sex stuff.

Wait. Is he saying—?

“Logan,” she says carefully, “is Mac a werewolf?” He nods, and Veronica’s bagel drops to the floor. “Could you be more of a vampiric cliche? Honestly! Does a zombie do your taxes? Does a ghoul trim your hedges?”

“I trim my own hedges, thank you very much.”

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or it might be the remaining vestiges of adrenaline leaving her body, but Veronica laughs. Just a little bit. At best it’s a chuckle. Still, it’s enough to make Logan smile in that way he sometimes does—like he can’t believe his luck that he even gets to be in the same room as Veronica. It makes something feel heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. Do not engage.

“You really didn’t know?” she asks.

Logan’s answer with a slow nod. “I didn’t know.”

“Then how—?”

“It wasn’t an ambush, Veronica.” He pinches off a small piece of his bagel. (Sourdough, she guesses. Probably with jalapeno cream cheese because the man added jalapenos to everything.) She watches as Logan rolls the bread between his fingers. “The date was real but one of Dick’s friends recognized you somehow.”

“You were the one who threw me into a tree.”

“Yeah, and as far as they know, you’re dead. As far as they know, I was so enraged a vampire hunter tricked me that I took you home to finish you off.”

“Which means if you let me go—”

“They’ll know I lied.” He shrugs. “Either they kill me or your dad does. This way you’re safe.”

“Logan—”

“Sorry,” he says. “You called dibs on the killing?”

“Poor little vamp with a death wish.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so fond. What is wrong with her?

The corner of his mouth twitches with a fleeting smile. There’s a ticking clock on their time together and now they both know it.

“I’ve never seen a vampire eat as much food as you,” she says.

He sets his bagel aside. “Dine with a lot of vampires?”

“Enough to know you eating that bagel is like me eating a bag of sour gummies.”

“Meaning?”

“You might like the taste of a lightly toasted sesame bagel, but an hour later you need to puncture the carotid artery of a single mother to really satisfy yourself.”

“You know sesame seeds get caught in my teeth. And single mothers come with too much guilt.”

“Hedge fund managers?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Veronica has questions, of course she does. More questions than she can properly express—wonders how old he is, who turned him, who gets him blood and how, why he’s friends with Dick Casablancas, if Logan is safe with Dick as a friend—but she doesn’t ask any of those. Because he asks the most important question first.

“What are we going to do, Veronica?”

She stands up, brushes cinnamon raisin crumbs off of her pants. (She catches a whiff of her unshowered self and cringes. So much for their farewell existing as a perfectly preserved memory in the mind of her undead ex-boyfriend.) “There’s no we, Logan. There can’t be.”

He can’t let her go, he can’t keep her locked up, and she can’t stay.

Logan pushes himself up off the ground and comes to meet her at the bars to the cell. “Yeah.”

“First, you’re going to let me out of here.” She wraps her hands around the bars. Logan does just like she’d hoped and does the same, his pinkies barely grazing her knuckles. “And then I never want to see you ever again.”

“That’s what you want?”

God. What a fucking idiot. Of course that isn’t what she wants. What she wants is to go back two days. To return to that night when Logan made pancakes for dinner, and they got drunk on rum and cokes, and then he kissed down her spine as they lay in bed.

She nods anyway. Presses her head against the bars.

“Fine.” Veronica squeezes her eyes shut. “If you ever need anything?” She nods again and she feels the gentle touch of Logan’s lips to her forehead. How is he always so warm? It never made sense.

“I won’t.”

And then, much to her surprise, he walks away. Without letting her out.

She opens her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” he says, a portrait of portrait insouciance once more. “You didn’t expect me to let you go now did you? What if this show of emotion is a long con? I could wake up to find you standing over my body poised to pull back my black out shades.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Nighty night, Veronica.”

Logan doesn’t return to the basement and eventually she falls into a fitful sleep, waking up sometime before the sun rises. She definitely needs to pee and she’s so sick of the ‘toilet’ in her cell. Logan should still be awake. Maybe if she yells really—

Finishing that thought proves to be unnecessary because as soon as Veronica’s eyes adjust to the dim light, she notices the door to her cell is ajar. She’s barely thinking as she jumps from the bed and races up the stairs.

“Logan!” she calls out.

Her first stop is the kitchen, where she maneuvers a knife in between the strands of the ropes around her wrists and works to free herself. Her cell phone is waiting for her on the wireless charger Logan keeps in the kitchen. No messages from her dad, but she sends one to check in. She rubs at the tender skin on her wrists as she searches each room of Logan’s house.

As far as she can tell, there isn’t much missing. Some of his toiletries are gone (her toothbrush is still beside the sink) and she thinks maybe some of his clothes too. His motorcycle is still in the garage but the BMW is gone.

So. That’s it? He’s just gone? What about his house? There’s a housing crisis in southern California and this asshole thinks it’s acceptable to simply abandon a perfectly good home? He didn’t even leave a note.

It’s really the irresponsibility that—

Her call rings through to his voicemail. Rolls her eyes at the Dylan Thomas quote that greets her. That’s new.

“If you think I’m watering your plants for you while you’re gone, you are completely delusional.”

He responds while she’s in the shower. (What? She’s really supposed to put up with shitty water pressure at her place when he has a rain shower and heated bathroom tiles?)

Miss me already?

She responds with a garlic emoji.

#vm fanfic #lv fanfic #logan x veronica #veronica mars #logan echolls #still all the way out of my comfort zone!#but here we are! doing the damn thing anyway #never stories #otp: the one person #c: veronica mars #c: logan echolls #p: logan x veronica

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sugarsugarmoon · 4 years

Text

At Night, By the Fire

Summary: Camping with your boyfriend Kim Namjoon turns into a very interesting night. knj x reader

Rating: M

Genre: smut, pwp

Warnings: casual marijuana use, vaginal fingering, slight degradation/dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, dom!Namjoon vibes, sub!reader vibes

a/n: Been meaning to write this for a while. I hope you enjoy it.

Spending the night camping near the Great Salt Lake wasn’t how you planned on spending my last night with my boyfriend, who you only get to see once a month at best. But honestly, you’ve spent the night sleeping in a Pathfinder near a water treatment plant on Lake Superior just to spend a little time with him, so this actually seemed pretty luxurious. You have a tent, a cooler, firewood, food, and actual campsite.

It’s hot, and you feel the sweat starting to dot the skin on your back and brow. The two of you had gotten out of the car to do a small hike that ended with a scenic overlook on the lake. The sun beats down on your hair and face, and you feel yourself regretting the walk almost instantly. Midsummer is not the time to go for a hike in the midday sun with no trees around. You follow another trail that leads to a tall rock and a look over the west side of the lake. It’s certainly a less exciting view, but it is still beautiful.

The expanse of the salt lake makes your jaw drop. It’s such a huge body of water. At times while you’re looking at it, you forget that it’s just a big lake. You can’t see the other side of it, just the mountains peaking up like a watercolor image on the other side. Looking out at the water, Namjoon slips his hand around your waist and pulls you close to him. His lips meet the soft, slightly sticky skin on your neck.

You make your way back to the campsite, complaining a little bit about how close to the dumpster you are. You wonder what it would be like to swim in the lake before the sun goes down, but, as you glance at the beach, you see that it’s crowded. You don’t want to deal with other people if you don’t have to, and you are so happy to just be in this place with Namjoon.

You set up the tent more quickly than you had in the past, finally getting used to the set up. You had your tent in your car from a camping trip that you’d taken before you’d driven to the Utah capitol to meet up with the man who you loved. There were limited times and places that you could see one another, and you were happy to meet him somewhere that you could explore together.

When you walk away from the tent, you see Namjoon sitting on the tailgate of the car, drinking his soda, smiling a goofy smile at you.

“What?” you ask, thinking he’s laughing at the way you set up the tent.

“I just love you so much,” he responds, standing and crossing over to you.

He plants his lips on your forehead, and his smile seems to spread to you. You lean up and press your lips to his.

“How do you feel about dinner?” he asks, gesturing toward the small stockpile of sandwich supplies.

You smile and gallop a little over to the car. He’d been making fun of you since you’d told him that you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the world.

“Oh? You looking to get in on my world famous skills?”

You grab the peanut butter, jelly, and bread and make your way toward the picnic table. You open each of the containers, then you look around feeling a little embarrassed.

“I...I don’t have a knife…” you mumble to him just loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the campsite.

He laughs and pulls from his pocket a camping spoon that you must have left sitting in the back of the car with the rest of the camping supplies. You hang your head sarcastically, closing the space between the two of you, grabbing the spoon, kissing his lips, and making your way back to the picnic table.

“Just make a bunch,” he says. “We’ll keep them and eat them whenever we want.”

You happily make the sandwiches while you put on a pithy, indie pop song on your phone. You dance a little as you make them, creating a pile of sandwiches on the table. Your fingers are a little sticky with the residue of peanut butter, and you cheerfully lick them clean. Namjoon sneaks up behind you, and he whispers in your ear.

“You’re so cute shaking your hips like that.”

You giggle and push your ass back against him, wiggling your hips to the beat.

“Oh, are you going to be a naughty little slut?” he asks as you keep gyrating.

You can’t help the giggle from turning into a full-blown laugh. You grab one of the PBJs from the table and hand it to him over your shoulder. You grab one for yourself and happily munch on it as you grind against your boyfriend.

The two of you goof off and laugh and play for the rest of the evening until the sun starts to fade over the west side of the lake. The pastel oranges and pinks paint the sky as you start to build up the base of the fire in the firepit. Namjoon tells you that he wants to help, but he kind of has no idea how to start a campfire, so you take the lead. It’s windy, so the flame doesn’t immediately catch. Eventually, you get the small spark built up into a blaze.

The sun disappears completely toward the ocean, and the temperature immediately drops. You wrap your sweater around your shoulders, even though you are wearing a skirt. Being around Namjoon makes you want to be able to drop your panties at any moment. The skirt made that extremely easy.

You talk, smoke some weed, and sit close to each other as the fire continues to crackle next to you. The insects and the fire combine to make a soundtrack to your perfect night with Namjoon.

You make a cheeky comment to Namjoon about not wearing underwear, and he slips his fingers up under the hem of your skirt. The fingertips skate over your folds, and you shiver slightly. You are always wet around Joon, but you feel yourself growing even wetter.

“Lie down,” he commands in your ear.

You whimper slightly from the back of your throat, and you press your chest against the cold metal of the bench of the picnic table. Namjoon slides his fingers over your folds from behind, and you shudder. You press back against him, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. He presses you down harder into the bench, the pressure hurting slightly.

His fingers slide into your entrance, the wetness making them slide with ease. He curls his fingers, and you feel yourself immediately cumming around them. The pressure within you releases in small moans spilling over your lips. You try to push his fingers further into you, but his other hand holds you still.

As you come down from your orgasm, his hand still presses you into the bench, and his fingers still work inside of you. You feel the pleasure building up inside of you again, nearly overflowing immediately.

“Cum for me,” he goads from behind you in a sultry voice.

The pleasure overcomes you completely, and the moans that escape your mouth are louder this time. He keeps going, and you’re not sure that he ever intends to stop working your sensitive spots, waiting to overwhelm you until you can’t possibly cum anymore.

You weren’t nearly there yet though.

HIs fingers continue to work inside of you, and he slips one finger over your clit. It sends you over the edge again. Your moans start to transform into cries as his fingers curl up.

He laughs to himself. “You want everyone at this campground to know what a filthy little slut you are for me, don’t you?”

You can hardly even process his words as you let out an “mhm” and nod your head. Your face presses into the cold metal. You feel the drool from your open mouth pooling next to your cheek on the bench. You wiggle your hips slightly against your boyfriend’s fingers.

“Can’t get enough, can you, my naughty whore?” Namjoon continues to gently taunt you as he fingers you.

The hand that’s on your shoulder travels up your back and into your hair. He pulls it slightly, so your face is lifted an inch or so off the bench. He pushes his fingers deeper inside you, knowing exactly what to do to drive you wild. A pressure and pleasure that you’ve never felt before starts to build inside of you. It feels like something is going to burst. You can’t control the primal animalistic sounds that are pouring from your mouth.

“You gonna cum for me again, baby?” Namjoon asks in a husky voice.

You nod slightly, and the pressure begins to escape from inside you. Something is bursting, gushing forth. For a second you can’t think, but you are unsure what is happening.

“Oh my nasty little princess. Are you squirting for me?” Namjoon teases as his fingers continue to work inside of you.

You ride his fingers and your orgasm. When you finally come down, the pressure inside of you is overwhelming and uncomfortable. His fingers slow, and you wriggle away as much as you can with his fingers in your hair. He slowly lets your head back down, gently running his fingers over your back. Namjoon takes his fingers from inside you, and you hear him lick them off. With both hands, he grabs your ass, plants a kiss on one cheek, then he pulls your skirt back over your ass.

“My naughty little girl is tired, huh?” he asks as he runs his fingers tenderly through your hair.

You nod your head lazily, starting to become aware of how wet your skirt is. That had never happened to you before, and you felt a little bit confused about what had happened. The wet fabric sits against you, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything about the discomfort you’re feeling.

Namjoon pulls you up gently from the bench and wraps his arms around you. You bury your head in his chest, brain completely fuzzy. Everything seems to have a shiny vignette around it, maybe from nearly hyperventilating, maybe from the pleasure, maybe from being so deeply in love. You can’t be quite sure.

Namjoon plants a kiss upon your forehead, your nose, and each of your cheeks. “I love you silly, baby.”

Your eyes turn up to his face. You feel like your face is going to be permanently stuck in a smile while you look at him.

“I love you too, my love,” you whisper and press your lips against his jawline.

You cuddle with one another near the fire for the rest of the evening, relishing every single moment that you have together. You can’t sleep until the twilight of morning starts to spill over the sandy campground, and you finally fall asleep in his strong arms, sleepy and happy.

#namjoon smut #btswritingcafe #btsguild #namjoon x reader #bts smut #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #bangtanfairygarden #heartsforbts #rm smut #rm x reader #bts namjoon #bts rm #rm fanfic #knj x reader #knj smut #oops #posted the rough draft first

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 11: Prepare For Trouble And Make It Double

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day. Which was actually what's happening. So there we were, Annabeth, Percy, Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. Percy and I walked side by side with our hand still connected. Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once. I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better. "All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything." "Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—" "What did you want me to do? Let you guys get killed? I was not going to leave Y/N." "You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine." "Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine." "Shut up, goat boy," I said. Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans... a perfectly good bag of tin cans." We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to Percy. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave." "We're a team, right?" She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world." The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. Do you want to see?

Yeah that would be nice.

It was as if it was morning, I could see everything clearly. I wandered my head to make sure I could see everything. This is cool. "You okay?" Percy asked. "Yeah," Not really a fan of the current silence I turned to Annabeth. "You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her. "No... only short field trips. My dad—" "The history professor." "Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not." If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice. "You're pretty good with that knife," I said. "You think so?" "Yeah maybe you can teach me some tricks. "Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me." Percy smiled. I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled. "You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you... Something funny back on the but..." Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured. "Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!" He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff. Seeing a tree coming up I tried to pull Percy to avoid it but Percy immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on his head. I suppressed my laugh by covering my mouth which made Percy glare at me. After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This kid needed a double cheeseburger. >We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell. It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English. To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM. "What the heck does that say?" I asked. "I don't know," Annabeth said. She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too. Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium." Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers. "Hey..." Grover warned. "The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open." "Snack bar," I said wistfully. "Snack bar," Percy agreed. "Snack bar," Annabeth joined. "Are you three crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird." We ignored him. The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps. "Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!" We stopped at the warehouse door. "Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters." I turned to look at my knife. It had a light glow emitting from it. Probably because it was sheathed. "I think there's monsters." I was now reluctant and sided with Grover. "Grover's nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?" "Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him.. "Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."

"Percy, I don't think---"

"It'll be fine." Percy took my hand and went in. Be careful and don't look. Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman—at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady. >Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?" "They're... um..." Annabeth started to say. "We're orphans," I said. "Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!" "We got separated from our caravan," Percy said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?" "Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area. We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to Percy, "Circus caravan?" "Always have a strategy, right?" "Your head is full of kelp." The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. I was anxious so I tighten my grip on Percy. It's stupid for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because we were hungry. For a child of Athena, Annabeth sure isn't making wise decisions. I mean yeah I agree, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away. But Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, to add the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Made me more cautious. Sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front. "Please, sit down," Aunty Em said "Awesome," Percy said. "Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am." Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans." "Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said. Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, I had to turn to Annabeth to check if there was something wrong with her.. Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child." I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves. "Percy, I want to leave..." I whispered. "Just a few bites Y/N. Don't worry." He gave me a reassuring pat. Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries. I wasn't gulfing down my food like Percy was. Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat. Annabeth slurped her shake. "What's that hissing noise?" he asked. I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head. "Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover." "I take vitamins. For my ears." "That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax." I don't like it here. I'm scared. Be wary of all things. Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess. "So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested. "Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know." "A lot of business on this road?" "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get. My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified."Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face." "You make these statues yourself?" Percy asked. "Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?" "It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price." Annabeth gave me a look of worry. I knew she realized something. "Percy?" I shook him to get his attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting." Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything. "Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those." She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly. "We really should go." "Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!" "Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?" "A pose?" Annabeth asked warily. "A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children." Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—" "Sure we can," Percy said. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?" "Percy, I don't want to..." "It's just a photo guys." "Indeed it is just a photo Y/N," the woman purred. "No harm." I could tell Annabeth didn't like it as well, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues. Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side." "Not much light for a photo," I remarked. But joke's on her I could see quite clearly. Don't look. "Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?" "Where's your camera?" Grover asked. Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?" Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand." "Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear." She still had no camera in her hands. "Percy—" Annabeth said. "I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil...." "Percy, something's wrong," I insisted. "Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?" "That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped. DON'T LOOK. Annabeth turned to my direction, "Look away from her!" she then shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and and I pulled Percy with me. We were on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet. I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. "Percy, we have to move!" I shook him. But he was too dazed to move. Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails. Percy was about to look higher then her hands and I instinctively covered his eyes. "Don't look!" More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from... from about where Aunty Em's head would be. "Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers. "Percy we have to move please!" "Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she said soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up." "Percy please!" Percy pushed my hand away and looked to one side. I turned to look as well and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents. Aunty Em. Aunty "M." How did Medusa die in the myth? But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face. "The Gray-Eyed One did this to me," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this." "Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Y/N carry Percy!" "Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer. We won't even hurt, Y/N." I swung Percy's arm around my shoulder. But he was too heavy. "No," he muttered trying to make his legs move... "Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain." "Y/N!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!" I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone. "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!" I tackled Percy to the other side. Thwack! Then Medusa roared with rage. "You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!" "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back. Pulling along an out of a dazed Percy we scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass. Ker-whack! "Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting. Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Y/N! Percy!" Percy jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!" Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. 'You have to cut her head off." "What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here." "Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance." "What? I can't—" "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?" She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—" "Would you speak English?" "I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly." "Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!" "Roooaaarrr!" "Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch. "Hurry," Annabeth told him. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash." Percy took out his pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide showed. He turned to me and gave the glass then offered a hand. "Percy you can't be seriously bring her along!?" "I'll go with him." Taking his hand, we followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I raised the glass so I could guide us. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her. Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!" Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!" We advanced on her. I had let go of Percy's hand to bring out my knife. So if she charged, I could help Percy. But she let us approach—twenty feet, ten feet. I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse. "You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't." I could tell he hesitated. From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!" Medusa cackled. "Too late." She lunged at him with her talons. I ran and raised my knife to block her talons, Percy then swung his sword, then we heard a sickening shlock!, then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern—the sound of a monster disintegrating. Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces. "Oh, yuck," Percy said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck." Annabeth came up next to us, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move." >Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice. "Are you okay?" Percy asked me, his voice trembling. "Yeah," I decided. "Why didn't... why didn't the head evaporate?" "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you." Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head. "The Red Baron," Percy said. "Good job, man." He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun." He snatched his shoes out of the air. "I didn't know Grover got Luke's shoes." Percy recapped his sword. "I can't fly." He shrugged. Together, the four of us stumbled back to the warehouse We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak. Finally Percy said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?" Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him." "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa." Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'" "Forget it," I said. "You're impossible." "You're insufferable." "You're—" "You're both loud and stupid." I growled. "Yeah!" Grover interrupted. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?" I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS! I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice. What had Medusa said? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Percy and I shared a look. We got up. "I'll be back." "Percy, Y/N," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—" We searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket. In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins. "Found one." Percy called. We went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip: The Gods >Mount Olympus 600th Floor, >Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON <3 Y/N L/N "They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent." I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop! "I am impertinent," Percy said. I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize. She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that we had a major talent for ticking off the gods. "Great, well Fred and George," she muttered. "We need a new plan."

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UwU bb I'm just licherali rippin off now srry -kookie-doughs

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Lightning thief #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #Fanfiction #fanfictions #X Reader #Chapter 11 #Book 1

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

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‘Where I Go, Will You Still Follow?’ - A Clingyduo Fic from the Hunger Games AU

In the most ironic twist, I missed Tommy’s lore stream on Monday writing Clingyduo comfort/hurt (in that order). I wasn’t sure whether this fandom needed any more angst right now, but whatever, take this anyway. This fic is set in a Hunger Games AU where the characters of the Dream SMP reside in Panem and must compete in the Games. Only Tommy + Tubbo appear in this fic though. Angst reigns supreme on Reaping Day, where the boys face the possibility of being picked for the deadly Hunger Games for the first time. (Also I promise you don’t have to have read HG to get this.)

tw nothing really, they’re only being reaped here.

word count: 3102

On the morning of the reaping, two boys tread carefully through a desolate orchard.

At this time of year, the trees are mostly left to their own devices. In about six months their boughs will bear fruit, and there will be plenty of people scurrying to and fro beneath them collecting their bounty to be stored and sent to the Capitol. Those very boys will join them. However, on that late Spring morning there is no one about. During this season the trees require only the occasional pruning, and everyone’s still in bed this early anyway. No reason to get up on a day where you don’t need to. Public holidays like this are rare.

Tommy and Tubbo hold hands as they move through the trees. Old habit, they suppose, a defense mechanism against getting split up, for better or worse. With the number of people in their district it can make public gatherings hazardous for lonely children, and if there’s anything worse than getting caught alone in a stampede, it’s getting left behind in a chase. If one boy falls, so does the other. If one boy is caught with his hand in the larder, the other will be nearby. The two of them are a package deal: where one goes, the other follows.

They only stop when they’re sure they’re properly alone, deep in the orchard. It would take anyone hours to find them; it would take most people hours to get out from this point. But years spent traversing these paths - both from the ground and the branches above - have given them an instinctual knowledge on which way to go. They settle in beneath a large apple tree; lush and green now that the blossoms have since blown away. They go about unwrapping several grease paper packages that were previously weighing down their pockets as Tommy hums a tune to keep them company. Tubbo shuffles uncomfortably as they lay out a small breakfast of half a loaf of bread - dark and dotted with seeds, District 11’s signature - a petite disc of cheese that Tubbo suspects Tommy sat on at some point, and an apple each. Food they either squirreled away from the pantry at the orphanage or stole outright. The thought pinches Tubbo’s cheeks.

“What’s that sour face for?” Tommy asks him, flicking his eyes up every so often as he arranges the cheese on the bread with a tiny knife stashed in his boot and breaks the half-crescent of bread roughly in half. “You’re not still worried about getting caught.”

Tubbo sighs, and it tells Tommy all he needs to know. “C’mon! We covered our tracks and literally no one saw us.” When Tubbo’s expression doesn’t change, he puts a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “Well, definitely no one saw you. I’ll take the hit for it, if they find out.”

“No, it’s- fine.”

“Your face says otherwise, my friend.” All the same, Tommy retracts his arm and finishes haphazardly spreading the cheese upon the bread. He nudges one of the apples towards Tubbo with his foot, “Here, start.”

“Excuse me, the apple comes after the main course, how dare you break tradition.”

“My apologies, my liege.”

The easy smile returns briefly to Tubbo’s face as they laugh, then quickly melts away again. Tommy fixes him with a sympathetic look. “What?” Tubbo asks, locking eyes with him as he finishes brutalising the cheese and hands him his half. “You’re worried about the reaping.”

“And you’re not?”

“Should I be?” When Tubbo gives him a sideways glare, Tommy shrugs. “Dude, it’s a tiny chance. Two in thousands and thousands. You’re more likely to get struck by lightning than have either of our names fished out of the bowl.” And though Tommy was likely skewing his numbers a bit, he supposed it was true. It was their first year of reapings and neither of them had taken any tesserae. They were about as safe as you could be between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Still…

“Besides,” Tommy continued. “If your name gets called, I’m sure someone would volunteer for you.” He barely makes it to the end of his sentence before Tubbo’s noise of dismissal drowns him out. “Yeah right. Let’s be realistic here.” Tommy leans back against the tree as he eats. Sunlight peeks through the branches at random intervals, illuminating him in softly glowing patches. He turns his head slightly and beckons Tubbo over with a nod. They shift their bodies and the food around until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder between two large roots, and Tubbo finds that the sunlight is almost as warm as Tommy beside him.

They remain in that position for some time, eating their way through their swindled picnic. It’s a bit much for an ordinary breakfast, but it’s somewhat of a tradition to have something special on reaping day. Makes the hours standing in the square while the Mayor drones on about how it’s right to send two children to their deaths a bit more bearable. According to those traditions, you’re supposed to celebrate with a meal after the reaping too, though neither boy is quite sure where that convention came from. Not many in District 11 could afford it in any case.

At some point Tubbo drops a hand to the floor between them, and at some later instance Tommy places his where their fingers can interlace. “You’re nervous too.” Tubbo states without looking at his companion, instead remaining as he is, staring past the leaves to the clear blue sky. “No way.” Tubbo giggles at Tommy’s indignant tone. “A big man like me is not scared of being picked in the reaping.”

“Fearless he is, Big Man Tommy.”

“Too right!” They laugh, and the terror their giggles mask bubbles just beneath the surface, a pot mere seconds from boiling over.

“Look, Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice becomes serious, and Tommy’s laughter peters out. “It’s all well and good laughing and joking about it, but… In the event one of us is chosen…” Their eyes meet and Tubbo squeezes Tommy’s hand, to which Tommy returns the grip. “I need you to tell me you remember our promise.” In response, Tommy sighs, drops Tubbo’s hand, puts that arm around his best friend’s shoulder, pulls him close and runs his free hand through his hair, almost all simultaneously. “Yes of course I remember it.”

“And?” Tubbo replies expectantly.

“And what?”

“Say it, you dummy.” Tommy places his free hand over his heart like a salute. “I, Tommy Innit, promise my dearest friend Tubbo Underscore, that if he is chosen for the Hunger Games in this afternoon’s reaping, I will not volunteer to take his place.” He waits for Tubbo to relax, satisfied, before tacking on: “Thus letting him be led away to a faraway place to be on television then get brutally murdered, also on television. “ He can feel Tubbo’s eye roll without even looking. “You made me promise the same.”

“Yeah I did, didn’t I?” He admits quietly, leaning his head against his best friend’s, brown curls obscuring half his vision.

“It’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo’s hair smells faintly of apples, somehow. Tommy squeezes his best friend and hopes he won’t have to betray him.

Unbeknownst to him, Tubbo has the same thought.

---

The duo spend the hours before the reaping as they usually do: sleeping in each others embrace somewhere they technically shouldn’t be, pretending the clothes they have to change into back at the orphanage are any better than what they’re changing out of, and hogging the second floor bathroom for way longer than necessary. The black storm cloud that is the reaping casts a longer shadow than previous years, but they manage to ignore it for most of the morning with enough shenanigans to fill their quota for the year. The clouds threaten to burst however when the time reaches half twelve, and the parentless teenagers of the district begin to make their way towards the square where the ceremony will take place. The once-blue sky darkens as the crumbling facade of the Justice Building comes into view, as if nature were waiting for her cue, and Tommy wonders if he jinxed himself with his earlier comments about being struck by lightning.

He’s holding Tubbo’s hand again - standard crowd procedure - and he’s thankful for about the millionth time that they’re the same age. They head with the other twelve year old orphans to the corresponding pen for their age group, and find themselves sandwiched in the centre. Tubbo exchanges a few words with some of their peers, most likely to be ‘Good luck’, but Tommy’s not really concentrating. The square is already full and still there’s many more people to come, and with every person that joins the crowd there will only be more cramming the possible tributes together like sardines in a tin. There have been crushes at reapings before; they tell them in school about the reaping for the seventh games, where too many spectators packed the floor and there was a panic that killed four people, including one kid in the crowd. In an ironic twist, their name was later pulled from the ball, and their escort had to be informed live on stage in front of the entire nation that they’d died earlier that day.

Decidedly, the odds were not in their favour.

Tommy doesn’t like to admit it, but tight spaces get to him. And here, packed in by bodies with camera crews perched high on the rooftops over the crowd, scanning for the faces that will leave the district tonight, he feels like a fish in a barrel. “Hey-” Tubbo’s voice reaches him through the din of thousands of people talking at once, but he sounds a million miles away. He practically crushes Tubbo’s fingers with his own, and, in retaliation, Tubbo flicks him on the nose. He blinks at him angrily for a second, the distraction welcome despite his show of annoyance. “Breathe, Tommy.” He forces air in and out of his lungs for about thirty seconds just to make sure he still can. Tubbo traces stars on the back of his hand.

By the time the Mayor’s stepped up to the podium and began his yearly recitation of the history of Panem, Tommy thinks he’s calmed himself down somewhat. Tubbo still traces stars in little pentagram patterns on Tommy’s hand with his thumb, and though it’s starting to get a little irritating, something stops him from signalling him to knock it off. He glances briefly sideways to Tubbo, and though his expression is mostly blank, the two have gotten used to watching each other’s tics and tells, signs that are imperceptible to anyone else but them. The small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way he scrunches his nose slightly when he blinks, even the way he presses a little too hard with his thumb, his patterns becoming less uniform and the edges of his nails leaving little scratches. He’s as scared as Tommy. So he lets him keep doing it, for both their sakes.

The Mayor finishes his history lecture, reads the list of past victors and then finally introduces the District 11 escort, a spritely-looking man in a bottle-green suit called Montaque. He’s been the district’s escort for a few years, and Tommy and Tubbo used to joke his mustache was so spiky-sharp looking you could win a Games by using it as a weapon. He seems to glide across the stage as he gives a speech about District pride or some nonsense, then utters the classic phrase, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

He crosses the stage to the front where two glass balls sit, holding thousands of tiny slips of paper. A lump forms in Tommy’s throat. Somewhere in one of those balls there’s two slips of paper that could serve as their one way ticket to the Capitol. He knows they’re somewhat lucky: some kids their age have many more slips thanks to tesserae, but Tommy feels a pang in his chest even as he thinks about it. Some kids have parents. Some kids have somewhere to put their tesserae so it won’t immediately get stolen. He and Tubbo may have considered it, but what use would they have for grain and oil when on most days they could barely hold onto their bedsheets? It was one less thing to worry about.

Montaque the Stupid sticks one of his disproportionately-large hands into the first glass ball, and retrieves a slip of paper, and Tommy begs inside his mind, not us not us not him. He reads the name, and the entire world suddenly stops spinning. Somewhere in the back of Tommy’s mind is a lag, like when one person in a chain of people passing produce from a field to a wagon disappears. The chain does its best to keep up, but it’s very quickly overwhelmed, leaving debris in the form of dropped vegetables and a backlog that needs to be attended to.

That’s how it feels inside Tommy’s head as the crowd parts for him, a sea of people craning their necks as they shuffle aside to form a runway for him towards the stage. This can’t be happening. His mind can’t catch up to the fact, doesn’t want to catch up to the fact that this is happening. He glances to his side and immediately regrets the action, for Tubbo stands beside him looking equal parts shell shocked and distressed. Their eyes meet, teary and desperate, and Tommy only has the strength to mouth ‘Promise’, before his feet start to carry him towards the stage alone, and his hand in Tubbo’s becomes an outstretched arm. When they finally let go Tommy can feel the ghost of his friend’s hand in his own, and knows that it will be one of the last kind touches he ever receives. He tries not to think of that as he half-marches towards the veranda. He doesn’t look back for fear it’ll set him off crying, but if he were to, he would see Tubbo standing impossibly alone in such a huge crowd, holding the hand that held Tommy’s to his chest.

He mounts the stage and looks out over the people of the district he calls home, a tiny voice in his head telling him to make the most of this last time. Last time. He searches for Tubbo in the crowd, spotting him easily by the empty pathway he just walked down being slowly absorbed back into the crowd. He can see even from here the tears shining on his cheeks, the way his whole body shakes with the effort of holding more back. There’s a couple orphanage kids looking like they’re trying to console him, and, if Tommy should weigh in, doing a pretty sh’it job. He looks away to watch Montaque snatch the second slip of paper from the glass ball, and he tenses every fibre of his being shouting internally please please please. The name is read, and this time Tommy finds himself still breathing and present as some older kid makes his own shaky way to the podium. He’s about fourteen, with a stocky build that betrays work in the crop fields. As he takes his place opposite Tommy, the young boy is reminded that the Games will be full of people like him. Stronger, older opponents. Tommy, at the monumental age of twelve, doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment lingers, and then it keeps lingering, and then Tommy turns to Montaque to find out why the da’mn moment won’t move on. He’s staring out into the crowd once more, and Tommy’s heart, already too heavy, drops straight into his boots as he follows Montaque’s gaze. The crowd parts once more, and Tubbo strides forward, a shaky confidence marking his every step. The murmurs around the square hush, as he comes to stand mere metres from the tributes. Tommy wants to catch his eye, shake his head, scream at him to stop, but Tubbo doesn’t look at him. Tommy knows exactly what he intends to do as he opens his mouth; Tommy mouths the words along with him.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Now you’ve gone and done it.

Montaque, biggest pri’ck on the planet, waxes lyrical about courage and bravery while he arranges the exchange of the fourteen year old for Tubbo. As if he’d ever know what it is to be brave. As the Mayor takes over once more, reading the Treaty of Treason as he is bound by duty to do, Tommy tries to catch the attention of his best friend, who’s acting annoyingly aloof. He watches as Tubbo stares into the distance, looking alarmingly calm with the whole ordeal. Tommy wants to scream, and do a bit more than scream and call him all the foul names he can think of and demand he un-volunteer and why? You stupid bi’tch absolute idiot why would you volunteer when we had a promise, why did you betray the promise? Why? Why why why why why?

As the Mayor wraps up the Treaty bore-fest, he motions for the two tributes to shake hands. Tributes. Now bound unrelentingly for an arena where they will kill other people. Other children. Maybe even each other.

Tommy feels some comfort in how helpless their situation is. Odds are they’ll die long before each other are a threat. They’re going to be a team obviously, and Tommy’s going to protect Tubbo as long as he can. That’s what he promised him the day they met, and that’s what he intends to do.

They shake hands, and Tubbo finally looks at him. The tears have dried on his cheeks. They take a little longer than is necessary, conducting a silent conversation between them.

‘Sorry.’

‘I am so fu’cking mad at you.’

‘You thought I would really leave you?’

‘I hoped I was wrong.’

They stand for the anthem. They are carted into the Justice Building to wait for people to come and say goodbye. No one comes. They weren’t expecting anyone anyway. They are all they have; all they’ve ever had. And where one goes, the other follows.

Tommy waits alone in the Justice Building, trying to figure out if the first thing he’ll do when he’s alone with Tubbo is hug him or strangle him. Beyond that though, he has to protect his boy. He has to keep his promise. An uneasy feeling stirs his gut. One promise has already been broken today.

And the odds aren’t playing nice.

#hell yeah i finally posted it #honestly i don't have a lot to say other than i hope you enjoyed #let's keep rereading the fluffy parts right?? anyway #i'm distraught over current events on the dsmp and this is how i'm coping #dream smp #hg au #tommyinnit #tubbo #dsmp fic #dream smp fanfic #crim writes #real proud of this one #all in one go. never written 3000 words in a day before

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13lov · 5 years

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too hot to sleep. (m)

# pairing. fiancé!yoongi x reader

# genre. established relationship au, humor, fluff, smut.

# word count. 2.4k

# warning(s). fluff, reader doesn’t like cats yoongi’s cat, smut [marriage kink(?), unprotected kitchen sex, small hint of yoongi having a possession kink]. \\ will be edited at a later time so my apologizes for any mistakes

# a/n. this was originally supposed to be a drabble but i liked the prompt a lot...so this is the cute fluffy version but i’m also MAYBE gonna write a uh...rougher version. i tried to write an impreg kink since that shit is mad hot but it wasn’t working out for me :(

↳ summary. “ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” *soft ver.*

“You never listen to me,” you whisper to your fiancé’s sleeping figure, “I ask you to pick up the air conditioner on your way home from work,” you shove his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, “but instead, you buy a new bed for your demon cat.”

Yoongi stirs in his sleep, turning himself to face the bedroom window. You can’t help but get annoyed at the fact even when he’s sleeping, your fiancé barely istens to you. Every ounce of annoyance fades away the moment you hear the soft sound of Yoongi smacking his lips together, a habit he developed whenever he was in the midst of a deep sleep. Even unconscious, he was still the cutest thing you had ever seen.

But, nevertheless, it was too hot for you to sleep. Your growling stomach also proves you’re otherwise too hungry to sleep as well.

Slowly and quietly, you retreat to the apartment’s tiny kitchen, striding past the various wedding decor that consumed your home in hopes Yoongi bought enough food for you to prepare a late-night snack.

He didn’t, of course, so you’re left to scrape up anything you’re able to find within the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Your struggle meal consists of bread, butter, and what you can only hope isn’t a few expired slice of American cheese. The only reasonable meal you’re able to make with these few ingredients is a grilled cheese sandwich, not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you do complain about is Yoongi’s cat, Pearl, hopping on the counter and knocking the loaf of bread to the marble floor. Watching the bread fall to the floor startles you, speaking that you hadn’t even known Pearl had woken up and followed you out of the bedroom.

You wave your hand at Pearl, as if you were swatting away a nuisance fly, “Get off of my counter, lazy.”

Pearl ignores you, getting more comfortable on the counter before closing her eyes. As silly as it may sound, you sometimes you feel as though you’re at a constant war with the feline; like she was competing for the role of being the number one woman in Yoongi’s life. You really can’t blame her much. Though, her attendance at your wedding (per Yoongi’s request) shall tell her who the true winner is.

“Fine. If you’re not gonna move then I’m gonna...” you’re careful to grab Pearl’s torso, not wanting to startle her enough to accidentally break something. You aren’t surprised when she makes no effort in making herself lighter to carry and instead drifts off to sleep. “...then I’m gonna let you just stay here.”

Everyone in this apartment loved to ignore you.

Still, there are other things more important than arguing with a sleeping cat at two in the morning.

Drawing your attention back to the task at hand, you put the stove on low heat before grabbing a pan from the cupboard and setting it on one of the burners. Grabbing a knife from the wooden block, you slice off a piece of butter and stir it in the pan, watching it dissolve and make the pan slippery.

Pearl meows as a way to tell you you’re being too loud and she’s trying to sleep, you blow a raspberry and tell her to get a job.

The literal cat-fighting has your bedroom door opening, Yoongi had finally woken up.

You’re facing the stove with your back facing him, so he takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder, raking his hands up your shirt and giving your breasts a small squeeze. “Guess who.”

You take the slices of white bread and carefully lay them side by side on the sizzling frying pan, “The ghost that haunts this apartment.”

With closed eyes, Yoongi chuckles, his laugh causing your shoulders to vibrate. “I sure hope he or she doesn’t like you that much. By the way, were you just telling Pearl to get a job?”

You aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he heard your dispute with the animal, he was used to it by now. “If Pearl thinks she can live here rent-free and tell me to shut up while being job-less, she has another thing coming.”

“Ah, go easy on her,” Yoongi brings one had down to your waist, the other reaches over to scratch Pearl’s chin, “she’s my good girl — you both are.” He sighs through his nose, moving hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your neck.

“You both are,” you mock in a voice that sounds nothing like his own, “the worst days of her life were when you met me and when you proposed; please get her off of the counter.”

“You heard her,” Yoongi gently pats Pearl’s bottom, coaxing her to hop off, “up, up, up.” She does as told, of course; you roll your eyes.

“Why’re you up?”

“I can’t sleep, it feels like hell in this apartment,” you answer, using a metal spatula to flip both slices of bread on the pan.

“Oh, I’ll pick up the a.c. tomorrow, I promise.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

It falls silent, but not awkward. You assume Yoongi is still somewhat tired; the boner pressing into your ass tells you otherwise. It’s early, both of you are still weak after having such a long day. You don’t want any teasing to lead to something that can’t be finished. “Yoongi, don’t—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he interrupts in a mumble, “just wanna talk. What’re you making?”

“Grilled cheese,” you try your best to focus on the food in front of you. Yoongi presses against your backside harder than before. You convince yourself it’s unintentional, but Yoongi knows exactly what he was doing.

“Why do you cook the bread longer?”

“Because I like the edges burnt.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good thing this isn’t for you then, yeah?” You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

Yoongi grunts like an ungrateful child who doesn’t get their way, burying his face in the crook of your neck and using his teeth to nip at a sensitive area. You unwillingly toss your head to the side, giving him more access to your bare skin before coming to your senses and re-focusing on your food. “Make me one?” he questions.

“Maybe if you picked up the air conditioner like I asked you to...”

Yoongi hums, a hint of laughter laced with his tone. “Maybe there’s something else I can offer you in return.” The sudden husk in his voice as you raising a brow, intrigued at what he was planning on offering.

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, moving his hands to your front, lifting your shirt up slightly as his index finger settles between the waistband of your panties and the area right below your belly button. “Yoongi, I’m trying to cook.”

“Okay...and...?” his finger continues its path downwards, you find yourself turning the stove down to an even lower heat than before. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you while you cook?”

He slips is finger in between your folds, moving around in teasingly slow circles. His boner is still pressed right up against your ass, seemingly get harder as seconds pass. “Not down there, Yoongi.”

“Why shouldn’t I? This,” he suddenly slides his index finger into your entrance, giving you no warning or seconds to prepare. The action had caused the metal spatula you once held drop to the floor, your fingers now gripping onto the marble counter, Yoongi chuckles at how quickly he managed to get a reaction out of you.

“...is mine anyway, you said so yourself” he continues. Yoongi’s breath was hot against your neck, his deep and lustful voice and the things they were saying only making you crave him more than you already did.

Yoongi’s words slip into the back of your mind once you’re starting to feel the pleasure caused by his finger alone. He notices how silent you are, barely letting out a moan as he slips in a second finger, making no effort to slow down the increasing pace he was thrusting them at. “Why’re you quiet now? Cat got your tongue?”

“Don’t mention that fucking cat.”

“Sorry,” he really isn’t, though. He loved to work you up like this, especially considering how easy it was. It was selfish in his case, seeing you even the slightest but frustrated was such a big turn on for him. In all honestly, he could name all the times he started pointless arguments just to end it with angry, passionate sex.

Yoongi rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit, all while his two fingers are still pumping. You’re so slick and wet around him, making it easier for him to quicken his pace; your eyes shut, mouth falling slightly open and a lustful gasp leaving you when he does. He curls his fingers, in that way where they hit your g-spot perfectly. You gasp at the feeling, and whine when Yoongi ruts his cock against your ass.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl.

“God, I can’t get enough of you. I swear, we’re gonna fuck everyday once we get married.”

The moan you let out causes Yoongi to grin, moving his left hand up and under your shirt to grab one of your breast; squeezing a lot harder than before, this time rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Mm-hm,” he hums, “gonna put a ring on that finger, then put my fingers inside of you.”

You really could come right now, then Yoongi would put his cock in you and you’d come again; but, you don’t want to come twice in a row. It’d only make you tried and weak, and, truth be told, you’re still hungry.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me.”

“You have such a bad mouth,” he teases, “just talk nice and I’ll give you whatever you want, _____.”

You sigh, “Please, fuck me. Want you to fill me up,” you sound so desperate, neither you or Yoongi seem to mind. He responds to your words, pulling his fingers out of you immediately, you nearly groan at the feeling of sudden emptiness.

Yoongi raises his hand to your sight of view, separating his fingers to make a V shape, completely in awe of how soaked you’ve made his fingers. “Open,” he says, and you do as told. He inserts them quickly, thumb underneath your jaw as if he was holding your head in place. Your tongue laps around his middle and index until you’ve successfully rid them of your juices.

Yoongi releases his fingers from your mouth, using his own to tug down his pajama pants and boxers enough to free his cock. The two of already know he won’t last long, but he’s way too hard to not even give it a chance.

He pushes your cotton underwear down a bit, grinning when you bend over slightly to give him a better view of your ass. He takes his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times, watching pre-cum ooze from his practicality swollen tip. “Ready?” he asks, teasingly rubbing his head against your folds. It takes everything in you power to not back yourself onto him.

“Y—oh, fuck,” you moan. Barely giving you time to answer, Yoongi can’t help his impatient tendencies and was already easing his tip into your pussy. He swears at the feeling of you already starting to clench around him. It takes a few moments until he’s fully inside of you, not daring to move because of how wrapped around him. Truly, he could stay in the position forever.

But, he wasn’t in the mood to do cock warming. And he lets you know that with a sudden thrust that has you bent over the counter. You can’t say it doesn’t feel good, but it was surely unexpected considering how tired you assumed Yoongi would be.

A few more slow thrusts later and Yoongi’s finally moving at his desired pace, his large hands firmly gripping your waist. He presses his forehead against your shoulder, already feeling his orgasm approaching — he just knows he won’t be able to hold on longer.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Shit, Yoongi, I’m gonna come,” you interrupt. He’s glad you’re on the same page.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he says. Though it’s a demand, it comes out as a question you don’t mind saying yes to.

He’s groaning into your neck now, pressing harsh kisses against it and definitely leaving marks. When he closes his eyes shut, he feels completely wrapped up with pleasure and feels bad for neglecting your clit. He decides he’ll make it up to you later by going down on you. Right now, he feels way to good and won’t be able to focus on anything else.

His high is approaching and he knows yours is too just by the way your moans have increased in volume. “Oh fuckfuckfuck...fuck,” seems to be the warning that he’s going to come, and he does, filling you up completely. Your own orgasm happens seconds later and has you seeing stars.

The two of you are stood panting in silence for a minute, Yoongi still buried deep inside of you. He places a sloppy, open-mouth kiss alongside your neck, giving you various praises of how good you are to him.

“I love you,” he says, readjusting your panties before fixing himself properly.

“And I love you,” you turn around to kiss him, to which he groans into and pulls you in closer. “Now go pee,” he pulls away, giving your ass a small tap, “I’ll watch the food.”

Yoongi does as promised as you walk towards your bathroom. “You got a text!” you yell on the way there.

Confused as to who would be texting him at such an hour, Yoongi strides into the bedroom and snatches his phone from the nightstand.

hobi [ 2:44 am ]: u know the walls in this building are thin, why would u subject me to your porn re-enactments

“It’s just Hobi,” Yoongi informs you, smiling away at the text as he replies.

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: oops

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: lol

yoongi [ 2:45 am ]: we’ll try to be more quiet next time

“Is he RSVP-ing for the wedding?”

“I’ll ask.”

yoongi [ 2:46 am ]: are u coming to the wedding btw?

hobi [ 2:50 am ]: pull another stunt like this and i won’t even show up to ur funeral

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: on a completely unrelated note, put me down for the chicken

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: also, what kind of toasters do u guys like?

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 4

3rd District Precinct Washington, DC

The modest forensics lab was situated in the basement of the precinct building. A fitting location. It was always a strange trip downstairs, almost like walking into a spook house at an amusement park. You’d notice every creak from the antiquated filing cabinets, there were shelves of textbooks, yellowing medical journals, rows of glass jars containing shriveled specimens. The morgue was tucked away in a corner with a series of metal doors on the tiled wall and a surprisingly shiny slab resting comfortably over a drain in the floor. No more room at the inn by the look of it. Autopsy tools hung neatly on the wall like a butcher’s knife set; at least in this corner the boys kept things tidy. I walked a little deeper into the lab and saw Byers flipping through an issue of National Geographic. I cleared my throat as I approached.

“Mulder. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Byers asked, dropping the magazine in his lap. The 3rd was fortunate enough to have three pillars of forensic science in Melvin Frohike, Richard Langley, and John Byers. They had their finger on the pulse of crime investigation techniques and were eager to share their findings with practically anyone who would listen. A good deal of the jargon went over my head but it enhanced my vocabulary to say the least.

“Frohike called me regarding Spender’s case,” I replied, “We might have a golden ticket on our hands.”

“He and Langley have been upstairs for a while but they should return soon. Have a seat.” He motioned to a wooden stool near a cluttered lab counter. I obliged. Byers was not much of a talker when he was by himself so his attention shifted back to busywork. I picked at the rough edge of my thumb watching Byers place a metal canister on the end of the counter. He opened it then took a sample of a dark substance, added it to the boiling water, and adjusted the flame on the Bunsen burner changing the intensity. He looked up at the wall clock and turned back to his experiment. The color change in the beaker shifted to a dark brown. Byers gave it a stir and covered the top. He sensed my curiosity.

“Coffee will be ready in a few minutes if you’d like some.”

I laughed and politely declined.

“Don’t you have a percolator?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Just then Frohike and Langley entered the lab.

“Oh good. You’re here,” said Frohike as he reached for a nearby lab coat, slipped into the sleeves and flipped it up onto his shoulders.

“We had a whale of a meeting upstairs,” Langley added, shoving a worn out briefcase across the counter making an open space, “Looks like Spender’s dirty little secret is out.”

“Krycek, my informant, pegged him as a hop head. I knew Spender could be a little on edge but I thought he was too straight-laced to use heroin.” I folded my arms. “What did Skinner have to say?”

“The boss was none too pleased to find out that one of their top boys was on the horse.” Langley stated.

“And a thoroughbred at that. He was probably dipping into Vincenti’s supply.” Frohike remarked as he adjusted his glasses.

I sighed and shook my head. Byers poured his scientific brew into a small mug for himself and took a sip before saying, “Well there’s your motive.”

His colleagues shrugged in agreement as they each grabbed a cup of coffee.

“Makes you wonder if he was just starting out and got careless,” Langley said.

“Or he had been knee deep in the shit since making a deal, overconfidence took over, he couldn’t pay up and then blammo,” I said as I stood and leaned against the lab counter. Something about this seemed too easy. We had the gunman, we had a relatively clear motive, and we had the Captain scrambling to stuff this whole matter back under the rug. I needed to track down The Titan and put the squeeze on him for some information. Though with a newly buried partner I would need a second set of eyes on my surveillance job.

“Well boys, it’s been a treat but I have to make some telephone calls.”

“Hey Mulder,” Frohike called, “you should take some time for yourself; slow down for a day maybe.”

“That’s what whiskey is for.” I replied as I left the lab and took the stairs, not knowing what I’d walk into when I hit the bullpen.

Several officers didn’t bat an eye as I passed by their desks and I continued to avoid any eye contact as I glanced at my wristwatch. I reached my desk and pulled the phone closer as I took a seat, picking up the receiver. My index finger hovered over the rotary and just as I started to pull the number I heard the distinct baritone of Captain Skinner calling my name. It wasn’t bellowed so I knew I wasn’t being called in to serve detention for misconduct. I placed both hands on my desk and stood then met him at his office door. He blocked the threshold.

“Have you heard?” he asked.

“Yes. I was just down in forensics. I came up here to get started on what I presume is a surveillance assignment.”

Skinner thought for a moment.

“I want you to get a hold of Krycek. He’s going to accompany you on this detail.”

“Oh he’ll be thrilled.”

“Go on then,” Skinner said as he tensed his jaw, “And get me some goddamn answers.”

------

Georgetown Waterfront 1:05 p.m.

Rain tapped angrily against the roof of the unmarked cruiser as I sat parked down the block from the Piccola Italia restaurant. It was a hole in the wall but a well known haunt for some of Vincenti’s crew. I hoped Carlo Lodi would be tempted by a lunch special of pasta arrabiata and cheap wine. My deli sandwich and soda I grabbed before the cloudburst paled in comparison, but I needed something in my stomach. I took another bite and watched a series of passersby through the streaks of rain on the window. I was early. I adjusted the radio dial and finished my lunch. With a swipe of the wiper blade I noticed a black coupe pull up in front of the restaurant. The door popped open and a hulking figure exited the passenger side, adjusted his jacket, and stepped under the awning out of the rain. He waited for his driver to join him before opening the front door. Just then there was a knock on my window. Krycek had his collar pulled up and drips of water cascaded off the brim of his hat. I rolled the window down to get a better look.

“You gonna let me in?”

“I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“Damnit Mulder...”

“It’s unlocked, Krycek.” I said as I looked at the empty passenger seat then rolled up the window, catching a splash of rain. He crossed in front of the car and waited for traffic to clear before opening the door. He sighed as he removed his hat and brushed off the rainwater.

“Alright fill me in,” Krycek said. I turned down the radio and had the last swig of soda.

“Recognize the car down there?” I began. He leaned forward and caught a glimpse as the wiper blade swiped the windshield.

“That looks like Carlo Lodi’s coupe.”

“He’s not alone. His lunch date is a suit that’s either a driver or a business partner, if you get my meaning. They’ve been in there for maybe ten minutes so if I move I can get what I need before his main course arrives.”

“Okay then,” Krycek said as he put his hat back on.

“I’m just going to have a nice conversation. I need to get him talking. If I get him back to the precinct I can be more heavy-handed.” I adjusted my fedora and touched my weapon for reassurance.

“You’re not saying “we” a whole lot. What the hell did you need me for?”

“At first I had you joining me on spoiling Lodi’s lunch but then I thought he might recognize you as a mole so you get to stay put. Keep the car running. If things take a turn I want you to head to the 3rd; with or without me. Ask for Captain Skinner.”

“Aw shucks this feels just like old times,” Krycek replied as he fished out a beat-up pack of Morleys shaking a stick loose. He pulled it out with his teeth then tipped his head down as he flipped his lighter, marrying flame to paper, blessing the squad car with a halo of smoke. Car tires splashed through wet pavement and I took that as my cue to get this show on the road. I opened the door and stepped onto the curb. The rain had slacked up as I walked. I narrowly avoided an umbrella being opened by an old man exiting a taxi. He continued on like I wasn’t even there.

Piccola Italia’s brick facade with its windows dressed in red and white gingham curtains fit the stereotype, as much as I hate to admit. But none of that mattered when I stepped inside and was hit with the aroma of bread, oil, and garlic. If I didn’t have a more pressing obligation I would have claimed a table and ordered a plate. I flashed my badge to the young woman at the cashier’s counter and she quickly nodded then went back to straightening menus. I moved past dark wood tables with diners enjoying an array of pastas and soups. My instinct led me through the dining room and I happened upon a curved booth tucked in a back corner near the kitchen. Lodi was there with his driver, luckily still just the two of them. He was reading the sports page from the newspaper and folded it in half then tapped a finger against it.

“That fuckin’ horse is gonna make me a stack of green, I’m telling ya.” He boasted with a laugh.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lodi?” I asked as I approached his table. He put down the paper and took a sip from his glass of wine and gave me a quizzical look.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah I believe you can.” I carefully reached for my badge and flipped it open. “Detective Fox Mulder. I just want to chat.”

“And what makes you think I want to listen, detective?”

“I see you got the sports section there. What’s your game? Baseball, football?”

Lodi shot a look at his driver and gestured towards my direction.

“This guy...if you must know Mr Mulder, I like the races.”

I took a seat across from him and folded my arms. Then I truly realized how much of a mountain this man was. His square jawline met a thick neck that was being held together by a stiff shirt collar and silk tie. I was waiting for it to burst open with each swallow. Broad shoulders and a barrel chest led to limbs that were solid muscle. The ring on his left pinky finger was about the size of a doorknob and had an insignia in the center. His pin-striped suit looked custom given his proportions. I got a little too comfortable and leaned forward in my chair, threading my fingers together.

“About a week ago, did you talk to a Jeffrey Spender about a horse race. Maybe come to collect a bet?” The mention of the name caught Lodi’s attention and he picked up on my code. Before he could respond, a waiter saddled up to the table and delivered a plate of pasta with a fiery red sauce. Lodi took another sip of wine.

“If I had to come collect you know there was a good reason for it,” he said as he twisted pasta on his fork then took a bite. The other man at the table started to undo his cuffs and slowly roll up his shirt sleeves.

“Well on behalf of the 3rd District precinct, I’d like to invite you over for a little heart to heart.,” I maintained a relaxed facade even though I knew what was coming, “We’ve got evidence placing you at a bar in Adams Morgan the same night as Spender.” Lodi ate another bite and closed his eyes savoring the spice. As he took his wine glass he raised his pinky finger which was the signal. I blinked and then I swear to God I saw enough stars to grace the American flag. A meaty Italian right hook slammed into my cheek like a sledgehammer. Glad he wasn’t wearing a ring. I was knocked sideways to the floor and I tried to catch the nearby table but instead let a dining chair unceremoniously break my fall. I never could take a hit. The few patrons in the restaurant barely took notice at the commotion. Carlo dabbed at the corner of his mouth and rose from his seat.

“Thank you, Theo,” he said as he moved over to pat my assailant’s shoulder. The enforcer’s goon cracked his knuckles and stood looking very pleased with himself. I moved my tongue to the inside of my cheek tasting fresh blood. I adjusted myself to sit upright, though not ready to stand just yet. I snatched a neatly folded napkin from one of the empty place settings and tried to dam the small crimson river from my mouth. Carlo crouched down next to me.

“So, you thought you could just walk into this fine establishment, disrupt my meal, and arrest me?”

“Until now it hasn’t stopped me,” I mumbled against the napkin.

“Unless you got a warrant in hand, I’m not going anywhere. And this business with who was it...Spender? That’s done and so are you.”

“Why don’t you just bump me off like you did him?” I asked as I tossed the bloody napkin aside. Carlo thought for a moment and leaned in closer.

“I like seeing you get knocked around every once in a while, Detective Mulder. Puts a smile on my face.” He blessed me with two exaggerated slaps on the cheek then got to his feet. “I think we’re finished here. Theo, show this son of a bitch the way out.” Carlo returned to his meal and raised a glass in my direction. I was still on my ass. I reached for my fedora and Theo took the liberty of hoisting me to my feet. The gorilla hands that left a new beauty mark gripped my upper arms and shoved me towards the kitchen.

“Easy there junior, my dance card is full.” I said as we moved through a swinging door. I was briefly distracted by the aroma of simmering marinara, stewing beef, and an array of spices. The sous chef and line cooks unphased by the disturbance continued prepping as I was hustled towards the back door and pushed out into the alley. I stumbled into the brick wall across the way and before I could turn around to get the final say, the goon slammed the metal door shut. My head tilted back and I gingerly rolled it from side to side. I adjusted the brim on my hat and shuffled down the alley towards the street.

The rain had passed and I found Krycek parked where I left him. He had a fresh cigarette in his lips and was reclined against the car seat. I tapped on the window and he unrolled it letting the rhythm of Count Bassie and his orchestra glide onto the sidewalk.

“Looks like negotiations went well,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah you could say that,” I replied. My cheek felt like someone was inflating a balloon under the surface. I needed a drink. A wisp of smoke swirled out of the window and Krycek flicked the butt into a puddle.

“Take the car back to the precinct.”

“What?”

“You can leave it running with the doors open if you want.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take some advice I was given earlier today and get some rest. This case isn’t going cold anytime soon.” I watched as Krycek shifted gears and pulled away from the curb. There was a pang of mistrust thinking that the unmarked squad car would end up somewhere along the Potomac; but I also got the suspicion that Alex liked playing detective. Also long as I kept him on a short leash I could use him to my advantage. I crossed the street and walked the block until I found a phone booth. Before I slid open the door I had to spit out the stale blood that was collecting in my mouth. My cheek burned like fire. I picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.

“Yes I’m looking for a Dana Scully. Georgetown address.”

#i wrote this #historical au #xf fanfic #noir fiction #mulder POV #wip #my fic

36 notes · View notes

karajaynetoday · 4 years

Note

for the prompts, can I get “I’m so in love with her/him, I don’t know what do do.” with luke, pretty please?? tomorrow or next week is fine

Hi Shelbi! Thanks so much for this request, hope you enjoy this lil blurb xo

(and by lil I mean 1.6k words but I got carried away as per usual. anyway, enjoy some soft Luke weekend away in a cabin-based friends to lovers!)

(This is a fem reader insert blurb)

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

This weekend trip away to the lake with your close friend group had been in the works for months. The date had finally arrived, and all week your group chat had been buzzing with notifications from people talking about the fun supplies they’d bought, or screenshots of the excellent weather forecast, or memes about bears (that, to be honest, made you a little nervous).

Luke had offered you a carpool spot in his car, along with Michael and Crystal, which you gladly accepted. Originally the idea of camping in tents had been floated, but you were definitely thankful when instead Crystal found an incredible cabin on Air BnB that had more than enough room for all of you, plus private lake access and heaps of nature trails and other activities nearby.

When you showed up at Luke’s, overnight bag in tow, you suddenly felt super nervous. These were all your best friends that you’d known for years, and it definitely wasn’t your first trip away together as a group, but lately things between you and Luke had been… different, somehow.

He’d always been a great friend to you, making sure you had a ride home after a night out, or buying your favourite snacks whenever he hosted an event at his house, or inviting you on walks with Petunia because he remembered you had a dog similar to her growing up and it helped with your homesickness. But lately, you found yourself thinking of him more often than not. In those moments where you’d slip into a daydream about your future, and envisaged travelling the world, or walking down the aisle, or settling down into a house with little ones of your own one day, the only person you could see by your side in those daydreams was Luke. But then reality would set in, and you’d have to remind yourself that he’d never really shown any interest in you beyond friendship, so you couldn’t get your hopes up too high.

Michael and Crystal were already there when you arrived, so you helped pack the remaining supplies into Luke’s car and got on the road as soon as you could. The lake was about a four hour drive away and you’d agreed to share the driving, so you all rotated through various seats in the car. For the final hour of the journey, sunset had passed and you were driving through darkness as you made your way through the wooded area leading towards the lake. Michael had offered to drive the final shift, and Luke sat next to him in the front passenger seat, leaving you and Crystal in the back. You’d both assured the boys that you’d keep them company, and you wouldn’t dare fall asleep, but the steady rhythm of the car quickly lulled you into sleep.

You couldn’t have been out for more than 20 minutes or so when you silently stirred and blinked furiously to try and wake yourself up more quickly. You were about to make a joke to Luke and Michael about definitely not falling asleep, when your ears picked up on them having a murmured conversation amongst themselves up the front.

“I’m so in love with her, Mike. I don’t know what to do.” Luke sounded exasperated, and you saw him run a hand through his mop of curls – a clear sign he was feeling anxious.

“Mate, I’m telling you, there is a solid 95% chance that the feeling is mutual. I see the way her face lit up when you offered her a lift to the cabin, or when you invite her on walks with Petunia, or when you have her favourite snacks at your house parties. I would bet a solid amount that she’s in the exact same boat as you.” Michael was trying to be patient and kind, but you could tell from his tone that he was a little amused by Luke’s predicament.

You froze when you realised they were talking about you. No. Surely not? Luke… Luke didn’t have feelings for you, did he? He couldn’t be IN LOVE with you? Plain, boring old you? Was this a dream? It has to be a dream. You pinched yourself, hard, and let out a small gasp at the pain before you could realise what you’d done. Luke’s head whipped around to the back seat, and you made eye contact.

“H-hey, sweetheart. How long have you been awake?” He asked, his tone wobbly and unsure.

“Oh, literally just woke up a second ago. Must’ve moved around in my sleep and bumped my elbow too hard, that’s why I gasped. Sorry if I gave you a fright!” You were desperately trying to sound as normal as possible.

Luke’s face visibly relaxed, and you knew you’d sold the lie well enough. Your heart was still pounding over what he said, but in this car right now was not the time to address it. You could see Michael eyeing you curiously in the rear-view mirror, almost like he didn’t believe a word of your elbow bump story, but you just flashed him a smile and focused your gaze out the window, even though you could barely see a thing in the darkness of night.

When you arrived at the cabin, the others in the group had beaten you there, and already started claiming bedrooms and stocking the kitchen, and they’d even used the outdoor grill for dinner which gave the area a delicious aroma. Stepping out of the car, you gave your arms a nice big stretch and took a deep breath in and out. You’d lived in a more rural area growing up, and being near the trees and the water really made you feel more at home.

Before you could protest, Luke was carrying your bag inside as well as his own, and you scurried along to claim a bedroom before they were all gone. You settled for a small bedroom that was more like a nook just off the kitchen, but it had a nice big window that you thought would give wonderful sunrise views of the lake when you woke up the next day, so its size and the single bed didn’t bother you.

After a welcome night cap and a brief discussion of plans for tomorrow (Calum offered to cook breakfast, Ashton was coordinating yoga down on the lake’s shore, Crystal and Sierra had mapped out some easy hikes, and Michael and Luke had organised boat hire and tubing), you all adjourned to your own rooms for some sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, replaying Luke’s words that you overhead in the car in your head, when you heard someone step into the kitchen and open the fridge. You’d left your bedroom door slightly ajar because it was kind of warm in the cabin, so you were able to crawl up the bed and squint out into the kitchen to see who was on the hunt for a midnight snack. Even without your glasses on, you could tell the blurry, broad-shouldered, white-singlet clad kitchen intruder was Luke from a mile away.

You didn’t want to startle him, but you weren’t sure how many other chances you’d get this weekend to talk to him entirely alone. You pulled a sweater over your head, located your glasses and slowly shuffled over to the doorway.

“Hey, kitchen intruder. What’s on for midnight snack?” Your voice was soft, but Luke still jumped a mile and clutched at his chest, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. To be fair, hearing the fridge open metres away from me unexpectedly was a bit of a heart stopper too, pal.” You teased, crossing across the kitchen to lean up against the counter next to where Luke was making a nutella sandwich.

“I guess that makes us even then, sweetheart.” Luke shot you a wink, and you felt your heart leap in your chest.

“Gonna make one for me too, or what?” You said, making grabby hands at Luke’s sandwich.

“Well considering you asked SO nicely…” Luke stuck his tongue out at you, but pulled out more slices of bread onto the cutting board and started making you a sandwich anyway.

You paused for a moment, and took Luke in. Even in the middle of the night, after a long and tiring drive, he still looked so damn good. And he was making you a chocolate-y snack. What a dream. A dream, that if you just took a little leap of faith, could maybe be part of your reality.

“Hey, Luke?” You half-whispered, almost not wanting him to hear you. His head perked up immediately, sparkling blue eyes meeting yours with a curious look.

“Yeah?” He half-whispered back.

“I know what you should do.” You spoke louder and more purposefully this time, the adrenaline taking over as you angled your body towards Luke’s.

“About what?” Luke countered, not moving an inch as you got a little closer.

“About the girl you’re in love with.”

Luke froze, dropping the butter knife covered in nutella onto the kitchen counter with a loud clang. He swallowed audibly, before fixing you with a look that you couldn’t quite read.

“Oh yeah? What should I do, do you reckon?” The mystery stare was gone, and the familiar mischievous glint you loved to see in Luke’s eyes replaced it, as he moved in and closed the gap between you, bringing you chest to chest.

“I think you should tell her. Mike gives good advice, there’s a pretty good chance she feels the same.” You could feel yourself smiling uncontrollably, as you glanced up and realised how close Luke’s face was to yours.

“I guess I’ll take my chances, then.”

Before you could respond, Luke cupped your face with both hands and kissed you, hard. You felt like your skin was on fire, and your heart was about to burst out of your chest, but kissing Luke also felt like coming home and finding everything you’d ever hoped and waited for.

The nutella sandwiches could wait. You had some making up for lost time to do first.

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is! Tumblr might just being dumb, who knows. @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie @becihadshawn @allthestarsandthemoon

#luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings imagine #my writing #ask #prompt #answered #now i want some nutella lol

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gophergal · 3 years

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A/N: SO, this is the Michael Myers x OC story rewrite I was telling y’all about! I started it in August of 2019 around the time I started this blog. The only warning for this chapter I can think of is home invasion. I would also like to thank @bucketofcowboys for beta reading this for me. I <3 you, dude!

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter One

Word count: 2000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Houses passing by slowly drift farther apart as the car bulleted forward on the empty road out of town. Clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars that Jean loved so dearly. Instead, the world was masked in inky blackness, save for the headlights and few porch lights left on by the sleepy residents inside. Beyond that, there was nothing, just the varying shades of black that made up the road, trees, and sky. It was a quiet night, Halloween night, she reminded herself. Seems that if you have no kids to take trick or treating and no parties to get drunk at that Halloween is just a date on the calendar. A block of black up ahead drew closer. It was her home, the house she'd inherited when her grandfather passed away. The old man had always been taken good care of her and, even after death, still kept that up.

“Thirteen dead and two injured tonight after a killing spree perpetrated, possibly, by an escaped patient of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. The suspect, one Michael Audrey Myers, is thought to have been caught in an explosion at Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, though police urge residents of the surrounding area to remain cautious until further notice,” the radio droned as Jean tiredly pulled her car into the driveway. Jean shook her head, dirty blond locks sweeping across her face as she frowned. The world's really gone downhill when things like this happen every day, she thought, or maybe I just never noticed how cruel it can be.

A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about the madman running amok, murdering innocents. Mentally, she slapped herself. Keep your cool, Jean. No way could a loony like that evade capture for long. Hell, he might even be lost in the woods, looking around wildly as coyotes sized him up for a meal. He was probably dead, or at least would wish he were. She couldn't be losing her head over something the police could handle. She was safe here. That name though- It sounded familiar.

The moon was already high in the sky when she finally pulled open her front door, kicked off her shoes on the mat, and shrugged her coat off, stretching the stiff muscles of her shoulders. It had been a late shift. That was never a problem for Jean though. She didn't have anyone waiting for her at home and everyone knew it, so she was a good choice for late nights. Not that she minded. Jolene, her co worker, liked to lecture to her about getting out there and “catching herself a man”. Well, to Jean, dating was a tiresome and pointless game, and it wasn't like she had a line of suitors waiting to sweep her off her feet. Keys clinked in the dish where they were set and Jean ran a hand through her hair, her body rapidly growing heavy with exhaustion as the day caught up to her. Thinking back on it, she'd never been very popular. No problem though. Popularity didn't matter if you didn't want it to, and Jean was perfectly happy on her own.

She slipped by the kitchen, grabbing first for an apple then, remembering granddad's lectures about “eating heartily and eating well”, prepared a sandwich instead. Lazily she took a bite, too tired to care about how it tasted. Without thought, she flipped on the radio. For a moment she stood in front of the table, knowing very well that getting ready for sleep would zap what was left of her dwindling supply of energy, but not wanting to go to bed. She would have time to read a book if she put off brushing her teeth. She'd recently gotten a copy of that book Jolene recommended to her. Some horror story about a hotel. The Shining, she thought it was called. Jo seemed to like it quite a bit, but Jean had never been a big fan of horror. She often found the protagonists a bit stupid and would reluctantly admit to being easily spooked by those kind of stories. Still, she'd wanted to give it a chance, but hadn't yet had a chance to start reading it.

With the last crumb of bread stuffed into her mouth, she grabbed her pen and pad of paper to jot down a note to buy more bread. Tomorrow would be a good day for laundry and relaxation, she thought. Sunny and warm according to the forecast, as much as early November can be. It would be a good day off, she decided. She finally surrendered to her exhaustion, the need for sleep driving her through her routine. She only briefly stopped to look in the mirror, examining the dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, flopping into bed unceremoniously and snuggling into the soft covers. Exhaustion overtook her and the comforting dark arms of sleep came easily.

THUMP. Jean bolted upright, panic flooding her veins as she became aware of her surroundings. A stone sunk in her guts as she realized that she could not remember locking the door. She groped beneath the bed for the baseball bat she kept for home defense. She cursed herself silently for not taking granddad up on his offer for shooting lessons all those years ago, Her nerves were not calmed as she slid her hand over the smooth wood of her weapon. She had a white knuckle grip on the bat to keep her hands from shaking as she padded silently down the stairs, avoiding the creaky last step with practiced ease. She kept to the wall as she entered the living room, her terror striking her mute as she beheld the sight before her. Upon her couch, covered in blood and soot, lay a strange man, the ragged rise and fall of his chest her only indication that he wasn't a corpse. He shifted, mask clad head turning to her before he sprung up to shaky feet, filthy knife held defensively in his wavering grip. Even from here she could see the shaking of his large hands.

“Woah! Woah, hold it, big fella!” She exclaimed, bat extended in the space between them, “I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you hurt me first” A stupid thing to say honestly, given that he had a great deal of height and mass over her and, even injured as she believed him to be, could likely subdue her with ease. Not to mention the fact that he was an intruder. Logic seemed to leave her when she needed it most, it seemed. She swallowed thickly as he tilted his head, seeming to consider her words. His hand came to hang at his side, the knife loose in his fist. She lowered her home defense, her gaze still shifting nervously as she searched for his eyes behind the mask. A futile effort, for all she could glimpse was the sunken blackness of the eye holes.

“Why don't you take a seat. Wouldn't want you to pass out in the middle of my living room floor. You're a bit too big for me to carry,” she said as she studied his person to see what injuries he'd sustained. Jesus Christ, she thought, has he been fucking shot? Indeed, the telltale entry wounds were present, six in total, on his chest, arms, and leg. The dark blood that had bloomed around them was beginning to dry. The man all but fell to the couch, his sudden weight making the springs creak slightly.

“I'm willing to bet good money that you've been hurt pretty badly from the look of you. But 911 isn't really an option now, not with the breaking and entering, y'know.” The intruder remained stone still, as he'd been since he sat down. Jean fidgeted, thinking of what to do next. “Since going to the hospital probably isn't an option for you, I could patch you up, if you want. I mean, I'm no doctor, but it's better than nothing.”

At the mention of “hospital” he seemed to stiffen, if only slightly. The offer to tend his wounds seemed to relax him again. Though maybe she was looking too deeply into things. “I'll go ahead and get the kit, you- well you need to strip down a bit so I can help you.” She didn't wait for an answer of any kind before she began up the stairs, her full weight coming down on the squeaky step in her rush. She was playing nurse to the strange man- strange masked man, she corrected- that had broken into her home and threatened her with a knife. The ridiculousness of the situation, the pure stupidity of it all, was not lost on her, but now she was on autopilot. Moving without thinking.

With the first aid kit and water basin now safely in her arms, she moved down the stairs purposefully, almost hoping that her unwelcome guest had left or had been a dream. Her hopes were dashed when she saw him there, partially undressed, on her couch. For how scorched his jumpsuit was he had relatively few burns. In fact, the biggest one was about the size of a hand on his left side. It had blistered, but the rubbing of cloth must have caused them to rupture, leaving them as seeping open wounds. The gunshot wounds were concerning though. They were hard to see under all the crusty dried blood, but she knew that the bullets had to go.

Drawing nearer, she saw on the coffee table sat five bullets, droplets of red pooling around them as the masked man's thick, grubby fingers set down the last one. Jean blinked, then decided it wasn't worth the shock, horror, or confusion. She just needed to tend to him, get some sleep, and wake up from this weird dream. If she was quick enough, she could let it fade from her memory with no problems. Carefully, she cleaned the wounds, watching as the water changed from it's original crystal clear state into a murky red. His wounds, however, looked better than they had before. She dressed them with ointment and bandage, every movement slow and deliberate as she treated the wounds.

She lent to him an old pair of jeans and a button down her granddad had owned. Anything would be better than those grubby coveralls. The more she thought, the more she realized that not all the blood on them could possibly be his, but she pushed it from her mind. The sooner he was out of here, the better. And that would be much faster if she cooperated. You'll regret this later, a small voice, probably her common sense, told her. Maybe I will, she thought in response, but I'll burn that bridge when I get there.

With everything being returned to it's proper place in the box and the filthy water drained into the sink, she looked to him, a slight nervous grin on her lips, “You'd better get some rest then. Those wounds won't heal up very well otherwise.” He looked in her direction in a way that her exhausted mind read as unsure, yet confused. With a sleepy stagger, she made her way up the stairs to her room. The door slammed slightly behind her as she entered the room, the sound of it echoing throughout the room. She greeted the bed readily, succumbing to unconsciousness as soon as she hit the soft pillows.

Downstairs, the man, now wearing another stranger's clothes, sat on the couch. His mind working to weigh the options at hand. The immediate pleasure of stalking up the stairs and watching the light fade from her eyes as he stripped her life from her was tempting, but this woman, she was useful to him. More-so alive than dead, he figured. And so, he would wait. He was very patient; He'd needed to be for 15 years and could wait just a bit longer for her death. The very thought of it satisfied him.

The night's hunt had been less than successful. Prey had escaped. He'd been injured. And the Doctor- he'd tried to kill him; tried to shoot him dead. Not that it surprised him. Doctor Loomis had promised him for years that he would be killed if he stepped out of line. No matter. He was free now. He could not be stopped. And anyone who tried to stop him would simply become more prey for him. There was only one that had escaped him and she would be hunted, caught like a rat, then slaughtered by his hand, and his hand alone. But first, his body needed rest.

#michael myers #slashers #slasher x oc #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

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GF - Warming Comforts

For @lemonfodrizzlecake

~~~~~~~~~~

The freezing water splashed against the sturdy boat, creating a beautiful song of the sea. It was pitch black outside, though only four in the afternoon, but with it being winter on the Arctic Ocean, sunlight was a rare treat. In fact, Ford had calculated that they would not see any sunshine until the last day of February unless they traveled south.

While it was true that he was more sensitive to the cold and always wore several thick layers to contain more body heat (why else would he wear a turtleneck and trenchcoat in the middle of summer), there was something awakening about the bitter icy atmosphere, how it made his every breath visible, how it pricked his cheeks and nose, turning them red, how if wind cursed them it would send shivers down his spine and ruffle his charcoal-gray fluff for hair.

Ford smiled and peered through his telescope again, the night sky being cloudless and perfect for star mapping. While he appreciated and missed the Northern Lights, it was difficult to study the representatives of Abraham’s descendants with so much commotion in the air, so the aged scientist took advantage of the quiet inky black sky and used his lantern to make a map of the stars, a fun activity that Ford was sure the children would want to see when he was finished. He pulled himself away from the telescope and began to make some marks on the dark-blue paper on the railing.

“BOO!”

“GAH!”

Ford jumped from fear at the sudden noise and misplaced his footing on the slippery dock. With one hand stupidly on his hip for a weapon due to reflexes, his body was too busy panicking to keep him from toppling off the boat and down into the sea. He heard that voice yell again - but this time in pure fear rather than trying to put fear into someone else - just before he splashed into the freezing water.

Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, lost of all his hands and face. His torso, protective with an undershirt, two sweaters that Mabel had made for him, and a thick blue hoodie, were still somewhat warm, but it wouldn’t be long until the water would seep through and freeze his chest and stomach, but right now his legs and arms were in quite a bit of pain. Ford wanted to gasp in shock, but he was quick to realize that would mean breathing in sea water, so he focused his pain into moving upward and soon he broke the surface and coughed as he wiped his face dry of beads of water behind his glasses.

“STANFORD! Stanford, I’m sorry, are you okay?!”

“Stanley, I’m fine.” Ford chuckled; he was initially extremely irritated but the way his twin was freaking out and was completely resentful for a small prank gone wrong made up for it. Really, he was just cold. No permanent harm done. “Just throw down the rope, will you please?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Stan sounded like he was calming down, but Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he was shaking as much as he was right now.

Stan, meanwhile, was scrambling for the rope and working to throw it down so his brother could climb back up. Trust him to only intent to make his brother jump and prove a point that his tunnel vision when working is really that bad, only to plunge the brainiac into the Arctic Ocean. He could still fix this; once Ford is safe he can change into dry clothes and sit by the wood-burning stove with a cup of coffee, the heating pad, and some blankets. Hey, at least it was a legitimate excuse not to push himself so hard.

The youngest of the two by fifteen minutes tossed down one half of the rope and held on tight, brazing himself for the sudden weight to cling on. “Here you go, Sixer.” A few seconds passed and no response came. No call, no tug on the rope, not even a splash to clue Stan in that his brother was even trying to grab the rope. “Ford, you okay?”

Well, no, he wasn’t okay, he was freezing cold, but he would be soon. Worried the nerd was way too cold to speak or move, Stan picked up the lantern and shined it down to see the ocean that surrounded them. His heart plunged into his stomach when he didn’t see Ford in the water. All that was visible to his eyes were some icebergs that decorated the sea. “Stanford! Talk to me!” Stan demanded.

Ford might be a jerk, but not this big of a jerk. Stan quickly shed his beanie and long coat (he needed something dry to wrap his brother in when they came back), then he tied the rope to the dock, letting it trail down into the sea, and he grabbed a flashlight from out of his coat. No sense in jumping into the ocean if he couldn’t see. All within five seconds of realizing his twin was nowhere to be seen, Stan dived into the ocean.

He ignored the way he nerves howled in agony and shined the flashlight every which way underwater to find Ford. He squinted at a dark shape and swam towards it, a little too far away to see, but then as the light shined on scaly skin Stan got a glimpse of what he was up against and it took everything not to waste his breath growling. Speaking breath, he was running out of it. He swam up to the surface, directly below his enemy to recharge his batteries to fight the best he could, then he dove again, this time more determined than ever to not break the surface again if his twin wasn’t doing so with him.

Ford’s neck and limbs were bound in the tentacles of a giant squid. Unless Stan was mistaken, this was the same giant squid that greeted them as dinner when they first began their journey. Didn’t this gross unwrapped sushi have anything better to do than stock them like a big crazy fangirl? Stan dove down as the monster hissed angrily at the intruder. Ford was still struggling, but he was slowing down and his eyes were shut.

Stan pulled out his pocket knife and slashed a tentacle and tried to free his brother. The squid squealed in pain and let Ford go, who was weak and limp from the lack of warmth and oxygen. Quickly delivering a left hook to the squid’s big eye, Stan wrapped one of Ford’s arms around his neck and swam upward as fast as he could.

The moment they broke the surface they both gasped and coughed furiously. Stan used all of his strength to hoist Ford towards the rope, who grasped it and began to climb with Stan’s help. Thankfully they both managed to climb up onto the boat, soaking wet and horribly cold as a gust of wind blew by, but they were alive. That was the important thing.

On his hands and knees, Stan grabbed his coat and helped the quivering Ford out of his dripping wet blue hoodie and into the dry coat. “C’mon, Sixer, let’s get you warm.”

Hazed and weaker than he would like to be, Ford mindlessly nodded and let his brother take charge. Stan was put on protective auto-pilot, and despite being cold and weak he did not rest as he walked them both inside the small cabin of the boat and helped his brother get well.

The wood-burning stove cracked with fire in the corner in the kitchen, the couch right by it for cozy relaxation. Stan made his brother stand next to it and he quickly threw in three more planks of wood into the fire to make it hotter and fueled for a long time. Stan then fished out Ford’s thickest pair of yellow-plaid pajamas and fuzzy knitted socks (Mabel never rests) and made Ford change while Stan turned on the heating pad and decided that now was as good a time as any for dinner. Rather than coffee, Stan stood only a few feet away from his twin as he fixed some tomato soup and dug out some bread and made grilled cheeses to go with it, keeping an eye on Ford’s skin and how it was slowly not looking as pale as it did.

Ford sat on the couch as his mind was slowly coming back to himself. It then suddenly came to him in an instant that Stan was still wet and freezing, risking a cold if he didn’t change quickly. “Stanley, you knucklehead!” He scolded and jumped up from the couch, leaving the damp coat on the floor. He marched over and swiped the wooden spoon from Stan’s hand and pointed to the doorway leading downstairs for the bedroom. “Go change! You’ll catch your death in this cold.”

Stan snorted and rolled his eyes with a smile. “Whatever, I’m fine, I wasn’t in there as long as you.”

“I don’t care, go change!”

“Alright, Ma.” Stan punched his shoulder lightly as he walked off to change. While the warmth of the hot stove as he cooked did help, he couldn’t deny how much better he would feel to be in cozy pajamas rather than freezing wet clothes.

Soon in Mabel’s pink goodbye sweater (it’s cold, he has to) and dark-gray sweatpants with socks and slippers. Ford turned off the stove and poured the tomato soup into two mugs and had the sandwiches on plates. He nodded to the couch by the fire and instructed firmly, “Sit.”

Stan shrugged and did as he was told as he swiped the fuzzy hand-knitted blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over his lap. Once again Ms. Mabel Pines was responsible for something cozy and warm in the Stan O’ War II. It had come in the mail around the holidays, a thick blue and green blanket that looked like it had been knitted with expensive wool. It was a huge blanket that could easily cover three grown men and Stan honestly thought it was his grandniece’s best work thus far.

He chuckled and shook his head as Ford joined him by his side. “Does Mabel ever just relax? You know, sit around and do nothing like a kid should?”

“It runs in the family.” He quipped and let Stan throw the blanket over his lap as he handed him his mug of soup and placed the plates on their laps. Stan smiled at Ford, hoping for one in return, but he was startled to find a scowl on his brother’s face. “Now as for you, what on Earth were you thinking?!” He scolded.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. “I know I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Completely irresponsible! Totally reckless! What am I supposed to do to myself if you had gotten hurt, Stanley!? Yes, I know how strong you are and you can handle a monster or two, but really!”

His parental scolding continued for a few minutes while Stan smiled at himself and sipped his soup. This wasn’t the first time Ford had taken this approach to being “angry” at Stan for saving his life or doing something even slightly dangerous. They were sailing in the middle of the Arctic Ocean for Mose’s sake, of course it’s going to be dangerous, that’s what makes it exciting, but that never stopped Ford from lecturing him every time his neck was at risk for Ford’s behalf. Stan had learned to just let Ford rant and go with it until he had a chance to remind him that if the tables would turn Ford would be just as stupid, and then all that would leave Ford to do is mumbled how Stan is a better man than him and needs to continually prove him right.

By the time Stan was quietly munching on his grilled cheese, Ford was catching his breath, and Stan said collectively, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Sixer, just relax, okay? On second thought, don’t, cuz all that energy is warming you up.”

His red cheeks, Ford rolled his eyes and mumbled something in his mug that Stan only picked up because he had heard Ford say it countless times. “Don’t make me lose you again, Stanley.”

Stan snorted and rested his head on his brother’s shoulder to help keep him warm. “Never gonna happen. You’re stuck with me forever, Poindexter.”

“Good.”

#GF #gravity falls #i think i forgot how to title #oh well #requests #fanfiction #ford pines #stan pines #sea grunks

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