#but instead of asking if they have oat milk i just said yes. again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blueraineshadows · 8 months

Text

Brothers Part 7

Garreth Weasley x F!MC x Oscar Weasley

A love rivalry between two Weasley brothers. Oscar is an OC created by @eternalremorse and used with her permission.

Triggers: violence, injury, panic attack symptoms

Chapter Master List

Chapter Seven - Forgive Me

At breakfast in the Great Hall, students chatted and bustled around her, the school day getting started, but MC sat resting her chin in her hand, absently stirring her bowl of porridge. She watched the blend of oats and milk turn with her spoon, but behind her eyes, she was replaying that afternoon in the forest and the way Garreth had looked at her.

After everything that had happened during 5th year, she would have thought that a little scrap with some poachers would be easy, something to move on from and put behind her, but not this time. Every night since, she had been plagued with nightmares, waking up in cold sweats and her eyes burning with tears.

She hated letting people down, and she felt like she had disappointed Garreth, worried that he would never look at her the same way again. The way he had touched her cheek at the party meant a whole new thing to her now. The potential loss of that made her hurt in ways she hadn't expected.

Over the last week she had begun to withdraw into herself, choosing to study in the Undercroft instead of the library and spending free time alone, laying on her bed wondering if she would ever get away from having to fight.

This year was supposed to be different.

The only person who understood was Sebastian, and after the return of her panic attacks, she spent an evening crying on his shoulder in the Undercroft. As usual, he calmed her down, holding her and assuring her that everything would be alright, just like he used to last year. She was grateful for his support but had declined his offer to knock some sense into Garreth's Gryffindor skull.

As she stirred her uneaten breakfast, she considered lifting the spoon to eat some, but her throat closed up. Her eyes lifted to gaze across towards the Gryffindor table where Garreth sat chatting with his fellow housemates. He laughed at something one of his friends said, his head tilting back, face lighting up with amusement. Perhaps he felt her eyes on him, or maybe a habitual glance, but his gaze met hers.

MC held her breath, holding his look with a spark of hope. But his smile fell from his lips, his eyes lost their sparkle of humour, and a shadow crossed his expression. He looked down, and she felt his withdrawal like a fist to the chest.

"Are you two still not talking?" Poppy asked, her gaze following MC's.

MC shook her head. "He hates me," she said miserably.

"I doubt that, MC." Poppy rubbed her on the back, a comforting smile on her lips. "He will come around."

MC wasn't so sure anymore. She abandoned her porridge and pushed herself upright with a sigh. "I will see you in class," she said. She turned to look at Poppy. "Are we still going to check on the unicorns later?"

Poppy nodded. "Yes, I'm waiting on an owl from my grandmother about a possible relocation."

As sad as it would be to lose the unicorns, it was important to keep them safe. MC left Poppy to her breakfast and made her way out of the Great Hall. As she made her way towards class, Oscar caught up with her, taking her arm.

"Good morning," he said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his eyes narrowing a little as he took in her washed out face, his brow creasing in concern. "Are you still not sleeping?"

She shook her head. Explaining her low mood as lack of sleep was the best she could manage. She couldn't bring herself to tell Oscar the truth. What if he looked at her the way Garreth had? She couldn't bear it, so she tucked it away along with all the other dark secrets she held in her heart.

He stopped her in her step, tugging her into a corner as students filed past. He caressed her cheek, eyes worried. "Have you thought about going to see Nurse Blainey? Maybe she could help you."

MC looked up at him, the truth right there on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. "This isn't unusual for me, Oscar. It happens sometimes, I just have to fight through it."

He gave her a pained look and held her close, holding the back of her head gently against his chest. "I feel like I haven't seen you much this week. Let me know if I can do anything," he said.

Guilt tugged at her, and she nuzzled against him, feeling bad for keeping him at arm's length the last few days. His worry and sweetness towards her made her feel a warmth, an appreciation for him, and she sighed.

"I'm sorry, I've been neglecting you," she said. "I will have to make it up to you."

"I will hold you to that," he smiled. He pressed a soft kiss to her head. "I need to get to class. I will come and find you later."

She nodded, and with another quick kiss, he was gone. She watched Oscar stride off towards his class, his hair shining in the soft rays filtering through the tall windows. Sadness pulled at her. Why couldn't she tell him the truth? Every time she thought she had taken a step closer to him, she found herself holding back a little more.

With a soft sigh, she began to walk to class, her hand slipping into her pocket to touch the little parcel she had been hanging on to. A gift for Garreth that she really wanted to give him, but she was scared he would throw it back in her face.

....*....

Garreth shivered against the whipping wind as he hurried across the bridge and into the shelter of the castle, tugging his robe a little tighter around him as he walked across the Clock Tower courtyard. It was deserted, no Crossed Wands this evening, the space vacant and drafty from the cold winds outside.

He sat on the step facing the huge archway, watching the fallen leaves dance and twist across the courtyard, the pumpkins around the fountain wobbling a little. He twisted his fingers together as he wondered if this was a good idea. He didn't want to make a fool of himself.

But it was too late to change his mind as the door behind him opened, and he turned to see Sebastian strolling in, hands in his pockets, and a smirk on his face. His confidence oozed from him in waves, and Garreth supposed he had good reason. He was smart, handsome, and a fierce duelist, and it was his skill in the latter that had made Garreth ask him here in the first place.

"Evening, Garreth," he greeted with a nod. He came to a stop in front of him, looking down with his eyebrows raised. "Are you ready to get your arse kicked?"

Garreth sighed and rubbed his hand through his mop of hair. "I thought you were here to teach me how not to let that happen."

Sebastian's smirk widened, and he held out a hand. "Come on then," he said. Garreth took his hand and let him haul him up to his feet. "Let's see what I'm working with first of all."

As Sebastian set up a training dummy and they went through some spells, Garreth tried to focus his guilt into his efforts. He felt so ashamed about running away from MC and leaving her in the forest alone. More than that, he hated that he had cowered behind her, too scared and overwhelmed to help her fight off those poachers. He had never really been interested in learning the combat spells, but who better to teach him a few than a Crossed Wands Champion.

He had been nervous about approaching Sebastian and asking for his help, expecting the Slytherin to laugh or tell him to get lost, but he hadn't. Sebastian had given him a look, something that met halfway between curiosity and some kind of respect. He had put his hand on Garreth's shoulder and nodded.

"I'd be happy to help," he'd said. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone else on one condition. You keep your mouth shut about MC and what she did."

Of course, MC had told Sebastian about it. He should have expected it, but his cheeks had coloured up just the same. Sebastian wasn't a dick about it, though, and Garreth had no intentions of breathing a word about what he had witnessed. He was still finding it hard to believe himself, and he had been there.

Once warmed up, Garreth felt himself beginning to enjoy learning the spells, even laughing when he managed to send the training dummy flipping through the air. He had to hand it to him, Sebastian was a good teacher, and he could imagine MC hanging on his every word when she had been new here.

As the practise came to a close, Garreth smiled and blew his hair off his sweaty forehead. "I think I might be getting the hang of this."

Sebastian chuckled. "Easy now, mate. A training dummy is nothing compared to the real thing."

"Maybe next time I can practise on you," Garreth grinned.

Sebastian gave him a look, his eyes assessing curiously. "Why are you really doing this?"

"I told you, I realised I was out of practise," he said, shifting his feet a little.

Sebastian's nod was thoughtful. "You know, I commend anyone who wants to learn more, especially when it's on the boundaries of the curriculum, but fighting isn't the only way to win over MC."

Garreth flushed and avoided Sebastian's eyes as they put away the training dummy. "I don't know what you mean. I'm not trying to win her over."

"I realise you don't know half of what went down last year, and maybe you don't need to, but MC went through some really dark things," Sebastian said. He paused and looked at Garreth, his eyes serious. "She deserves to smile, and when you're with her, she does just that. You don't need to fight. You just need to be your usual Weasley self. She already likes you the way you are."

Garreth sighed and rubbed his face. "It's not enough."

Sebastian tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "Bloody hell, you really like her," he said. He quirked an eyebrow. "Does your brother know you want to steal his girl?"

Garreth shoved Sebastian and scowled. "Oh, shut up," he said. "Now you're being silly."

Sebastian chuckled. "Hey, I get it. MC is gorgeous. I was tempted myself once, but that's a whole other story, and it is way past your bedtime."

Garreth snatched up his robes and pulled them on. "Then let's get out of here," he grumbled.

Sebastian was still smirking as they crossed the bridge back into the main part of the castle. Garreth had been rumbled. Sebastian was far too clever for his own good. Considering how close he was to MC, maybe he would tell her how Garreth felt. His heart pattered quicker at the thought.

"You won't tell her, will you?" He asked. "I mean, Oscar is my brother after all."

Sebastian grinned. "It would be the perfect opportunity to wind your brother up. A pleasure I would be sore to miss out on."

"Sebastian, please," Garreth begged. "Don't tell her. Not for Oscar's sake, but for hers. Things are already tense enough between us as it is after last week."

Sebastian nodded, chewing on his lower lip. "Hmm, yes, about that. You need to talk to her," he said.

Garreth felt his insides twist up a bit. "I know."

"Well, make sure you do. She's pretty upset that you're shutting her out. She even cried over it," Sebastian said. "You're lucky I didn't curse you. I don't usually let people get away with that kind of thing."

Garreth looked at him in horror. "I made her cry?"

Sebastian nodded as they paused, ready to split up and go their separate ways to their own common rooms. Sebastian patted his shoulder. "Fix it, Garreth. Patch things up before we have our outing to Hogsmeade for Samhain."

Garreth nodded. "I'll try."

As he began to walk away, Sebastian headed off in the other direction. He heard Sebastian call his name. Garreth paused and turned.

Sebastian's grin was wicked. "Just so you know, if you did have any ideas about stealing MC from your brother, then I am on your side. Anything to wipe that smug look off Oscar's face."

Garreth rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a grin of his own as he turned and continued on his way.

When he got back to the common room, he headed straight to his dorm to grab his things and take a bath. Leander was lying on his stomach reading. He looked up and smiled when Garreth came in.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "Where have you been?"

Garreth shrugged. "Went for a walk."

Leander sat up. "MC came to the portrait and asked for you," he said carefully. "She didn't ask for Oscar at all, just you."

Garreth avoided the pointed look Leander was giving him. Everyone had noticed that things were odd between him and MC lately, even Oscar, but Garreth was keeping tight lipped.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

Leander shook his head. "No, but she left a box for you. I've put it on your bed."

Garreth's eyes darted to his bed and saw the little box wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He moved closer and picked it up. It was as light as a Fwooper feather. He smoothed his thumbs over it, worrying at his lower lip.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Leander was far too curious, leaning forward eagerly. Garreth didn't want to open it in front of him. He might be his best friend, but he was also in thick with the Quidditch lads. Who knows what he might spill? He did have a tendency to run his mouth off at times.

"I'll open it in a bit," Garreth said. He put the box down and gathered his things for a bath, Leander returning to his book with a disappointed frown.

When Leander wasn't looking, Garreth tucked the box under his arm with his towel and left the dorm.

In the privacy of the bath cubicle, Garreth sat and unwrapped the parcel. When he lifted the lid of the box, there was a note inside and a folded piece of cloth.

Garreth,

I'm sorry. I regret how things turned out in the forest. I only hope you can forgive me.

I managed to gather the unicorn hair for you. I hope it is enough. Maybe you will let me try your creation once it's ready. I have complete faith that you will succeed.

I miss you.

Garreth read the note over and over, his eyes stinging and blurring until he had to rub at them with his fists. He carefully opened the piece of cloth, and inside was the gathered unicorn hair, neatly coiled and silky soft.

Even after he had abandoned her and shut her out, she still believed in him and handed over a fortunes worth of rare ingredients for him to play with. This time, he let the tears cloud his eyes.

It still frightened him when he remembered how she had looked, crackling and alight with her ancient magic, the sheer power she had weilded, and the death she had brought with her hands. It had shaken him, but a small part of him had been in awe. How could anyone stand up against that? Who was worthy to stand beside her? She was magnificent and terrifying in a beautiful little package.

He loved her. He bloody loved her, and he didn't deserve her, let alone know what to do about it.

....*....

Once again, MC had declined to see him this evening, claiming she had an errand to run, and then she was going to try and get some sleep. Oscar knew something was up. He just knew it, but as usual, she was holding it back.

She looked pale and lost, her eyes shadowed, and the weird tension between her and Garreth made slippery coils of envy twist in his guts. Garreth was just as tight-lipped, refusing to admit that there was a problem when there clearly was. They were hiding something.

Pissed off with it and missing her more than he liked to admit, Oscar had gone into Hogsmeade with Isaac and spent some coin on whiskey. His blood was hot with it, his head a little fuzzy as he climbed through the portrait into the Gryffindor common room alone. Isaac had got lucky and wouldn't be back for a while yet.

The common room was quiet, a fire blazing still in the hearth as he passed it. He paused, spotting his little brother asleep on the settee near the fire. It was his favourite spot. You could often find him there scribbling in his precious journal. Oscar moved closer, looking down at Garreth's freckled face, thick copper lashes fanned across his cheeks in sleep. His riot of hair tumbled against the scarlet cushions, a sandy red rather than the darker shade of Oscar's own.

He was a good looking boy he supposed, he had a cheeky charm to him, a softness that he got from their father. There were obvious resemblances between them, but Garreth was definitely more of an indoor person, unlike Oscar who loved being outside and active.

He couldn't help but compare himself to Garreth and wonder if perhaps MC would prefer his little brother over him. The thought made him wince, hating the idea of Garreth's hands on her, his lips tasting what Oscar craved.

His gaze travelled down to Garreth's hands resting against his lap, his fingers loosely holding the journal he carried everywhere with him. What did he write on those pages? What truths did he spill with his ink and pencils?

Oscar reached out a hand, tempted to pluck the book from Garreth's sleeping grasp and take a peek. It would be a breach of trust. But then, how much trust did Garreth place in him? He couldn't even tell him the truth about what was going on with MC. Neither of them could.

What were they hiding? Maybe the journal would shed some light on it all.

Garreth shifted in his sleep, and Oscar snatched his hand back, rubbing his face in shame at the betrayal he had been so close to. He went to step away but paused as the leather bound book slid from Garreth's grip and tumbled to the floor.

He watched it bounce and fall open, some loose parchment sliding out onto the rug. Words were scrawled over the pages that sat open, along with drawings that Garreth had sketched. Oscar knew his brother was a fair hand at sketching, and he moved closer despite himself, curious at the images, so temptingly offered up to him.

As he leaned over to see, his eyes widened, his hand reaching out to turn the book to get a better look at the drawings.

There were unicorns and scribbled notes, but the image that stood out the most was a sketch of a girl stroking a unicorns nose. There was no colour, so perhaps the girl could have been anyone, but Oscar knew who it was. He didn't have to read the notes scrawled underneath to know. It was MC. The words, 'Beautiful, ethereal, amazing' written beneath, and Oscar didn't think he meant the unicorn.

The style of the hair, the high boots, and a Gryffindor scarf. It was definitely her. When had Garreth seen her with a unicorn? Oscar's eyes scanned the notes, potion notes mentioning unicorn hair. Had they found a unicorn? How?

He turned the page. Another sketch. MC's eyes. This time, there was no doubt. Oscar would know those eyes anywhere, and apparently, his brother did too. Did she pose for him? Or had he drawn them from memory? Either way, hot jealousy exploded in his gut.

He looked at Garreth still asleep on the sofa and thought about waking him, demanding to know what the fuck he was doing making cute little drawings of his girlfriend. His hands trembled, his blood flooding hot with fury and alcohol as he stared at Garreth's face.

The sound of the portrait opening made him turn, someone scrambling through in a hurry, a Gryffindor prefect who looked flustered and panicked. She spotted Oscar and sagged in relief.

"Oh, Oscar, thank Merlin. You are up," she said. "I didn't relish the thought of barging into the boys' dorm to find you."

Oscar frowned, flipping the journal closed before standing. "Why do you want me?"

The prefect paled. "Professor Weasley, your... your aunt, she sent me to fetch you," she said. "You need to come to the hospital wing."

"Whatever for?" His frown deepened, confused.

She winced. "That Hufflepuff 6th year, the hero girl, she is your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Oscar felt his stomach turn a little as he stared at the prefect's pale face. "She is. Why do you ask?"

He was vaguely aware of Garreth shifting on the settee behind him. He could see movement out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the prefect to say more.

"She was seen being taken into the hospital wing about an hour ago," she said. "It didn't look good. She was covered in blood and not moving. And then your aunt asked me to fetch you. You need to come. Now."

Garreth was now standing beside him, his hair in disarray and red streaks on his cheek where he had been lying against the pillow.

"Is she... is she... " Garreth choked, unable to finish his question.

The prefect shrugged, her voice pained. "I don't know."

Oscar felt like he had been turned to ice. He swung his eyes to Garreth and saw his own fear mirrored in his brother's green eyes.

....*....

When Oscar entered the hospital wing, he saw Sallow holding a weeping Poppy, and his stomach dipped. He eyed the Slytherin but got nothing more than a cold look in return. Why is it that whenever there is trouble, Sallow was involved somehow?

His aunt, Professor Weasley, stepped out from behind privacy screens that surrounded a bed, her face grave. Oscar hurried forward, and she reached out to take his hand.

"Ah, Oscar dear, you've arrived," she said. "I thought it might help MC to have you here. She isn't awake at the moment, but Nurse Blainey has finished for now, so you may sit with her."

"Is she going to be okay?" He asked. His voice came out rough, too many emotions trying to bubble up and out of him.

"Thanks to Mr Sallow's quick thinking, yes. MC will be alright, but I must warn you, her appearance may be shocking at the moment, so prepare yourself."

Oscar glanced over his shoulder towards Sallow, who was still staring with cold eyes, his arms wrapped around the little Hufflepuff. The pair of them were covered in blood and what looked like ash. Oscar nodded once in acknowledgement of Sallow's help but then turned away.

"What happened?" He asked.

His aunt frowned, concern clouding her eyes. "Poachers," she said. "Unfortunately, there seems to be a few around lately, and your friends got caught up with some."

When MC had told him she had an errand to run, he had not expected it to be a fight with poachers. After seeing the drawings in his brother's journal, and now this, the sickening feeling that MC was keeping secrets from him swirled in his stomach.

When he stepped behind the privacy screens, a gasp slipped from his lips, both hands coming to his mouth as he slowly approached the bed. MC looked like a broken doll lying there in a hospital shift, her arms and face covered in healing wounds, her skin waxy pale. There was dried blood in her hair, and her lips were colourless. Oscar reached out slowly, his hand shaking, almost too afraid to touch her in case she felt cold. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of her chest, one might think she was dead.

Her fingers were limp in his hand as he smoothed his thumb over her skin, his eyes taking in every bruise, every scrape. It must have been some fight to make her look like this. Anguish, fury, fear, it all swirled through him, and he put gentle fingers to her face. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't wake. He had a longing to see her eyes, see that sparkling warmth in their depths, he wanted to hear her voice and know that she was alright.

Oscar had never really been in love before. He liked girls, fancied them, desired their bodies, and enjoyed time with them, but this was different. Looking at her laying here like this made his chest hurt, it hollowed him out and made him want to hurt those who had done it to her.

He was scared of losing her. Not just to poachers attacking her, but to his brother. Why did it feel like she was slipping through his fingers? He felt like he was powerless to stop it. He didn't like confrontation or fighting, not serious stuff anyway, but he felt like he might have to fight for her.

He would. What had started as appreciating a pretty girl had turned into so much more. He felt something for her, something that was beginning to consume him, and it felt suspiciously like love.

He stroked his fingers down her face, mindful of her wounds, and bent down to press a kiss to her lips. It was a soft touch that lingered. He was reluctant to pull back, his mouth hovering above hers.

"I'm right here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere until you wake up."

He meant it. Nurse Blainey would have to drag him out. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and held her hand. He would wait as long as it took to see her open her eyes, and he would be the first thing she saw.

....*....

Garreth had not slept at all since the prefect had come to fetch Oscar last night. He hadn't even tried going to bed because what would be the point. His chest was so tight it made him feel sick, he had tugged at his hair and paced the floor, and twice he had made it to the portrait entrance with every intention of following Oscar to the hospital wing. But he had held back.

As the hours slid slowly past, he loitered in the common room waiting for news, but Oscar had not returned. By the time dawn sent the first pale fingers of light through the windows, Garreth was on his feet and striding through the corridors. He couldn't wait any longer.

Poppy was seated on the bench outside the hospital wing, a bruise on her cheek fading, her eyes red and tired looking as she looked up at him approaching.

"Any news?" He asked.

"Apparently she woke up in the night and spoke a little," she said. "Oscar was with her."

Garreth sat down next to Poppy, his hands twisting at his robes. "What happened?"

Poppy shuddered. "We went to check on the unicorns, and there were a lot of poachers in the forest. Things escalated, but MC managed to send a Patronus signal to Sebastian. I've never seen anyone do that before. Apparently, they taught themselves how to do it last year."

Again, Garreth was in awe of MC's capabilities for a witch so new to their world. Poppy went on to explain how Sebastian had found them, and it was lucky he did because the fight took a bad turn.

"MC would only defend against the poachers," Poppy said. "She didn't attack any of them, and then she was sliced up pretty bad before getting hit with the Cruciatus curse."

Poppy's voice faltered, and she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh Garreth, it was awful, her scream..." Poppy shuddered. "And Sebastian, Merlin, I've never seen anything so terrifying in all my life. He took on the poacher who hurt her and ripped them apart. I've never seen him like that before. He grabbed MC and ran, carried her all the way back here, and did some strange charm that stopped her from bleeding out."

Garreth put his arm around Poppy, his mind trying to piece together the images Poppy was describing, overwhelmed by the violence of it all.

"Why didn't MC use her ancient magic?" He asked.

Poppy looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "She has been struggling all week with what happened in the forest with you. I think she was trying not to kill them."

Garreth swallowed hard. The thought that MC had almost died just because of his stupid tantrum made him go cold. He stared at the stone floor, feeling rather useless and ashamed.

"This is all my fault," he whispered.

Poppy gasped and grabbed his arm. "You mustn't think that," she said. "Goodness me, MC struggled with the morality of everything she has done long before you said a word. She understands why you were so shocked. It was the thought of losing you that upset her more. Please don't blame yourself."

The door to the hospital wing opened, and Oscar appeared, looking dishevelled and exhausted. He paused when he saw them both, his eyes scanning the corridor before returning to them.

"Have you two been there all night?"

Poppy shook her head. "We came first thing. How is she?"

Oscar nodded. "She is healing," he said. "Nurse Blainey kicked me out to get some proper sleep. I don't want to leave her, though."

"Don't worry, we will sit with her," Poppy said, and she gave Garreth's arm another squeeze.

Oscar stared at Garreth, his gaze guarded, his mouth a tight line. Garreth shifted on the bench, feeling a bit awkward. Had MC said something? Oscar didn't look very happy.

"I will be back before lunch time," Oscar said.

When Garreth first saw MC in the bed, he winced at the wounds on her skin. They looked like they were fading, which meant they must have looked awful when fresh because they still looked rather nasty even now. She was asleep, her face almost peaceful despite the red gashes on her skin.

"I reckon she might have a few new scars after this," Poppy said as she took a seat in a chair.

Garreth moved to the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the mattress near her hand. He was tempted to hold it but didn't want to in front of Poppy.

"At least she is in one piece," he said. "I don't think I could handle it if... "

He cut his words off with a blush and looked down, missing the soft smile that tugged at Poppy's lips.

MC shifted, her arms twitching, and Garreth noticed the delicate flutter of her eye lashes.

"She's dreaming," he mumbled.

MC's twitching increased and her head began to twist from side to side. Poppy stood. "Oh no."

"What?"

Poppy grimaced. "It might be a nightmare. She gets these. She has been having them all week."

Garreth flinched as MC began to thrash about, whimpers coming from her as she gripped the bed sheet until her knuckles went white.

Poppy tried to soothe her with soft words and stroking her arm, but MC's eyes flew open, and she screamed. Garreth gaped.

"Where is bloody Sebastian when you need him," Poppy grumbled. The little Hufflepuff was trying to hold MC, but MC was struggling against her, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes apparently unseeing as she gasped the word no.

"What would Sebastian do?" Garreth asked, panicked.

"He holds her and calms her down when she panics like this," Poppy grunted, desperately trying to calm MC.

"Blimey, how often does this happen?" He asked shocked.

"She had been doing much better lately, but this week has been bad," she replied. She lifted wide eyes to him. "You do it! You're stronger than me."

Garreth hesitated, then took hold of MC by the shoulders, feeling the tremble in her limbs and hating how vulnerable she looked. He could feel the burn of tears in his own eyes as he looked at the anguish on her face, but he made a soft shushing sound, just like his mother used to when he was small and upset.

"It's alright, it's alright," he said softly. He slid his arms around her shoulders to steady her, pulling her a little closer, and she looked at him, blinking. "It's me. It's Garreth. You're safe. It's okay, sweetheart."

MC stilled, her breaths little gasps as she stared up at him, blinking the tears from her eyes with a small frown on her face.

"Garreth?" Her voice was croaky, breathless.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, his thumb grazing the damp skin of her face. "There you are," he said with a smile. "Yep, it's me. Sorry if you were hoping for someone better."

She stared, still looking confused, and then she put trembling fingers to his face. "You're here," she whispered.

Garreth had forgotten that Poppy was watching them, his eyes locked with MC and his heart racing in his chest. "Where else would I be?"

"I thought... I thought you hated me."

He winced. "I could never hate you," he said shaking his head. "And I've been an idiot. I shouldn't have run away from you like that."

"I'm sorry," she said. She dipped her gaze briefly, her look hesitant. "Does this mean you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," he said. "And don't you dare go and die on me by trying to be a hero. That I will never forgive."

Her face crumpled again, and she hugged him tight. Her arms squeezed him as she buried her face into his chest. As he returned the hug, his gaze lifted to Poppy, who was watching with an odd little smile on her face.

"I'm just going to go and speak to Nurse Blainey," she said. She gave him one last look, her smile a sly curve. "You two look like you need a few minutes."

As MC began to calm, her sobs slowing to little hiccups, Garreth stroked her hair and down her back as he whispered words of comfort. As distressing as all of this had been, the feel of her pressed so close against him felt like the most natural thing in the world. How could this be wrong?

He looked down at her, her hands clutching at his robes and her tears drying on his clothes. She was alive, and she was safe. He allowed the tension in his shoulders to relax, and he took a moment to just look at her. Feeling brave, he leant down and pressed a kiss to her hair.

She didn't pull away, and even better, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a small smile.

To be continued....

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley #oscar weasley #oscar weasley x mc #blueraineshadows

37 notes · View notes

glitterandmoondustofficial · 7 months

Text

Side to Side

Chapter 246: First Day of Work

Notes:

Characters: Ruby Rating: Gen Warnings: None Notes: Hello my friends. I am very sorry that this is so late. Baldur's Gate 3 has taken over my life and I am simply a shell. Here's the next chapter!

~~~~~

It truly was a crime that Ruby wasn’t an heiress to an amazing family fortune, living it up in her mansion surrounded by her jewelry, clothes, and her boyfriend. Instead, she was a pirate who was on a dangerous mission for said boyfriend’s sake. The worst part was that she had to have a job again. A real job. He had to actually work instead of just stealing or finding treasure chests!

She sighed in her small bathroom mirror. Her hair was in a ponytail and her glasses were on. She wore some neutral makeup and her clothes were plain. Just beans and a black tank top. She had to remember that she was trying to be subtle. She couldn’t stick out the way she used to. No more “edgy skank” clothing as Jun so delicately described her. She had to blend in.

She ate a quick breakfast of berries, oats, and yogurt before walking to the flower shop. Ruby saw in the window that the shop owner, Maria, was struggling to carry boxes. Ruby knocked on the door. Maria looked behind the box and grinned so widely that Ruby swore she’d split her face.

Maria set down the box on the ground before rushing to the door.

“You came!” She said, “Come in, come in!” She ushered Ruby in.

“Of course, I came. I said I would,” Ruby responded as Maria closed the door behind them.

“Oh, well, you know how it is trying to get good help these days. Everyone wants a job at the palace, to serve under the king and queen, no one wants to do these little jobs.” Maria walked over to the box to pick it up.

“Let me do that,” Ruby said. She walked over to pick up the box with ease. She looked at Maria who was gaping at her. “Where should I put this?”

“Wha-Oh! Yes, please put this on the counter for now. They’re new pots for people to purchase for their own plants.”

Ruby nodded and placed the box on the counter. “Anything else you need me to carry?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I do.”

“I don’t mind at all. It is my job to help, isn’t it?” Ruby smiled at her. Maria nodded multiple times before leading her into the backroom where there were more items to pick up and move around.

The rest of the early morning was spent by Ruby moving heavy objects around and Maria directing her where to put them. Maria even asked if Ruby could rearrange the heavy tables in the shop so it was easier to walk. Ruby did so easily, not breaking a sweat.

Maria offered Ruby some coffee with sweetened condensed milk as she opened the shop. Ruby sipped her coffee, already loving this new combination, thinking about all the times she and Law spent drinking coffee in the early mornings.

When Maria approached her after opening the shop, she handed her an apron. “I know this is dirty, I didn’t expect to ever get help, but give me a week and I’ll get you a brand new one!”

Ruby smiled and put the apron on. “No big deal, I can wear a dirty apron. I’m around dirt all the time anyway.” Ruby tucked her ring behind the apron causally, not really thinking about it.

“That’s a pretty ring,” Maria commented.

Ruby placed her hand over the ring. “Thanks,” she said.

Maria cocked her head. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so strong?”

Ruby snorted at how blunt she had been. “Well, it’s easier than having to rely on someone else to do my gardening for me,” she lied with a smile. “Sometimes it takes quite a bit of strength to run around with those plants in a greenhouse.”

“And you did all of that yourself? No help?”

“Well, I wasn’t alone,” she said. “I may have done the gardening and greenhouse by myself, but I had my husband to rely on if I needed him.”

Maria scoffed, surprising Ruby. “Sorry, it’s just. Men. Leaving the hard work to the women.”

Ruby grinned. “Yeah. Men.”

The day went by quickly, Ruby spent most of the day tending to the live plants but would help Maria out at the counter when she asked. Maria was impressed that Ruby was already knowledgeable about using a cash register and Ruby smiled to herself, not needing to mention that she knew how to use one from all the times she stole from them.

The sun was starting to set when the doorbell rang. Ruby looked over from the plant to see a large man in the doorway. He looked at her nervously, seeming quite timid. Ruby opened her mouth to greet him but Maria got to him first.

“Antonio! What are you doing here so late?” She rushed over to him.

“Sorry, Maria, for coming so late,” he apologized in an incredibly soft voice. “Mama isn’t feeling well so I thought I would buy her some flowers.”

Maria smiled, brightly with a small flush on her face. Ruby’s eyebrow rose. “Well, of course! I have some right here for you!”

Ruby watched the two interact. They were both so…quiet…timid. They were carefully around each other. Ruby wondered how long they had known each other. Antonio left with his flowers and Maria flipped the sign to “CLOSED” on the door. She sighed with a smile and turned to Ruby.

“Good job today. You’ve already been so helpful. Let’s close up and head home.”

Ruby nodded. She started to sweep the floor thoughtfully. “You two seemed to have known each other.”

“Me and Antonio? Oh! We’re just friends. We’ve known each other forever but it’s nothing more than that! Never have I once thought about us dating!” She chuckled nervously.

Ruby blinked. “I, uh, didn’t think you were. I was just curious who he was,” she said, now acutely aware of what it’s like to watch someone deny they have a crush on someone.

“Right. He’s, uh, a carpenter,” she said and walked to the counter. She ran her hand over the counter. “He’s the one who made all of the furniture for this shop. He’s the best around. Even the king has had him make things for the palace!”

Ruby looked at the table she was nearby. They had been incredibly stable and heavy, they were very well-made. “I can tell,” she said. “Is it a family business?”

Maria shook her head. “No, well, maybe,” she said and squinted her eyes. “It’s a little strange. Antonio and his mother have always lived in the apartment above their workshop but his mother didn’t know anything about carpentry. Antonio just…figured it out on his own.”

Maria didn’t mention anything about his father, so Ruby didn’t press. She knew all about not having parents, afterall. Still, it was interesting that someone who was this skilled just learned it without being taught anything. Then again, Ruby taught herself everything as well. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange of a situation.

Maria and Ruby closed the shop and bid each other good night. Ruby walked to her apartment while her stomach growled. Oh, she was so hungry. What’s worse, she had to make the food herself. No Clione to make her her favorite treats after a long day in the greenhouse.

She sighed and walked into her tiny apartment. She kicked off her shoes and let her hair down from the pony tail. She made a quick meal of a sandwich and carrot juice. After showering she crawled into bed and sighed.

It was so strange, going from nights on the Polar Tang to being alone in an apartment. She had gone from late night board games and drinks to staring at the wall at 9:00 at night in the dark. She missed the sea shanties from drunken crewmates. She missed the snacks Clione made for her. She missed crawling into bed with Law for late night cuddles.

Now she was alone. She ate alone. She slept alone. She woke up alone.

She stared at the den den mushi on the kitchen counter, tempting her to call Law just to hear his voice. She sighed and collapsed onto her back with a huff. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Who knows who was paying attention to these calls, if anyone was. Doflamingo definitely had total control over the island from what she could tell, she wondered if he had his own ways of listening in on calls.

That thought terrified her. The last thing she wanted was to reveal Law’s plan.

She sighed and turned on her side, reaching for the bottle of muscle relaxers on the nightstand. She popped one into her mouth and took her final sip of carrot juice before slipping into a slumber where she was plagued by nightmares about Doflamingo killing her beloved.

#one piece #op fanfic #lawxoc #law x oc #one piece fanfiction #side to side #not tagging law cuz he ain't in the chapter #sela ruby #ruby sela #yeah i still exist beyond bg3 #law is still my no 1 babygirl

0 notes

softprettything · 2 years

Text

late bloomer, ch 5

AO3 | Previous | Next

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Summary: Nobody ever said falling in love with your best friend would be easy.

Taglist (new!): @silverhetdanes

late bloomer, ch 5

“God, another flat white?” You grit your teeth together as you tack the order sticker to the cup and pass it off to Hikaru. “Fucking grad school hipsters.”

“Says Miss matcha latte, please, with oat milk and a pump of vanilla? ”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“One, yes you do,” Kaoru chimes in from your left, grabbing the cup from his twin. (He’s right. You absolutely do.) “And two, you’re just pissy because Haruhi’s missing your super-special, super-roomies slumber party thing.”

You snatch the cup back from him, and push past to the steamer. “It’s a movie night. And it’s tradition. We’ve done it every year since we were eight.”

“So? It’s not like you’ll never see her again.”

Hikaru nods. “You literally live together.”

“Every year,” you repeat stubbornly. “For almost two decades.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do it every other year for centuries to come.”

“Kaoru’s right, (Y/N). Look at it from her perspective.”

“I am .”

“You sure? Because last I checked, it’s not every day you get asked out by an incredibly rich, incredibly good-looking omega.”

“He wasn’t that good looking.”

“But he is rich,” he counters. You open your mouth, and he raises his hands. “I know, I know. Saint Haruhi would never care about something so superficial as looks or money.”

“Probably she just likes that he’s assertive enough to ask her out to her face.” Kaoru leans against the counter next to you, crossing his arms, and leans in, staring at you almost as hard as you’re trying to avoid making eye contact with him. “Instead of, I don’t know, pining after her for years …”

“Shut up.” You look at the clock, and shove the finished drink at him. “And start closing out the register, while you’re at it.”

You escape to wipe down the empty tables, stacking chairs on them once they’re clean. The last customer takes her drink and, mercifully, immediately leaves. You lock the door behind her.

“Someone’s in a rush to get out of here,” one of the twins calls over the counter. You roll your eyes, though it’s more out of affection than annoyance. Or at least equal parts affection and annoyance. When they first started working at Ground Up (one of the busier coffee shops on campus) two summers ago, you were primed to dislike them—the class clown energy, the endless quips and banter. And you, as the most senior barista on shift, had the joyful task of trying to wrangle them into model service workers. In hindsight, maybe you were a touch too strict. You can’t imagine they liked you all that much back then, either. Those first few weeks in particular were so isolating—the way they talk to each other is almost like a secret language. You suppose that’s one of the perils of sharing a womb for nine months.

But at some point—somewhere between arguing about an espresso machine malfunction, and Hikaru walking in on you crying in the supply closet after a particularly stressful shift—they must have decided to adopt you, or something.

Of course, that doesn’t mean they tease you any less.

But it’s never mean spirited. And it’s nice to have that camaraderie. To be included in their secret language. And besides—no matter how much they may annoy you sometimes, there’s a special tie that forms between a couple of poor kids having to deal with the same stuck-up trust-fund babies coming into the cafe, day in and day out. You guys are trauma bonded, in a way.

“Remind us again why you haven’t asked her out?”

“I—”

“Ohhh, shit, that’s right—you don’t have a reason!” Kaoru cuts you off. “You’re just a wimp.”

Then again, being trauma bonded with them means they know all of your deepest, darkest secrets. Which gives them tons of material with which to be annoying as hell.

“I’m not—” You stop, and sigh. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Mm hm.”

“And besides, it’s not like I haven’t told you before.”

“Right.”

“Fine! Fine.” You pause your chair-arranging to face them, ticking off reasons on your fingers. “I don’t want to ruin two decades of friendship. The last thing Haruhi or I need is a relationship when we’re already swamped with school and loans and all of that crap. I’d rather ask her out after school, when we’re employed and financially stable. Odds of college sweethearts lasting are zero to none already, and I don’t want to sour a perfectly good relationship with pointless arguments.” All that endless bickering. For some reason, your mind flickers back to your arguments with Kyoya—in class, at the hospital. The memories alone are enough to set that familiar fire of rage alight in your chest, send the blood rushing through your ears.

“But don’t you think—”

You put a chair up onto a table with such vigor that it ends up slipping right back off, crashing to the ground so loudly that you actually jump. They both rush to your side.

“You okay?” Hikaru asks, as his brother puts the chair up properly.

“I…I have to go.”

“...Okay.”

“I told Haruhi I’d be back in time to help her pick out an outfit,” you say. They both groan. You turn away from them, wiping down another table that you may or may not have already wiped down two minutes ago.

“(Y/N).”

“This is starting to get sad.”

“I mean, it was sad already.”

“Really sad.”

“But c’mon.”

“Guys!” You whirl around with your hands in the air. “Really. It’s not a big deal. She’ll go out on one date with him, and then she’ll get bored, and then…” You notice them exchange a look. “What?”

“Tamaki Suoh can be…a lot,” Hikaru starts. You snort.

“Yeah, I noticed. That’s what I mean, they’re nothing alike at all—”

Kaoru shakes his head. “What we mean is, he can be persistent.”

“Single-mindedly persistent. And charming.”

“ Really charming. When he sets his sights on a goal—”

“And right now it sounds like his goal is to romance Haruhi—”

“He won’t stop at anything.”

You roll your eyes. “So? Haruhi’s not going to get fooled by some…some insincere rich guy who’s just trying to smash.”

“I said romance ,” Hikaru repeat. “If he asked her out, it’s because he wants to date her. As in, a real relationship.”

You think back to the way he looked at her in the hospital. Sure. You suppose that makes sense. “Okay.” You cross your arms. “But, I mean, that isn’t only his call to make. She has to like him enough to want to date him.”

“Yeah. And clearly, she already does,” he points out.

You open your mouth, then close it. Uncross your arms, then cross them again. “How do you know so much about this guy, anyway? I’ve never even heard you mention him before.”

They exchange another look. An infuriatingly unreadable look. It's the kind of look that reminds you—no matter how good friends you may be, you didn't share a womb with them, and you'll never be able to read their secret language completely.

“We’ve had a lot of classes with him,” Kaoru finally volunteers.

“Yeah. That.”

You give them an odd look of your own, before returning to cleaning. “Whatever.”

They sigh in unison. “It’s really not healthy for you to be fixating so much on one person, (Y/N),” says Hikaru.

“You think I don’t know that? Trust me, I’d love to just be able to go on dates with people.”

“I don’t think you do, though, is the thing.” Hikaru hops up to sit on the table you’re wiping. You stop, but avoid making eye contact. “It’s starting to feel like an excuse, at this point.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Like, as long as you’re so focused on not-dating Haruhi, you don’t have to go through the stress of actually dating anyone.”

“And then you don’t have to open up to anyone, which means you don’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

You plop down in one of the remaining chairs, and raise your eyebrows at them. “What is this, one of your psych projects?”

“I mean it! And hey, look—if you want to be single, then stay single. But don’t do it because you’re stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever.”

“And if you do have to be stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever, why not switch it up? Pick someone else for a change. You don’t have to automatically be in love with the person you’ve known the longest.”

“Yeah. If that was the case, Hikaru and I would be screwed.”

You let yourself crack a smile at that. “Fine. I hear you, okay? I don’t necessarily agree with you…but I hear you.” You glance at your watch. “Shit. I have to run—you guys can put this last chair up, right?" You grab your bookbag off the floor and take off. "And don’t forget to take out the trash!” you call over your shoulder.

As the door closes behind you, the twins look at each other and shake their heads.

#🌱.kyoya #kyoya/reader #late bloomer #kyoya x reader #ohshc x y/n #kyoya fanfic #kyoyaxreader #a/b/o #a/b/o fanfic #abo #softprettything #ohshc fanfiction #ohshc fanfic #chai.writes

67 notes · View notes

tobesolonely · 3 years

Text

queen anne’s coffee

A/N: hello everyone! I am not D/deaf or Hard of Hearing. However, this was requested more than once I wanted to do my best to provide. In this story, Y/N is a part of the Deaf community. if I have misrepresented the Deaf community in any way or wrote something inaccurate or offensive, then please DO NOT hesitate to let me know (respectfully, of course!) i wanted to fulfill this person’s request and be as inclusive as i could, as i don’t typically see stories with a Deaf!reader. shes short and sweet but i hope you all enjoy anyway! as always, feedback is very much welcomed and appreciated! :)

Summary: Y/N visits Harry’s coffee shop every Tuesday and Thursday and always orders the same thing. Harry HAS to get to know her!!!

word count: ~1.7k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly 3:50 PM, Y/N placed an online order that consisted of an iced chai tea latte with oat milk and a butter croissant from Harry’s coffee shop, Queen Anne’s Coffee.

Y/N never forgot to add, “warmed up pls! thank you :)” in the section for comments, and she always tipped. She would then come into Harry’s shop approximately ten minutes later, walk up to the ‘pickup’ counter, grab her items, smile at Harry, and promptly leave. Harry never even so much as said hello to her, but he was irrevocably captivated––even if she was a complete stranger.

Harry decided that when Y/N came in today for her usual, he’d finally talk to her.

Business had been unusually slow for a Thursday afternoon but Harry didn’t mind–when Y/N came in, he’d be able to have a proper chat with her without having to rush the conversation along to help other customers. His gaze kept floating up to the cat-shaped clock hanging above the door, anxiously awaiting 3:50 PM when Y/N’s order would come through on the iPad and he got to read the words, “warmed up pls! thank you :)”

Harry didn’t know why he was so nervous to speak to her. As the owner of his very own coffee shop (and it’s only employee), he got to know the people who came in regularly well, even developing genuine friendships with some. It bothered Harry that this beautiful person gave him business two days a week and the only thing he knew about her was her name, which is only because he can see it when she places her order online.

When the iPad Harry keeps plugged up atop the counter chimes, he doesn’t even have to glance at it to know it was Y/N but he does anyway, feelings of excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He was finally going to talk to her! Harry contemplates scribbling his number on the side of her cup as he’s writing her name but decides against it, not wanting to be too forward before they even formally meet.

When Y/N comes in ten minutes later, Harry can immediately sense something is wrong. She hardly looks up once as she shuffles from the door to the counter, hoodie pulled up and drawn tight over her head.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N doesn’t look up or even acknowledge the fact that Harry spoke. Even though there’s only two other people in the shop besides them, Harry figures she might think he was talking to someone else and addresses her by name.

“Y/N?”

She still doesn’t address Harry as she gives him a small smile before hurriedly exiting the shop, the bell above the door signaling her exit.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When Tuesday comes, Harry’s out of bed before his alarm jolts him from his dreams.

He thought about Y/N all weekend as he impatiently awaited Tuesday’s arrival, excited over the prospect of finally seeing her again. He hoped she was doing better today than she was last week, and he really hoped she was in the mood to chat with him today.

Harry’s grateful the shop is busy today. It helps to keep his mind off of Y/N, and his eyes off the clock. When the iPad chimes at 3:50 on the dot, Harry decides he’ll wait until she comes in to prepare her order. It didn’t take him over two minutes, anyway. He figures this will give him a bit more time to chat with her, at least say hello and see if she’s doing better.

Much to his pleasure, Y/N has a big smile on her face when she bursts through the door ten minutes later. She floats to the pickup counter, then furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she looks up at Harry.

“Sorry, I’m working on your order right now,” Harry grabs a purple marker off the counter, scribbling Y/N’s name on the cup used for iced drinks. “How’s your day so far?”

Harry watches as Y/N cocks her head to the side in confusion, then pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly types something before holding her phone out for Harry to take.

“I can’t hear you! I’m Deaf.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he reads what she said. He now understood why Y/N didn’t answer him when he tried speaking to her last week, and he’s secretly relieved that she wasn’t ignoring him because she hated him or anything like that.

“I know a bit of sign!” Harry types before handing Y/N back her phone. He watches as her eyes skim his words and she looks up, a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“Great! This is much faster.” Her hands move quickly as she signs. “Did my order work or not? Wi-Fi is bad at home today.”

Harry realizes he doesn’t know as much sign language as he thought he did.

“OK. I am rusty.”

Y/N smiles at this and pulls her phone back out, typing what she just signed to him before passing it back to him. A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he learns she was just asking if her order came through alright, seeing as it was not yet ready. Too embarrassed to tell her he intentionally waited until she arrived to prepare her order, he just nods.

“I’ll have it ready in no more than two minutes… and refund you, too. I’m sorry for the wait.” Harry looks up at Y/N as he passes the phone to her, eyes not leaving her face as he tries to gauge her reaction.

“No!” Her head shakes as she signs. “Happy to pay. Thank you.”

Harry understands Y/N but refunds her, anyway.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Why do you always come Tuesday and Thursday? Same time?”

“Exams every Tuesday and Thursday.” The look of obvious dissatisfaction on Y/N’s face makes Harry laugh. “Your chai and pastries cheer me up after.”

Harry’s face turns red at Y/N’s admittance, so he instead looks down, pretending he’s distracted by something on the iPad. He decides at that moment that he will no longer charge Y/N for her oat milk latte and croissant. She was a college student after all––if her financial situation was like Harry’s in any way when he was in college earning his business degree, it would probably be beneficial for her to save her money, anyhow.

Ever since Harry and Y/N’s first real interaction, Y/N had been coming into Queen Anne’s nearly every day, school supplies and laptop in tow. She always sat at the table closest to the front counter, directly in Harry’s line of vision so they could sign to each other.

Y/N provided Harry with some much needed (and enjoyed) company when business was slow, and she was helping him brush up on his sign language. Harry learned that Y/N is Deaf; her hearing is completely gone in her left ear and almost completely gone in the right. She’s the only person in her family who is Deaf. She also hated eggs, is lactose intolerant (hence the oat milk), has two older siblings, is a master’s student, and a plethora of other things that Harry had committed to memory.

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy.”

“Who is A-N-N-E?”

Harry grins. “My mother. Back in London.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “London? Amazing! You must have an accent.”

It dawns on Harry that Y/N has never heard his voice before. “Yes. Are you from here?” Y/N nods in response.

“Whole life. Small town, but it’s home.” Her pinched hand moves quickly from her mouth up to her ear.

“Sorry. What?”

“H-O-M-E.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he nods in response, signaling for Y/N to give him a moment as the bell above the entrance jingles. It seems as if the few people who walk through the door act as a catalyst for others to enter, and soon Queen Anne’s is at maximum occupancy and Harry is trying to make several drinks at once while taking orders. He locks eyes with Y/N a few times and she gives him a sympathetic look, not able to do much to help him out.

Harry decides that once business dies back down, he’ll find out if Y/N is interested in a part-time job.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was interested in a part-time job.

She was a fast learner and a hard worker. Harry was more than delighted to show her how to make every drink on the menu, and consume her failed attempts. It was nice having someone else behind the counter with him––he wished he’d gone about hiring someone to help him much sooner, but he was glad to now have Y/N by his side.

“So much chai! I thought only I drank this stuff.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on Y/N for a beat too long, causing her to shift slightly. Harry’s hand moves to scratch the back of his neck. “Yes. I like chai. With milk.” His hand forms a ‘C’ then closes to form an ‘S’ twice for the word “milk”.

“Regular?” One of Y/N’s eyebrows raises as she asks her question, setting a hot chai latte atop the “pickup” counter.

“S-O-Y.”

Y/N lets out a quiet snort of laughter as she shakes her head. It was the first time Harry ever made her laugh out loud. After hearing her laugh once, he never wanted to stop––it was music to his ears. “Not surprised!”

Harry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Why?” His eyes remain on Y/N as she walks around the small area, cleaning up a small coffee spill she had earlier.

“You just are a S-O-Y boy, H. My S-O-Y boy!”

Harry’s cheeks immediately turn pink as they did the first time Y/N said something that flustered him, but he doesn’t look away.

“You’re my O-A-T girl.”

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you everyone for reading!!! This is only the beginning of Y/N and Harry I think <33

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut

597 notes · View notes

harrystylescherry · 2 years

Note

Harry has the man flu, GO 🚨

“He’s putting on the act, isn’t he?” Gemma asked.

“Oh, you have no idea.” You said into the phone as you leaned against the counter.

“You know he’s not even going to drink it right. He’s just having you make it because the idea of it is comforting.”

“Yup. This is his fourth cup today.”

Gemma laughed just as the kettle signaled the water was ready.

“I’ve got to go serve the patient.”

“Let me know if he gets too insufferable. We can always ship him off to mum’s.”

You laughed. “I would never do that to Anne.”

The two of you said your goodbyes before you poured the boiling water over the black tea bag. You dropped teaspoon of sugar in and then poured in oat milk until the cloud billowed to the surface.

“Babeee.” Harry’s voice was strained as it came from the other room.

You sighed to yourself before taking the mug and a plate of saltines into the living room where she was wrapped up in blankets on the couch.

“I think you need to take my temperature. I think I have a fever.”

“You don’t have a fever, Harry.”

“How do you know?”

You placed his mug and snack on the coffee table. “Because I took your temperature five minutes ago and it was 98.”

“It could’ve gone up by now.’

Instead of arguing, you sighed again and picked up the thermometer. You sat on the edge of the couch and waited for him to open his mouth. Once he did, you slipped the stick under his tongue and waited.

Once it beeped, you pulled it out. “98.9,” you read.

“.9?”

“You’re fine.” You said as you stood up.

“I went up.”

“You’re fine.” You picked the used tissues off of the coffee table and tossed them into the box that the new humidifier once lived in. He had sent you out to get it at seven in the morning.

“Can I have water?” He asked.

“Yes.” You said, even though you really wanted to tell him to get it himself and that you were supposed to be working. It was a Wednesday afternoon, after all.

After you filled a glass from the tap, you placed it on the table next to the tea he had yet to touch. When you went to walk away, he grabbed your hand.

“Do you love me?” He asked.

You sighed. “Of course I do.”

“Will you lay with me?”

You wanted to say no, but he looked so…needy—and not in the way you were used to. His eyes were big and for the first time that day you acknowledged that he did look like he didn’t feel well. You brushed your hand through his soft curls. “Yeah.”

He pulled open the two blankets he was laying under and moved over so you could slide in. He pulled you into his chest and kissed the top of your head. He sighed in contentment. “I’m already feeling better.”

#harry blurb

26 notes · View notes

puppetsoftomorrow · 3 years

Text

the avalance news reader au

hey who said peer pressure doesn't work. anyway i made this post and y'all seemed to like it so here we go!! might post to ao3 later on idk...

It had been a truly terrible day.

Ava considered, in the moment that her coffee machine spluttered coughed up coffee grounds over her last clean shirt, that maybe she'd just had a truly terrible year. All her dreams about finally moving to television after being stuck in the doldrums of local news media for six years had been slashed when she'd been placed on the graveyard shift - sure, Ava was finally reading the news, but her shift was from 1AM until 4AM, so her only audience was long-distance truck drivers and new parents.

Still, she persevered, with the slightly foolish belief that if she worked hard enough, she could be promoted to a primetime slot. Or at least a slot that didn't require her to be making coffee at 10:45PM.

Her day had started off badly - she'd barely slept, as the sound from the construction work three blocks away rattled her windows, and she’d woken to find that her cat, Merlin, had kicked his litter halfway across the house in a fit of pique. Ava couldn't even have her normal oatmeal, as she was out of oat milk, and now she was having to drink her coffee black.

After changing her shirt to a dark dress and grimacing as she choked down the coffee, there was a knock on the door, and Ava groaned as she realised she was running late.

"Hey, Sara." She sighed.

Sara stood in the doorway, hair wavy over her shoulders, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie - the same grey hoodie she wore every day, branded with their news station's logo.

"Woah, a dress?" Sara said, eyebrows raised appreciatively, as Ava grabbed her coat and bag and they moved to go down the stairs.

"Don't mention it." Ava grumbled, pulling the coat around her shoulders.

"It looks good on you." Sara said, and Ava shot her a look. Sara mimed zipping her lips. "Do we have to time for Starbucks? I had to have black coffee; my mouth tastes like something died in it." Ava muttered, and Sara shrugged.

"I mean, we've arrived half an hour early for every shift for the past year -"

"Do you want to go back to taking the bus?" Ava said, looking over at her as they reached the lobby. They'd discovered they lived in the same building almost accidentally in Ava's first week, awkwardly meeting across the hall in the early morning, until Sara had realised that Ava had a car and they'd started riding in together.

"Fine, if you're happy with having bad angles." Sara said, holding the door open for her, and Ava rolled her eyes.

"Are you saying I have bad angles?"

"Oh, I'll find one." Sara muttered, and Ava snorted with laughter and unlocked the car. One of the benefits to giving her camera operator a ride every day was always having excellent angles.

After a stop at Starbucks, Ava rolled along the dark, quiet roads, sighing deeply.

"What's up?" Sara asked, sipping her drink - black coffee, which she somehow enjoyed.

"Nothing." Ava muttered, but it only took one look at Sara for her to come out with the story of her crappy day. Sara laughed.

"So that's why you're wearing the dress."

"That's what you're focusing on?" Ava said, focusing on the road with a small smile on her face. "I have to go back to my apartment at 5AM and clean up kitty litter and coffee grounds."

"Not to mention getting coffee out of your shirt." Sara snorted, and Ava groaned, loud and over the top.

///

They always split when they got to the studio, Ava marching off to make-up to get ready, and Sara taking the elevator to the studio floor to set up her camera. The studio was always dead past midnight, just a skeleton crew left, which Sara found she enjoyed - it was easier to know everyone that way. She waved at Nate, distracting him from where he was running through the weather, muttering under his breath and checking his perfectly coiffed hair in the camera. He waved back, a bright smile on his face.

Careful not to trip over any of the wires on the floor, Sara made her way up to the box above the studio, the cramped room filled from head to toe with blinking lights and buttons, with a large window so they could look down on the studio. The techs – Behrad and Charlie - were sat with headphones on, running through sound checks, so Sara just waved to them as she found who she was looking for.

Zari, the studio runner, was running through her clipboard, muttering under her breath. When she saw Sara coming, she rolled her eyes. "Back again?"

"What have you got for her today?" Sara asked, keeping her voice nonchalant.

"The usual. Some city councilor has been embezzling funds, Star City is readying to bid for the 2028 Olympics, and former mayor Queen is opening a patisserie down-town. It's been a quiet week."

"Exactly." Sara said, her grin widening. "You've got to add the cat one."

Ray, their head writer, had found a story a week ago about a fat cat attending the Star City pet spa to lose weight, and Sara had been tracking down clips of the poor thing, bribing the editor, Nora, to pull them together. She'd even written a script. Zari looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Seriously?"

"Yes! I have a bet going with Mick - if I can get Ava to break on camera by the end of the month, he's got to give me $50." Sara said. It was ridiculous, she'd started the bet - truthfully, she found it endearing how Ava read the news with the same abject sternness whether she was covering a political scandal or a dog who'd learnt to surf in Star City Bay. She'd only broken her composure once - a smile creeping on her face when reporting on the 5th birthday of a crocodile at Star City Zoo named Snaps. From that day on, Sara had vowed to make her laugh, properly, live on air.

"I don't have any time to make up." Zari said, and Sara sighed.

"Yeah, but you know Ava reads quick enough. Please? For me?"

Zari seemed immune to the puppy eyes, so Sara sighed. "And I'll give you $20."

Zari snorted. "Do you have $20?"

"I'll have $50 when I win the bet." Sara countered, and Zari sighed.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

"Z, you're the best." Sara said with a grin, and turned to return to the studio floor.

///

The program went smoothly, like always. Sara liked her job, the focus of filming and the pride she got when she saw her own work on TV, but she liked it better when she was filming Ava, who had pretty much insisted from day one that Sara be her primary operator.

Ava looked especially pretty today, someone in make-up evidently having convinced her that she didn't need the bun today, and instead curled her hair over both shoulders, which didn't completely cover Ava's defined arms, visible in her sleeveless dress.

The night ran the same as most others, Ava transitioning smoothly between topics and engaging in light, courteous banter with Nate before he presented the weather. Sara looked at Ava during these moments, the five minutes she was off camera, where she looked down at her notes, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

Okay, so maybe Sara wanted to make Ava laugh because she looked so pretty doing it. Sue her.

They were coming near the end, and Sara was losing hope that the story would be included, until she heard the segue.

"Now, in lighter news," Ava started, her eyebrows suddenly shooting up as she read the prompter. Sara grinned; Zari had obviously left this out of Ava's notes to inspire more of a reaction.

"Cats," Ava blurted out, steadying herself before continuing, "they're not normally known for their love of swimming, but one feline in Star City is hitting the water instead of the gym in a bid to lose weight. Mr. Snuggles -" Ava bit her lip as the pictures played on the monitor - a black and white cat in a life vest, looking absolutely terrified, and Sara grinned. "Mr. Snuggles is a thirteen-year-old cat who - dislikes the outdoors and other physical activities."

Sara's grin widened as Ava lost it, barely making it through her lines through her giggles. Her face was flushing pink and she bit her lip to try and compose herself. "But with encouragement from his owner -" Ava pressed on, trying to hold herself together, "Mr. Snuggles had lost one pound in six months."

That was the final straw, as Ava descended into a full-on laugh, barely making it through her sign off. Sara was so distracted by the sound she nearly missed Zari's voice in her ear. "Camera 1 to Camera 3 in 3, 2, 1 -"

Sara switched off, but not before Ava snorted, flushing even deeper and covering her face with her hands at the sound, not disguised by the jingle from the lottery numbers playing across the screen.

///

Ava had bolted from the set, and Sara packed up her equipment as quickly as possible, ducking out just in time to catch Ava as she walked down the corridor to the lobby. Her face was now free of make-up, her hair tied up in a messy bun, but she was still in the dress that left Sara's mouth a little dry. She looked at Sara, blushing again.

"I can't believe you did that." She groaned, and Sara put on her most innocent face on.

"Did what?"

"Bribed Zari to put the cat story in! John in make-up said that Charlie had told him that you'd bribed Zari."

"To win $50!" Sara said, grinning. "And you have a really cute laugh."

Ava looked up; eyebrow furrowed. "Really?"

"Yep." Sara said, trying to play it cool. "Look, do you want half? I feel bad now."

Ava sighed. "No, it's okay."

"I could buy you dinner." Sara said, almost blurting it out, and Ava looked at her. "To make up for it."

Ava's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Uh - yeah, okay. I can do dinner."

~the end~

okay so this was fun to write and i kind of want to write more so uhh send me where u think this story should go. or ideas for a part 2 maybe. thanks for reading!!

#phoebe lifeblogs #avalance #legends of tomorrow #my writing #this is almost Too cute lmao

50 notes · View notes

michelangelinden · 3 years

Text

A coffee order doesn’t tell you someone’s sexuality (but it kind of really does)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @iti-iskuna I WROTE THIS FOR YOU I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

this is a willex coffee shop au because there aren’t enough already! (Thank you @sunsetcurbed for beta reading ily)

(6.2k words, link for ao3 is in the reblogs)

„Honey, I’m home,“ Luke calls as he strides into the apartment.

Alex groans loudly as a greeting. He doesn’t want to get up from the couch. His position isn’t very comfortable – his face is pressed into the armrest, his neck at a very awkward angle – but he needs to lie like this to mope correctly.

“Why isn’t dinner on the table yet? What are you doing in the living room?” Alex lifts his head to stare at him. “Sorry,” Luke says quickly and comes over. He drops his backpack by the coffee table and Alex pushes himself up so that Luke can sit on the couch and Alex can lie back down over his lap. Luke begins to gently card his hands through Alex’s hair.

“Why are you moping?” he asks, scratching Alex’ scalp and he feels himself relax a little.

“You know how I work at the coffee shop down Wilshire Boulevard?” he begins and Luke chuckles.

“Yes, I am in fact aware of that job. Pays our rent.”

“Right. Get a job, by the way.” Alex turns his body so that he’s lying on his back and his face isn’t squished by the cushion.

“I’m working on that. Continue.” Luke starts pushing Alex’ hair out of his face.

“Anyways. So, you know how I meet a shit load of people every day. Like, we have our regulars, but we have a lot of new people coming in, too.”

“Let me guess,” Luke interrupts him, “cute boy?” Alex groans again in response and raises a hand over his eyes.

“So cute. You have no idea.”

“You’re gonna tell me about him.” It’s not a question. Luke already knows what’s coming.

“I sure am, close your eyes.” Alex peers up at him but the angle doesn’t let him see if Luke actually did as he was told. “Are they closed?”

“They’re closed.”

“Alright, picture this.” Alex thinks back to the situation from this afternoon. “I’m just chilling behind the counter, wiping the same spot for like three minutes straight, ‘cause I’m so bored, it’s a Tuesday afternoon, you know the drill.” Luke nods. “Flynn said some stupid shit, as she does, I’m laughing, and the bell above the door rings. So, I whip around, a little surprised, because, you know, Tuesday afternoons are always super lame and no one gets coffee –“ there’s a bite of pain his side “– hey!”

“Get on with it.”

“Chill. Okay. So, I turn around and in walks this absolute god of a man.” Alex takes a moment to envision him again. “Long, dark hair, black shorts, a skateboard under his arm, tie-dye shirt that’s, get this,” Alex pauses, “cropped.”

“Oh shit,” Luke gasps, rightfully so, that has been a damn sight for Alex’s sore eyes.

“YES! And he just strolls into the shop like it’s no big deal, like I’m not dying behind the espresso machine just looking at him.”

“Did you greet him?”

“I didn’t, at first, I was too stunned by the inch of skin visible above the shorts.” Luke laughs because that definitely hasn’t been the first occasion that Alex has been stunned into silence by the looks of a cute boy. “But Flynn pushed me and I had to serve him.”

“And?”

Alex frowns.

“What?”

Luke sighs.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t ask.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Luke looks down at him, his eyes now open and his eyebrows in a deep frown.

“It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the shop was empty! I can’t just ask him for his name if he’s the only one there,” Alex exclaims, gesturing wildly, before hesitating. “He’d think I’m a creep,” he concludes.

“But now he just thinks you’re not interested in him!” Luke counters.

“Good! He’s not supposed to.” He glares at him. “He’s a customer, Luke, I have rules.” He groans again. “Hell, I don’t even know if he likes men.”

“What did he order?”

“Vanilla cold brew.” Luke squints his eyes at him until he continues. “With oat milk.”

“He’s gay,” Luke says with a satisfied nod.

Alex scoffs.

“What? Luke, someone’s coffee order doesn’t –“

“Have you ever had a customer order a vanilla cold brew with oat milk that gave you heterosexual vibes?”

Luke raises his eyebrows at Alex, who frowns in concentration. Then he sighs.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Told you!”

Alex grumps.

“Maybe he’ll come back,” Luke offers, patting Alex’s chest consolingly.

“God, I hope he doesn’t,” Alex answers, but at Luke’s confused face he quickly adds, “I’d combust if I had to see him again.”

Luke makes his ‘that’s fair’ face. Alex drops his arm over his eyes again, trying to block out reality.

The front door opens again, a fresh gust of wind blowing over Alex’s face and he lifts his arm. Reggie’s face pops up in his vision, sporting a bright grin, but it turns into a concerned frown when he spots his roommates on the couch.

“Oh no,” he starts, stopping in his tracks, “why are you in the ‘Alex is sad’ position?”

“I’m not sad, Reggie, just gay,” Alex answers him tiredly.

“Oh my god, same,” Reggie exclaims loudly.

He lifts Alex’s legs and drops himself onto the couch next to Luke, draping them over his own lap. Alex turns so that his face is pushed into Luke’s stomach. Luke gives a small ‘oof’-sound in surprise but starts stroking Alex’s hair again.

“Bobby took me to the petting zoo to pet some goats and it was really cute and he was really cute and I was so excited and he took a photo of me and called me ‘Boo’ and –“

Alex closes his eyes. He really loves Reggie but he can’t really handle listening to him gush about his almost-boyfriend-but-also-not-really-boyfriend-but-actually-definitely-his-boyfriend while he’s still moping.

So, he tunes him out, presses his face further into Luke’s stomach, and lets him handle the situation.

***

It’s another Tuesday afternoon and Alex is fucking bored. The shop has been a desert for the better part of his shift – he’s had like three customers and none of them wanted cool fancy drinks but instead something like ‘a coffee, black’ or ‘a green tea, please’.

Not that there is anything wrong with liking black coffee or green tea, but the least his three customers could do for him is ordering something fun for him to make that requires more than pressing a single button. Especially when it’s a Tuesday afternoon.

Flynn is on her break in the back, talking to her girlfriend Carrie on the phone, but Alex doesn’t mind that she left him alone; it’s not like they have anything to do anyways. And when she uses her break to talk to Carrie, the amount of time she spends to talk about her is much shorter, which Alex appreciates. He loves Flynn and Carrie both, but they’ve been dating for two years now and act like an old married couple which can get hella annoying hella fast.

He’s standing behind the counter, sharpie in one hand, drawing random doodles on the paper cup in his other. He’d started with a ghost, that’s his go-to drawing when he’s bored, but now it has four friends, three dogs, a small drum set, a microphone and two failed attempts at a guitar.

When the bell chimes and the door opens, Alex lifts his head and he almost drops his pen.

It’s the boy from last week – hair down, shirt cropped, a skateboard in hand. And he’s headed his ways.

Alex looks over his shoulder to check if Flynn finished her break and magically appeared behind him but nope, he can still hear her giggling in the break room.

Fuck, he thinks as he turns back around. He startles when he sees the boy right in front of the counter, smiling at him.

He straightens up and clears his throat quickly, running a hand through his hair, almost tangling the pen in it. He drops it and it hits the counter’s edge before falling to the floor and Alex crouches down at rocket speed to pick it up. When he snaps back up he sees that the boy’s eyes follow every movement, his eyebrows quirked and his lips in a lopsided grin.

“You good?” he asks, his eyes scanning Alex up and down.

He clears his throat again, his mind scrambling for an answer for probably a moment too long.

“Yeah!” he settles on eventually, really rushed and with too much air to be too convincing. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he continues, tucking the pen in the front pocket of his apron. “I didn’t have a lot of customers today, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t expect you.”

The boy chuckles and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and Alex could combust right then and there. Who gave this man the right?

“Yeah, it’s not very busy right now,” he says, looking around a little. He turns back to Alex. “I was here last week, though.”

“I- yeah. I, uh, I just didn’t expect you to come back.” Alex is so sure his face his bright red from embarrassment. Why can’t he just hold a conversation like a normal person?

“Well,” the boy starts, leaning his board against the front of counter, “I liked your coffee.”

Alex stares at him for a hot second before clearing his throat a third time.

“Anyways, what can I get for you?”

The boy smiles again.

“I’ll have a vanilla cold brew with oat milk, please. The biggest one you have.”

Alex smiles a little at the order but nods, punching the order into the cash register and picking up one of the plastic cups. He contemplates for a second, before pulling the sharpie from his pocket again, starting to push the lid off with his thumb.

“Uh, what’s your name?” he asks carefully. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound creepy.

“I’m the only one here,” the boy answers and Alex half expects him to frown, when he looks up at him, but he’s sporting a small grin.

“Uh,” Alex just says again and mentally kicks himself for it. “Sorry, I-,” he continues, closing the sharpie again and beginning to tuck it back into his apron, when the boy speaks up again.

“It’s Willie,” he says with a smile shining through his voice and Alex blinks at him. “My name is Willie. With ‘ie’.”

Alex looks at him for a second longer than probably appropriate, studies his long, brown hair falling over his shoulders as if carefully draped there; the small golden earring in his right ear, glistening in the afternoon sun shining through the windows; the mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he looks back at Alex. He decides that Willie with ‘ie’ fits perfectly.

Alex smiles at him. He flicks the lid off the sharpie, careful not to send it across the counter, and writes ‘Willie' on the cup in his hand, adding a smiley face after another second of contemplating and deciding that fuck it, he deserves a smiley face.

He moves over to the coffee making station, flipping the lid of the vanilla syrup open and swirling some into the cup with a skilled motion. He adds a scoop of ice and then another, filling the cup almost to the brim. He’s just closed the fridge getting the cold brew when he hears the boy – Willie – speak up again.

“Is this yours?” he asks and when Alex turns to him, pitcher of coffee in hand, he sees that Willie is holding the paper cup full of doodles. “Did you draw these?”

Alex feels an embarrassed blush creep up his cheeks and he looks down again, concentrating on not missing the cup when he fills it with coffee.

“Uh, yeah, I was bored.”

“They’re cute,” Willie says and Alex feels that it’s genuine, the smile noticeable through his words. “I like the ghosts. And the dogs.”

“Thanks,” he answers, not looking up out of fear that Willie might notice his blush.

“What are they called?”

Okay, now Alex does look up, looking at Willie with a frown.

“What?”

“You need to give them names,” Willie tells him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Really Alex, why haven’t you given them names yet, huh?

“Uh,” he just says, unable to form correct words in his head.

“Can I name them?”

Willie looks at Alex with his eyes sparkling softly, the excitement clear on his face and if the plastic cup full of coffee in hand weren’t for him Alex would crush it for sure.

Can Willie name the doodled ghosts and dogs on his cup? Of course, he fucking can, he can name Alex first born if he asks like that.

“Uh, sure, go ahead.”

He’s so glad he sounds so calm because he’s totally screaming on the inside.

Willie beams at him and turns back to the cup, holding it closer to his face and studying the drawings.

“I’ll call this one George, totally the vibe. And this one – oh, that’s a cool drum set!”

He’s turned the cup over looking at the other side and for a moment Alex feels bad that he has to see his ugly drawn guitars.

“Thanks,” he says anyways, because yes, his drum set did turn out pretty good.

“Do you play?”

Alex’s head snaps up from where he’s pouring oat milk into the cup.

“How- how do you know?”

“You do?” Willie's eyes widen as he looks up at Alex. “Really? That was a wild guess.”

Alex can’t help but grin back at him, Willie's excitement over that revelation infecting him too.

“Yes, I play,” he tells him happily, setting the carton of milk down to not spill anything. “I’m actually in a band too,” he adds because a little promo can’t hurt.

“Dude!” Willie almost yells, leaning over the counter to get closer to Alex. “That’s so cool! What are you called?”

Alex feels pride and excitement bubble up in his chest as it always does when he gets to talk about his band.

“We’re ‘Julie and the Phantoms.’ Tell your friends!”

“Oh, I will! Do you play gigs? Are you on Spotify?”

Alex chuckles a little when Willie pulls his phone out of his pocket eagerly.

“We are, we have an EP out. You should check it out.”

“I definitely will!” Willie taps on his screen before he gasps. “That cover looks so cool!”

“Thank you so much,” Alex says genuinely. “Julie designed it herself.”

Willie looks back up at him, the smile still stuck to his lips.

“Who’s Julie?”

“Oh, our lead singer. She’s honestly the best. You’ll be so impressed when you hear her, I promise.”

They’d all been there when they first heard her sing. That girl has a power that’s not to be underestimated.

“I can’t wait,” Willie answers and his clear voice accompanied by his honest eyes tells Alex that he means it.

For a moment they just stare at each other, both smiling, a blush high on Alex’s cheeks, Willie still holding his doodle cup in one hand and his phone in the other.

It gets awkward after another moment because Alex notices the ice in the cup in his own hand hurting his fingers a little. He pulls his gaze away from Willie and down at the coffee, busying himself with slapping a lid on it.

“Your, uh, your coffee.”

He walks back over to the counter and sets it down in front of Willie, pulling a paper straw from the tall glass next to him and balancing it on top.

“Thanks, uh,” Willie's eyes flick down to the name tag on Alex’s chest, “Alex,” he finishes with a smile. “What do I owe you?”

Oh. Right. Money.

He glances at the cash register.

“$4.55, please. Do you want a receipt?”

“No, thanks,” Willie says. He pushes his hand into the pocket of his shorts and fishes out a $5 bill, sliding it over to Alex.

“Keep the change,” he says while dumping another $1 bill into the tip jar. He grabs the straw and his cup and slowly walks back towards the front door. “I’ll see you around?”

Warmth spreads in Alex’s chest at the thought of seeing Willie again.

“Yeah, definitely.”

Willie smiles at him and salutes him with his drink before he turns and exits the shop.

Alex stares at the closing front door for a moment, watching Willie place his board onto the ground and step on it, pushing off and skating away out of Alex’s sight. When he can’t see him anymore and it doesn’t look like another customer will enter the shop, Alex places his hands on the edge of the counter and leans forward to let out a loud groan towards the floor.

What just happened? Where did Willie come from and why does he make Alex’s insides feel like mush?

This – this – is not okay!

“Ehm, what did I just witness?”

Alex’s head snaps over to Flynn standing in the doorway to the hallway, one hand propped up on her hip, the other holding her phone.

“How long have you been standing there?” Alex asks, not moving from his awkward position at the counter.

“Long enough to watch you fall head over heels for a skater boy.”

Alex gets up straight immediately, holding his hands up in defense.

“I – I didn’t – I’m not in – I didn’t fall – You can’t,” he starts to splutter, taking a step back and bumping his hip against the counter. “What?”

“Sweetie, you had a whole gay panic in the 30 seconds I watched you.”

“What?” he says, his voice raising at least an octave and he clears his throat. “No, I didn’t.”

Flynn doesn’t answer him, just tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

He groans again because yes, she’s right, he did have a gay panic.

But who can blame him, honestly, when Willie exists with his beautiful hair and his beautiful smile and he’s just strolling into the coffee shop wearing a cropped shirt and –

“Alex!”

His head snaps around to the source of the voice and his eyes lock with his friend Julie, Luke standing behind her.

“Are you okay?” she asks, one hand hovering in the air as if close to reaching out for him.

“Yeah,” he starts, but Flynn butts in and yells “gay panic!” over from where she’s standing behind the espresso machine.

Luke perks up behind Julie, his eyebrows flying up until they’re hidden under his fringe.

“Was it the crop-top boy from last week? Did he come back?” He comes up behind Julie to stand next to her, leaning over the counter to get closer to Alex.

“I –“ he pauses, glancing back at Flynn, who just raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah,” he answers with a sigh, watching Luke gasp excitedly.

“Did you finally get his name?” Luke asks.

“Wait, what? Who are we talking about?” Julie asks with a frown, looking back and forth between Alex and Luke.

“Alex has a crush on a –“ Luke starts to explain, but Alex cuts him off.

“I do not have a crush on him!”

“Then tell me why you were staring longingly after him just three minutes ago.”

Alex gasps dramatically at Flynn’s betrayal, turning back and glaring at her, but she just glares back at him. He sighs again, turning back to his friends.

“So, there’s this customer, his, uh, his name is Willie.” He pauses for a second for Luke to start vibrating out of excitement about the new information. “He came here for the second time today and – and he’s so beautiful, fuck!” He slumps forward, burying his face in his arms on the counter.

“Oh Alex,” Julie said consolingly but he can hear her smile. He feels her hand patting his hair gently and he lifts his head a little, setting his chin on his forearms.

He’s fucked. He’s so fucked. And Willie is so beautiful, Alex just wants to scream.

***

“No- no Flynn, you can’t – don’t leave me!” Alex argues as Flynn struggles to release his grip. “It’s 3.30, he’ll come any minute now!”

“Exactly, which is why I don’t want to be here!” she argues back, softly punching him in the stomach to let go of her. It doesn’t hurt but he gets the message and releases her shoulders. “I don’t want to watch you simp over this guy for five minutes while you stretch making his coffee just so you can talk to him.”

She’s calling him out and she’s right. He does take way too long making his drink just to get him to stay a minute longer. But it’s not like he’s harming anyone with it. Most of the times Willie came in in the past month he’s been the only customer and he never seemed to be in a rush, so Alex doesn’t feel bad for pouring the milk in very slowly.

And yes, she’s also right about the simping part, even though he really doesn’t want to admit it. He keeps staring at him when he talks about a topic he’s interested in – art for example, he really likes art – and has to be careful not to spill anything when that happens. It happened once. He’s not proud of it.

But every time he starts to ramble about something he likes his eyes start to sparkle and it seems like he’s glowing and his hands are everywhere and he makes it really hard for Alex to look away.

Willie got him to ramble too, one time, about the band and their music and when Alex looked up from the cup in his hands and at Willie, he saw that he had the brightest smile on his face, teeth shining and his eyes crinkling. Alex had felt the punch in his gut before his brain caught up to him.

Yeah, he does have a crush on Willie, there is no denying it now, as much as he wants to. But there’s not really much he can do about it.

So, he can kind of get why Flynn tries to get on her break. Still.

“I don’t want to be alone with him, Flynn. He’ll say something cute and I’ll start crying.”

“Oh my god!” Flynn lets out an exaggerated groan. “Just – be the responsible one and start flirting with him or something. Tell him he’s cute.”

“I can’t!” he says loudly. “I have anxiety.”

Now it’s Flynn’s turn to put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him a little while she speaks.

“Alex. You’re 20 years old, you pay rent for an apartment, you’re an adult, you play drums in front hundreds of people! You can tell a boy that he looks cute!”

Alex opens his mouth to argue but she shushes him.

“I –“ he tries again but she cuts him off with a “nope” and when he opens his mouth again she finally asks “what?”

“This is different,” he says, very softly, hoping she finally gets his struggle.

She doesn’t.

“Okay, how is this different?”

He groans internally. How do people not get this?

“I – I don’t know, I –“ he breaks off to heave a sigh. “I really like him, okay? I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

Flynn tuts. Not in the annoyed way, but in the way she does when Julie is being really dense about Luke’s crush on her or when Reggie hurts his foot jumping around while playing bass.

“Alex,” she says slowly, grabbing his face and making him look at her. It’s a little awkward, her being almost a foot smaller than him, but her grip is strong and her message clear. “He wears crop tops and buys coffee with oat milk. I don’t think there is a single drop of toxic masculinity in him that would make him think it’s weird if you call him cute.”

He stares at her, his head unmoving between her palms, as she glares into his eyes, into his soul. She squeezes his cheeks a little and he chuckles quietly. She smiles at him and releases his face.

“Here,” she says, looking down at her chest and removing the small rainbow pin from her apron. “Maybe this can give you some emotional support.” She fastens the pin to his own chest, right next to his nametag, and puts her hand over it once she’s done.

“You got this!”

“Thank you,” he says genuinely.

The bell above the door chimes and Flynn’s eyes fly over to the entrance.

“Oh, he’s coming,” she whisper-yells, removing her hand and turning on her heel. Alex takes a step forward in panic, trying to get her to stay one last time.

“No, Flynn, please,” he tries but she shakes her head without looking back at him.

“Nope, I’m already leaving, good luck!” She throws him a thumbs up before she disappears around the corner.

Alex stares after her for a moment before turning around slowly, facing the counter and Willie behind it. Willie smiles brightly when their eyes meet, his gaze warm and Alex feels his stomach flip from that alone.

“Hey,” Willie says, “what’s up?”

Oh, nothing, I’m just hopelessly in love with you, Alex thinks but thankfully doesn’t say out loud.

“Nothing,” he answers instead. He steps closer automatically and props himself up with his hands on the edge of the counter, as he always does when Willie comes in. “Just, uh, life, I guess.”

Willie chuckles at that, a strand of hair falling in front of his face and he brushes it back with his hand absentmindedly. Alex follows the motion closely and hopes Willie doesn’t notice him staring.

“Yeah, I get it.”

They both stay silent for a moment before Alex remembers why Willie came here in the first place.

“Coffee,” he blurts before he can stop himself and he leans back to get to the cash register.

“Right,” he hears Willie say and then the sound of him setting his skateboard onto the floor.

“Vanilla cold-brew with oat milk?” Alex asks, his fingers already hovering over the buttons.

“Actually,” Willie starts and Alex looks at him, “I kind of want to try something new today.”

“Oh, sure. Do you already have an idea?”

“Hm, no, not really.” Willie leans forward, settling his palms on the counter, his face turned upwards at the menu above Alex’s head.

“Do you mind if I suggest something?” Alex asks carefully. Willie tilts his head to look at him and smiles.

“No, not at all, please.”

“So, you like sweet things, right?” Willie nods. “Okay, I’d suggest a latte and we got this cool new cinnamon syrup that makes everything taste like cinnamon buns. I can make it iced and with oat milk, too, if you want to.”

Willie's face lights up and he nods excitedly.

“That sounds great, thank you so much,” he comments. Alex bites at his bottom lip for a second but then he smiles, giving himself a second to appreciate Willie's smile before turning to make his drink.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Willie leaning forward, his elbows on the counter and resting his face in his palms. He can feel him watching him work, observing his motions of preparing the espresso, swirling the inside of his cup with the cinnamon syrup and filling it with ice. It’s not really something to show off with, but if he could he totally would. When he turns to get the milk from the fridge he catches Willie's gaze, head tilted slightly to the side, and he feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. Knowing someone is watching you is one thing, but seeing it makes it more intense.

“So,” Willie starts to strike up a conversation, “what made you decide to be a barista?”

Alex huffs a laugh, taking the espresso cup and tipping it over the plastic cup.

“It’s really not as exciting as you might think,” he says, setting the empty cup next to the sink and looking at him. “I moved into an apartment with my friends, needed a job, saw that the café was hiring and applied and thankfully I got the job.” He adjusts the straps of his apron as Willie takes a short look around the shop.

“Do you like working here?” he asks when his eyes have settled back on Alex, now slowly pouring the milk into the cup. He’s taking his time, not only to not overfill it, but also to get Willie to stay longer, talk to him longer, to look at him like that for just a little bit longer.

“Yes,” he decides, because it’s true. He does like working here. “Yeah, I really do.”

“What’s your favorite thing about it?” Willie asks, his gentle voice showing genuine interest.

“Oh, that’s hard.”

There are so many things to like about his job. He likes that it always smells like coffee and sugar when he comes in, he likes it when the sun shines in through the glass panels at the front and paints the entire café in golden hues, he likes having his regulars greet him like friends and tell him about their day. And he likes the work too, making coffee, preparing desserts, talking to his coworkers.

But then he knows what to say.

“Probably observing people,” he finally answers, causing Willie to laugh.

“What?”

“Oh, no, I know how it sounds, but not in the creepy way.” He allows Willie to calm down for a second. “I like watching them being here as a part of their daily routine, you know. When they come here before work they’re stressed because they have somewhere to be, but when they come here after work they always stay to chat for a bit.” Willie nods. “And sometimes we have people come in here, order a hot chocolate and a croissant and then they sit here for hours typing on their laptops or writing in notebooks. And there are people going on dates here and there are many friends and families just spending their afternoon and –“ he breaks off, noticing how he’s rambling and spares a glance at Willie.

“Oh, please continue,” he encourages him, the smile on his lips warm and comforting.

“I – I don’t know, I just – I like the idea of being a part of their life, in a way. Giving them something nice to make their day a little better.” He looks down at the drink in front of him. “Even if it’s only an iced cinnamon latte. Do you want whipped cream? It’s vegan.”

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Willie straightens up, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He watches Alex add whipped cream to his drink, as well as another small swirl of the syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Ah, look at how pretty that looks.” Alex carefully takes the cup and places it in front of him on the counter. “Please appreciate it for a second, before I slap a lid on and smush it.”

Willie laughs but leans forward again to take a closer look.

“It looks very nice, excellent swirl, chef’s kiss.” His eyes flick up at Alex and he feels the blush, that has never quite left his cheeks, darken.

“Thanks,” he says with a short laugh.

“I don’t think I need a lid,” Willie says as he leans back again, “but I do need a straw.”

Alex nods, pulling a paper straw from the glass and sticking it into the cup.

“Voila. Now it’s done.” He pushes it a little closer to Willie. “Please try it.”

Willie reaches for it immediately, picking it up slowly to not spill anything. Alex can’t help but stare in anticipation as Willie takes the first sip through the straw. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a satisfied hum and Alex is too busy blushing hard to be proud to have evoked that reaction.

“This is really good,” Willie says after a moment, keeping his eyes closed and taking another sip. “Thank you for recommending it.”

Alex clears his throat, trying to get his brain to focus again.

“Sure. You’re, uh, you’re welcome.” He has to scrunch up his eyes for a second and when he opens them again he sees Willie looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You good?” he asks and Alex nods.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, really. How much is it?”

Alex’s brain jumps on again and he moves over to the cash register, tapping in the order.

“$5.20, please. Would you like a receipt?”

Willie shakes his head, setting the cup back onto the counter and pushing his right hand back into his shorts pocket. Alex fiddles with his apron straps again while he waits and adjusts his nametag, too.

When Willie hands him the cash, dropping $2 into the tip jar, his eyes settle on Alex’s chest and a smile on his lips.

“Nice pin, by the way,” he comments, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

Alex, who thought it had stopped, blushed again, looking down at the rainbow pin still on his apron.

“Thanks, it’s my friend Flynn’s.”

He now remembers why he’s wearing it, too. Emotional support. For telling Willie that he looks cute. He can do it, he thinks. But he doesn’t.

“Here’s your change,” Alex says as he hands over a few coins.

Willie nods and a silence forms around them, while they both kind of stare at each other but also kind of don’t. At least Alex tries to hide it, but Willie's eyes bore into his face.

“So,” he starts and Alex can hear his foot scuffing the floor. He’s nervous. “Are you, like, an ally?”

Alex blinks.

What?

Alex didn’t hear him correctly. He can’t have. That can’t be what Willie just asked him.

He blinks again and a concerned frown settles on Willie's face.

“Are you – not an ally?”

What?

“I’m gay.”

Realization dawns on Willie's face. His frown loosens and he opens his mouth slightly.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Alex answers, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Cool.” Willie pauses, nodding. “Me too.”

“Cool,” Alex repeats, to seem causal, but inside his brain he’s yelling gaygaygay on repeat.

Willie stares at him for another moment and Alex tries his best to stare back.

“I’m gonna go now,” Willie says, grabbing his drink and taking a step back.

Alex’s thoughts are a wild mixture of no, please stay, you make everything feel warm and oh my god, please leave, this is getting too awkward, but he doesn’t want to say either of those so he just says “okay” very quietly and mentally kicks himself for it.

So much for telling Willie that he’s cute.

Willie walks backwards a few steps before finally turning, holding his board under his arm and his drink in his hand, to pull the door open. Alex watches him, unmoving behind the counter. Just as Willie's about to step outside, he turns again, still holding the door handle. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in and out.

“Hey, uh, if I were gonna ask you out on a date,” he pauses, “would you say yes?”

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

“Yes.”

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

“Okay, cool.” Willie moves to leave again, before stopping once again. “When does your shift end?”

Alex can’t believe this is really happening. He glances back at the clock above the menu.

“In about an hour,” he answers, his voice raising at the end like a question even though he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Okay, cool,” Willie says again and Alex laughs a little. Willie smiles at him.

“I’ll see you then?” Alex asks, just to clarify what Willie seems to imply.

“Totally.”

Alex can’t help but grin back at him.

“Okay, cool,” he repeats Willie's words and this time Willie laughs a little.

Willie takes one last look at him before actually moving out of the door, placing his board onto the ground and stepping on it. He doesn’t push off right away, shooting one last smile at Alex and waiting for him to smile back and wave at him.

Alex’s eyes follow him rolling past the front of the shop. He’s still smiling when he disappears out of his sight and Alex feels like his whole body is glowing.

He grips the straps of his apron, biting back a laugh.

This can’t be real, he thinks, but the condensation of the drink on the counter is real and the tips in the tip jar are real and the blush on his cheeks is real and the date – date – is also real. So very real. Holy fuck.

#happy birthday mo!!#linda writes stuff #willex coffee shop au #willex #willie nolastname #willie wilbur williamson #willie jatp #alex mercer #alex jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp

64 notes · View notes

rigmarolling · 4 years

Text

Historical Holiday Traditions We Really Need To Bring Back

Here comes Santa Claus, and also a bunch of annual holiday Things we do to ensure he commits a truly boggling act of breaking and entering and leaves goods underneath the large plant in the living room.

Because I’ve always got a hankerin’ for the days of yore, here are some historical holiday traditions we really need to bring back:

1. Everything that happened on Saturnalia

Saturnalia was the ancient Roman winter festival held on December 25th--which is why we celebrate Christmas on that day and not on the day historians speculate Jesus was actually born, which was probably in the spring.

Saturnalia was bonkers. As the name suggests, it celebrated the god Saturn, who represented wealth and liberty and generally having a great time.

Above: Their party is way cooler than yours could ever hope to be.

During Saturnalia, masters would serve their slaves, because it was the one day during the year when everybody agreed that freedom for all is great, actually, let’s just do that. Everyone wore a coned hat called the pilleus to denote that they were all bros and equal, and also to disguise the fact that they hadn’t brushed their hair after partying hard all week, probably.

Gambling was allowed on Saturnalia, so all of Rome basically turned into ancient Vegas, complete with Caesar’s Palace, except with the actual Caesar and his palace because he was, you know. Alive.

The most famous part (besides getting drunk off your rocker) was gift-giving--usually gag gifts. Historians have records of people giving each other some truly impressive white elephant gifts for Saturnalia, including: a parrot, balls, toothpicks, a pig, one single sausage, spoons, and deliberately awful books of poetry.

Above: Me, except all the time.

Partygoers also crowned a King of Saturnalia, which was a predecessor to the King of Fools popular in medieval festivals. The king was basically the head idiot who delivered absurd commands to everyone there, like, “Sing naked!” or “run around screaming for an hour,” or “slap your butt cheeks real hard in front of your crush; DO IT, Brutus.”

Oh, wait. Everyone was already doing all that. Hell yes.

(Quick clarification: early celebrations of Saturnalia did feature human sacrifice, so let’s just leave that bit out and instead wear the pointy hats and sing naked, okay? Io Saturnalia, everybody.)

2. Leaving out treats for Sleipnir in the hopes of avoiding Odin’s complete disregard for your property

The whole “leave out cookies and milk for Santa” thing comes from a much older tradition of trying to appease old guys with white beards. In Norse mythology, Odin, who was sort of the head god but preferred to be on a perpetual road trip instead, took an annual nighttime ride through the winter sky called the Wild Hunt.

Above: The holidays, now with 300% more heavy metal.

Variations of the Wild Hunt story exist in a bunch of European folklore--in Odin’s case, he usually brought along a bunch of supernatural buddies, like spirits and other gods and Valkyries and ghost dogs, who, the Vikings said, you could hear howling and barking as the group approached (GOOD DOGGOS).

That was the thing, though; you never actually saw Odin’s hunt--you only heard it. And hearing it did not spark the same sense of childish glee you felt when you thought you heard Santa’s sleigh bells approaching as a kid--instead, the Vikings said, you should be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

Because Odin could be kind of a dick.

Odin was also known as the Allfather, and like any father, he hated asking for directions. GPS who? I’m the Allfather, I’m riding the same way I always ride.

And that was pretty much it: “I took this road last year and I’m taking it again this year.”

“But,” someone would pipe up from the back, “there are houses on the road now--we’re gonna run right into them. We could just take a different path; there’s actually a detour off the--”

“Nope,” Odin would say. “They know the rules. My road, my hunt, my rules. We’re going this way.”

So if you were unlucky enough to have built your house along one of Odin’s favorite road trip sky-ways, he wouldn’t just plow right past you.

He would burn your entire house down--and your family along with it.

Kids playing in the yard? Torch ‘em; they should have known better. Grandma knitting while she waits for her gingerbread Einherjar to finish baking? Sucks to be her; my road, my rules, my beard, I’m the Allfather, bitch.

Above: Santa, but so much worse.

To be fair to Odin, he could be a cool guy sometimes. He just turned into any dad when he was on a road trip and wanted to MAKE GOOD TIME, DAMN IT, I AM NOT STOPPING; YOU SHOULD HAVE PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.

To ensure they didn’t incur Odin’s road trip wrath, the Vikings had a few ways of smoothing things over with Dad.

They would leave Odin offerings on the road, like pieces of steel (??? okay ???) or bread for his dogs, or food for his giant, eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, because the only true way to a man’s heart is through his pet.

People would generally leave veggies and oats and other horse-y things out for Sleipnir, whose eight legs made him the fastest flying horse in the world and also made him the only horse to ever win Asgard’s coveted tap dancing championship.

(Side note: EIGHT legs...EIGHT tiny reindeer...eh? Eh? See how we got here? Thanks, nightmare horse!)

Above: An excellent prancer AND dancer.

And if Odin was feeling particularly charitable and not in the mood for horrific acts of arson, children would also leave their shoes out for him--it was said that he’d put gifts in your boots to ring in a happy new year.

If all that didn’t work and the Vikings heard the hunt approaching, they would resort to throwing themselves on the ground and covering their heads while the massive party sped above them like a giant Halloween rager.

So this holiday season, leave your boots out for Odin and some carrots out for his giant spider horse or you and your entire family will die in a fiery inferno, the end.

3. Yule Logs

Speaking of Scandinavia, another Northern European winter solstice tradition was the yule log. Today, if you google “yule log,” something like this will pop up:

...which isn’t an actual log, but is instead log-shaped food that you shove into your mouth along with 500 other cakes at the same time because it’s CHRISTMAS, and I’m having ME TIME; so WHAT if I ate the whole jar of Nutella by myself, alone, in the dark at 3 am?

But that log cake is actually inspired by actual logs of yore that Celtic, Germanic, and Scandinavian peoples decorated with fragrant plants like holly, ivy, pinecones, and other Stuff That Smells Nice before tossing the log into the fire.

This served a few purposes:

It smelled nice, and Bath and Body Works scented candles hadn’t been invented yet.

It had religious and/or spiritual significance as a way to mark the winter solstice.

It was a symbolic way of ringing in the new year and kicking out the old.

Common belief held that the ashes of a yule log could ward off lightning strikes and bad energy.

Winter cold. Fire warm.

Everybody loves to watch things burn. (See: Odin.)

The yule log cakes we eat today got their start in 19th century Paris, when bakers thought it was a cute idea to resurrect an ancient pagan tradition in the form of a delicious dessert, and boy, howdy, were they right.

In any case, I’m 100% down with eating a chocolate yule log while burning an actual yule log in my backyard because everybody loves to watch things burn; winter cold, fire warm; and hnnnngggg pine tree smell hnnnnggg.

(Quick note: The word “yule” is the name of a traditional pagan winter festival, still celebrated culturally or religiously in modern pagan practice. It’s also another name for Odin. He had a bunch of other names, one of the most well-known being jólfaðr, which is Old Norse for “Yule father.” If you would like to royally piss him off, or if you are Loki, feel free to call him “Yule Daddy.”)

4. Upside down Christmas trees

I just found out that apparently, upside down Christmas trees are a hot new trend with HGTV types this year, so I guess this is one historical trend we did bring back, meaning it doesn’t really belong on this list, but I’m gonna talk about it, anyway.

Side note: Oh, my god, that BANNISTER. I NEED.

Historians aren’t actually sure where the inverted Christmas tree thing came from, but we know people were bringing home trees and then hanging them upside down in the living room as early as the 7th century. We have a couple theories as to why people turned trees on their heads:

Logistically, it’s way easier to hang a giant pine tree from your rafters upside down by its trunk and roots. You just hoist that baby up there, wind some rope around the rafter and the trunk, and boom. Start decorating.

A Christian tradition says that one day in the 7th century, a Benedictine monk named Saint Boniface stumbled across a group of pagans worshipping an oak tree. So, instead of minding his own damn business, he cut the tree down and replaced it with a fir tree. While the pagans were like, “Dude, what the hell?” Boniface used the triangular shape of the fir tree to explain the concept of the holy trinity to the pagans. Some versions have him planting it right-side up, others having him displaying a fir tree upside down. Either way, it’s still a triangle that’s a solid but ultimately very rude way of explaining God. Word’s still out on whether anyone was converted or just rightly pissed off that this random guy strolled into their place of worship, chopped down their sacred tree, and plopped HIS tree down instead. Please do not do that this holiday season.

Eastern Europeans lay claim to the upside-down tree phenomenon with a tradition called podłazniczek in Poland--people hung the tree from the ceiling and decorated it with fruits and nuts and seeds and ribbons and other festive doodads.

(God, who lives in these houses? Look at that. That’s like a swanky version of Gaston’s hunting lodge. Where do I get one? Which enchanted castle do I have to stumble into to chill out in a Christmas living room like that?)

Today, at least in the West, upside-down trees are making a comeback because...I don’t know. Chip and Joanna Gaines said so.

Some folks say it’s a surefire way to keep your cats from clawing their way through the tree and then puking up fir needles for weeks afterward, which checks out for me.

5. Incredibly weird Victorian Christmas cards

So back in the 19th century, the Christmas card industry was really getting fired up. Victorians loved their mail, let me tell you. They loved sending it. They loved getting it. They loved writing it. They loved opening it. They loved those sexy wax seals you use to keep all that sweet, sweet mail inside that sizzling envelope. (Those things are incredibly sexy. Have you ever made a wax seal? Oh, man, it’s hot.)

The problem, though, was that while the Victorians arguably helped standardize many of the holiday traditions we know and love today (Christmas trees, caroling, Dickens everything, spending too much money, etc.) back in 1800-whenever, a lot of that Christmas symbolism was, um...still under construction. No one had really agreed on which visual holiday cues worked and which...didn’t.

Meaning everyone just kind of made up their own holiday symbols. Which resulted in monstrous aberrations like this card:

What the hell is that? A beet? Is that a beet? Or a turnip? Why is it...oh, God, why does it have a man’s head? Why does the man beet have insect claws?

What is it that he’s holding? A cookie? Cardboard? A terra cotta planter?

And then there’s this one:

“A Merry Christmas to you,” it says, while depicting a brutal frog murder/mugging.

What are you trying to tell me? Are you threatening me with this card? Is that it? Is this a threat? How the hell am I supposed to interpret this? “Merry Christmas, hide your money or you’re dead, you stupid bitch.”

Also, why is the dead frog naked? Did the other frog steal his clothes after the murder? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?

Victorian holiday cards also doubled as early absurdist Internet memes, apparently, because how else do I explain this?

Is this some sort of tiny animal Santa? A mouse riding a lobster? Like, the mouse, I get. Mice are fine. Disney built an empire on a mouse. And look, he’s got a little list of things he’s presumably going to bring you: Peace, joy, health, happiness. (In French. Oh, wait, is that that Patton Oswalt rat?)

But a LOBSTER? What’s with the lobster? It’s basically a sea scorpion. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you saddle up a LOBSTER? I hate it. I hate it so, so much. Just scurrying around the floor with more legs than are strictly necessary, smelling like the seafood section of Smith’s, snapping its giant claws.

This whole card is a health inspector’s worst nightmare. It really is.

I gotta say, though, I am a fan of this one:

Presumably, that polar bear is going in for a hug because nothing stamps out a polar bear’s innate desire to rip your face from your skull than candy canes and Coke and Christmas spirit.

This next one is actually fantastic, but for all the wrong reasons:

I know everyone overuses “same” these days but geez, LOOK at that kid. I can HEAR it. SAME.

If you’ve ever been in a shopping mall stuffed with kids, nothing sums it up better than this card. This is like the perverse version of those Anne Geddes portraits that were everywhere in the late 90s. “Make wee Jacob sit in the tea pot; everyone will--Jacob, STOP, look at Mommy; I said LOOK. AT. MOMMY--everyone will love it.”

Actually, you know what? Every other Christmas card is cancelled. This is the only card we will be using from now on. This is it.

Wait, no. We can also use this one:

Merry Christmas. Here’s a fuckin’...just a dead fuckin’ bird.

#victorian #listory #christmas #holidays #mythtory #norse mythology #odin

2K notes · View notes

starklyscifi · 3 years

Text

The Devil is in the Details

“What has you so convinced the future is neatly ordered?”

The clock on the wall ticked, as clocks were wont to do. Counting down the seconds to her freedom—dependent on navigating this minefield. Recently, Annie felt she was one wrong word away from a 72 hour hold in these sessions. But as usual, she was turning the question over and over in head, long after walking out of her therapist’s office.

Words seem to fail her, keeping their meanings for themselves instead of convincing the people around her she was not, in fact, going insane.

“Ma’am?”

Losing track of her place in reality, now there was a new sensation. A little spice to mix up the constant feeling of having spoken all these words before. The barista at the coffee shop looked worried, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Um, chai latte with oat milk, please.”

She stepped out of line.

“You know that chai already means tea, right?” asked a man in a blue shirt.

“I didn’t call it a chai tea latte,” she muttered, the familiar sense of deja vu fluttering through her chest. She’d had this interaction before, she was sure of it.

Her therapist would tell her it was apophenia—seeing patterns where there were none, faces in the wallpaper.

A potential symptom of schizophrenia. Especially with her family history.

Annie pulled a battered blue notebook from her bag, flipping it open. The notebook was filled with scribbles, right up to an abrupt halt in the middle. Where she’d given up on the attempt to keep up her own mind.

She flipped a sheet back and forth, trying to make out her own frantic handwriting.

“Chai latte, oat milk, for Annie?”

Annie came home to a familiar scene. Her mother’s wrinkled, calloused hands, holding tissue paper pages of her cracked leather Bible.

“Did you go to your session today?”

“Yes, Mom, I went.”

“And?”

Annie didn’t know what her mother wanted her to say. Or, rather, didn’t know what her mother expected her to say.

“And it was as helpful as ever.”

Her mother sighed. “Annie.”

“What, Mom? Do you expect me to walk in one day and everything’s just magically back to normal?”

Her mother folded her hands, crinkling the thin pages. The problem was, that was exactly what she expected. Maybe a reasonable thing to expect when she was convinced it was all in her daughter’s head.

“Pride goeth before destruction, Annie.”

“That’s not what’s happening, Mom.”

“Only the Lord knows the secrets of the future.”

Annie scrapped her chair back. She walked past the living room, heading for the stairs and the safety of her own room, passing her grandmother in her rocking chair, keeping the cat prisoner on her lap. The nightly news played on the TV, a shooting spree at the mall, a picture of the gunman flashing on screen.

Her grandmother winked at her.

“I look forward to the day we can have a conversation that’s more than you quoting bible verses at me,” she said, over her shoulder.

“The Lord detests all the proud of heart. They will not go unpunished.”

The next day, Annie was again standing in line at the coffee shop, flipping the last page in her notebook back and forth. Something was bothering her about the writing, distracting her while she was trying to order.

“Uh, chai tea latte with oat milk, please.”

“You know that chai already means tea, right?” the man in the blue shirt said, as Annie stepped out of the ordering line.

“You know that’s obnoxious, right?”

“What?” he said, with a smile, “Imparting knowledge?”

Repeating yourself like that, she thought.

“No one asked.”

The smile wavered. The man shrugged. “I’d want to be corrected, if I was doing something wrong.”

Annie ignored that, focusing on her notebook and deciphering her own handwriting. She could make out “blue shirt” and “coffee” and “TV.”

“Wow, looks like someone needs penmanship lessons.”

“You know what?” Annie said, snapping her head up, “You need to….”

She was looking at his face, actually looking at his, for the first time. No, not for the first time. She knew that face. She knew him. Not this conversation, but him. She’s seen him before.

“Do I know you?” she said, in answer to his raised eyebrows.

The man laughed.

And she knew this conversation—they’d had this conversation. Hadn’t they?

“I doubt it. I just got in from New York this morning. Never been here before.” He carried on with something about the friendliness of the people, but Annie wasn’t listening. That was a lie.

She knew it was a lie.

He’d been here yesterday, hadn’t he? He’d said something to her.

Something about chai.

A shiver went down Annie’s spine.

He’d said the same thing moments ago. Don’t you know chai already means tea?

Annie went sprinting out the door, just as the barista called her name. She knew where she’d seen his face, too.

Just got in from New York this morning.

She was shaking.

She knew exactly who he was. And where she had seen his face. On the news, last night. For once, it all made sense. She was seeing the future, seeing the fingerprints of God, not faces in the wallpaper. And this time, she could prove it.

Running across the crosswalk with a “don’t walk” sign, the notebook slipped from her hands without her notice. The notebook landed on the sidewalk, the wind flipping through the pages filled with unrecognizable scribbles.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#fff119 #flash fiction friday #flash fiction #sci fi #sci fi writing #authors on tumblr #writers on tumblr #original writing #original fiction #deja vu #took a little bit of a risk #wrote something that's intentionally #a bit ambiguous #that doesn't always go over well.....#anyway #starkly mine

7 notes · View notes

baeklooming-day · 4 years

Text

April Breeze | Baekhyun

Lines 2. "Hey, hey, calm down. They can't hurt you anymore." and 43. "I feel like I can't breathe."

Summary: There is this boy who is too shy, but also too in love with you to not try to get your attention. Even if it means forgetting how to breathe.

Feat. wingman bff Chanyeol

Genre: Good boy!AU, Bad girl!AU, fluffish fluff, extremely shy Baek

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: This is probably the most innocent Baek I have ever written oml

"Look, it's Y/N."

"Y/N is so beautiful. I wish I looked like that."

"Yeah, because only her looks are good, her personality leaves a lot to wish for."

"Be quiet! She will hear you."

"So what?"

"The last person who royally pissed her off ended up with an almost broken nose."

"Seriously, why is she even so popular..."

You walked through the school hallway, pretending to not hear any of the comments the other students present there were making about you.

It actually always amused you to be honest, them thinking that you couldn't really hear their whispering whilst you were passing by.

Little did they know, you had a remarkable hearing sense.

But even despite that, some of them weren't particularly trying to keep their comments quiet, so you would be able to hear them nonetheless even if your ears weren't that good to tell the truth.

Still, for some reason they were thinking that their voices couldn't reach you.

Well. Not that what people were thinking and saying about you was something that you considered particularly important anyway.

You tugged your soft hair behind your ear, revealing a dangling long earring made of pearls, a noticeable piece of jewelry which you liked wearing the most.

As you approached your locker to take a book for your next class, you noticed a little note being glued to it.

A little note, this time the paper was in a shape of a heart and in a pastel pink color.

This time, because it was what felt like the thousandth note in that April which you found on your locker.

»You are beautiful«, the note said.

You smiled involuntarily. At the beginning you completely ignored it not taking any of these seriously, but with time as the notes kept appearing with always sweeter messages, you were slowly starting to wonder who was hiding behind them.

Of course only out of simple curiosity.

You gently peeled the note off of your locker and threw it in your bag, taking your book and walking away in the direction of your classroom.

You did it all automatically, not being aware of your surroundings, or more like of WHO was in your surroundings in that moment.

If only you paid a little attention to your right, you would have noticed a boy in a pastel yellow hoodie, pretending to look for something in his own locker, whilst in reality he was trying to stop himself from blushing madly and see your reaction all at the same time.

You disappeared way too quickly for him to properly look at you, leaving him with only a sight of your back when you walked away with your book.

His dreamy brown eyes followed your figure, slowly disappearing in the distance of the hallway.

Just when you disappeared completely behind the next corner, the boy let out a sigh.

"I feel like I can't breathe."

"Ya, Baekhyun, do you need some fresh air? Seriously, you have been in love with Y/N for what feels like forever, it would be about time to make her aware of your existence." Said a loud deep voice.

Baekhyun, who was still looking like a human resemblance of a tomato with his flaming cheeks, looked at his friend who appeared next to him with pain in his eyes. "Listen Chanyeol, not everyone is so outgoing like you."

Chanyeol gave him a disapproving look. "But leaving her your love notes everyday, sure." He paused. "Is it because of what happened on Valentines Day this year?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Baekhyun said, finally closing his locker.

He didn't want to either talk or let alone think about what happened back then, when thinking that he finally found the courage to talk to you in person and ask you to be his valentine, scarlet roses in his hand each one of them with a love note attached to it with an equally scarlet ribbon, that one popular and extremely mean boy from your parallel class who had a big crush on you somehow found out his plan.

In conclusion, the roses which were supposed to be given to you disappeared in mysterious circumstances during the lunch break, whilst Baekhyun himself ended up shivering outside in the cold winter air, completely soaked in ice cold water which had been poured right on him from the window, it wasn't even necessary contemplating who thought of doing this.

Ever since then, he decided that it would be better to just admire you from afar, seeing that his actions were attracting everyone else's attention but yours.

That decision lasted only for so long though, when during the following months he found himself helplessly falling even more for you, finally starting to stick little love notes to your locker, hoping for not even knowing what.

"Look, of course I wouldn't love anything more than Y/N somehow noticing me... But I don't want to have all that delinquent squad from class one after me again." Baekhyun said.

"Hey, hey, calm down. They can't hurt you anymore." The taller boy reassuringly put his hand on his friend's shoulder. He paused for a moment, before cheerfully continuing. "Well, you know that I'm good friends with a dude who is friends with Y/N's brother and, you know, I just accidentally heard that she likes cherry blossoms and chocolate oat milk." He informed his friend with a knowing smile appearing on his face.

Baekhyun looked at him a little confused. "And why are you telling me that?" He asked.

"Well." Chanyeol smiled even wider now. "Having all this information and knowing that it's April and cherry trees are blooming, isn't it just the perfect position to FINALLY ask Y/N out on a date?"

"Um-"

"Of course it is! And YOU my dude, are going to use it!"

"I am?"

"Yes you are!" Chanyeol suddenly looked all serious. "Tomorrow it's Saturday, and now you have a free period, so that leaves you with about forty five minutes until Y/N comes back from her class." He quickly glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I have to run to my practice now, but I believe in you!"

"What? Chanyeol-"

But before Baekhyun could say anything else, his tall friend was already leaving through the door.

Alone the thought about having your dazzling bright eyes looking at him made him forget how to breathe, but instead of covering his flaming cheeks and shaking it off, he pulled out a piece of paper from his bag, pausing for a moment to think before his hand started to scribble words on it on its own.

The time flew unexpectedly quickly, but you were more than grateful for that, given that all you dreamed of doing right now was to leave those books in your locker and make yourself on your long awaited way home.

You approached the lockers, immediately noticing a new note being glued to yours.

You put your bag on the ground, taking the note off and reading the words written on it.

»All the cherry blossoms seem to be blooming just for you. But you are the loveliest of them all. When I see you it's like an April breeze.«

You would never admit it, but sometimes even something as simple and cheesy as that could leave some effect on you.

You smiled to yourself.

"Who the freak could you be" You said.

"Do you want to know?" Asked a sweet voice, coming right from behind you.

You immediately turned around, being met with a sight of a boy in a pastel yellow hoodie, nervously fidgeting with a blue pen which he was holding in his hands.

It looked as if he had some visible difficulty looking you in the eyes, instead focusing on some random point on the lockers behind you.

His full cheeks were tinted always more and more in a dark blush, and when he finally met your eyes, all he managed to do was to open and close his mouth like a goldfish breathing underwater.

"I... um..." The boy stuttered. "I..."

"You?" You asked impatiently.

As you took a closer look at him, you were sure that you already spotted him somewhere around your school, however you couldn't link him to any particular class or to anyone you knew.

"I, well..."

"Are you alright? Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked a little bit concerned, given that he looked as if he was about to pass out right where he was standing.

The boy slid the pastel yellow hood off of his head, revealing his fluffy light hair. "Because, um..." He paused for a brief second. "When I see you it's like an April breeze." He said quietly.

It took you a moment to realize what he just said, looking at the love note in your hand and at his flushed face.

"It's you!" You exclaimed, making him almost jump in surprise at your sudden loud remark. "You are the one who has been leaving me all those notes the entire time!"

You observed the always present blush on his cheeks, taking the opportunity to acknowledge his cute face, with soft locks of light hair falling gently on his shy brown eyes.

No way that someone who wrote such beautiful words meant just for you, was now completely frozen and startled in your presence, not knowing what to say.

"What is your name?" You asked in a softer tone.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Baekhyun."

"Baekhyun." You repeated.

If only you knew what you were doing to him by saying his name, a thousand of butterflies dancing in his stomach and a pounding heart which was nearly exploding.

You already figured that he apparently was the super shy type, so instead of waiting for him to finally get to his point, you proceeded talking. "Did you want to ask me a question?"

Apparently your own question did something, noticing how he immediately straightened and tried to maintain the eye contact with you. "Yes. I have been meaning to ask you, if..." A brief pause again. "If you would like to watch blooming cherry trees with me?" The question was soft and quiet, but enough for you to hear it clearly.

"When?" You asked, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Tomorrow." He replied decisively. "Tomorrow at four."

"Alright. But under one condition." You said. "Give me your number."

"Wha-" He looked at you, flabbergasted. "Oh, yes, of course!"

The two of you took out your phones, giving them to one another to type in your numbers.

"Well, alright." You said, flashing him one of your rarest and brightest smiles, noticing how his cheeks went red all over again. "I will see you tomorrow, then." You tugged your hair behind your ear. "Baekhyun."

With that, you turned around and directed yourself to the exit, leaving the shy boy behind you with a pounding and jumping heart, sparkles glistening in his brown orbs.

And thinking that there you were, sure that all the shy boys were too afraid of talking to you.

You left the school building continuing to involuntarily smile to yourself, letting an unexplainable happy feeling consume you.

Sometimes things that you would never expect to happen, do happen in the least expected moments.

A/N: leave me your thoughts!! reblogs are always welcomed 💫

and also i really don't know what to think about this story myself lmao

208 notes · View notes

tinyarmedtrex · 4 years

Text

Richie walked into a small cafe, pulling his hat lower over his face. He wanted a coffee, not to get recognized and was hoping the hat would be enough.

“Welcome to Burnt Bean, what can I get you?” The barista asked.

Richie raised his head, reading the menu. Oat milk, goat’s milk, hemp milk. There was a joke in there somewhere. Save the cows, drink the hemp. He filed the idea away for later.

“Do you have cow’s milk?” He asked, feeling decidedly not adventurous enough for any of the others.

The guy chuckled. “Of course. Do you want any flavoring?”

Richie glanced at him, looking at the guy for the first time. He was cute, adorable even, with his green apron and a pen tucked behind his ear. He was watching Richie, waiting an answer, and Richie didn’t see any flicker of recognition. He relaxed slightly.

“I want something to wake up my taste buds. What would you recommend?”

The guy considered it, looking Richie over slowly. He felt himself start to sweat, sure he was found out.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

“You look like someone with a sweet tooth.” The barista declared. “I’ll make you a campfire mocha. If you don’t like it’s free.”

“And how much is it if I do like it?” Richie asked, following the guy down the line as he pulled out the milk.

He hesitated then glanced at Richie again. “Then it’s the cost of lunch.”

“Are you asking me out?” Richie asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. It had been a long time since he’d been on an actual date, something that wasn’t just ‘thanks for the orgasm now get out’.

“Maybe.” The guy was busy making the drink and not looking at Richie. “I’m done in ten minutes. I guess it depends if you’re still here. And if you like the drink.”

“I’ll be here.” He promised, taking the offered drink and taking a sip. It was syrupy sweet and perfect. “I love it.”

The man beamed. “Good.”

Ten minutes later and he appeared at Richie’s table, wearing a denim jacket instead of an apron. It was even cuter.

“Still want that date?” He asked.

Richie nodded, standing quickly and trying not to trip over his own feet. “Yes please. What’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

“Richie.” Richie stuck his hand out, nearly hitting Eddie earning a small giggle as Eddie shook it. The sound was light and adorable. “Can you recommend a place?”

“Not from around here?” Eddie asked, popping his collar as they went outside.

“Not exactly.”

Eddie took them to a sandwich place which was, thankfully, empty. Richie picked a booth in the back, hoping that Eddie wouldn’t ask why.

They ordered and fell into an easy conversation. Richie tried to be vague about his work and why he was in town but was honest about everything else. He found that he liked Eddie, a lot. The guy was cute and quick witted- and he had that adorable giggle that made Richie swoon.

“Are you, um, free tonight?” Richie asked as they stood. Maybe it was too soon so ask for a second date but he was only in town for a week. He didn’t want to waste any time.

Eddie nodded. “What were you thinking?”

You, me, less clothes, Richie thought. Outloud he suggested, “A movie? Dinner?”

“I’d love that.” Eddie held out his hand and Richie handed over his phone, watching as he put his number in. Then Eddie hesitated for a second. Richie was about to ask if something was wrong when Eddie pressed on his tip toes, pressing a quick kiss to Richie’s cheek.

“Can’t wait to see you.” Eddie said as he pulled back. He gave Richie a quick wave before leaving.

For his part Richie was stuck in place, feeling totally smitten. It had been a long time since he’d connected with someone like this and the last person- well, it hadn’t turned out so well. Richie knew that he should be careful, take it slow. Especially since he was famous. Being an actor was only part of the reason for his fame. The larger reason was because he’d been on a few too many public benders a year ago. It turned out that alcohol and drugs didn’t actually fix or even help his depression. He’d made the mistake of trusting the wrong person and had ended up on page six, with full color photos of him vomiting in a flower pot. That had been Richie’s rock bottom and he’d hidden from the public since- first because he was in rehab and then because he didn’t know how to return.

Now though, he was clean and had a part in the new James Cameron movie. Not exactly his wheelhouse but it was a start, a fresh beginning. He may be thinking ahead too much but Richie couldn’t help but hope Eddie could be part of it.

That night, Eddie insisted on meeting at the movie theatre, which Richie appreciated. He liked someone who was careful. He needed more of that in his life.

The movie they picked was terrible but the company was amazing. Eddie started at every jump scare, curling closer to Richie every time. He ended up with his arm around Eddie, whispering jokes to keep him relaxed.

“I don’t know why I agreed to that.” Eddie admitted after as they walked to dinner. “I hate scary movies.”

“Really? I would never have guessed.” Richie teased, earning a light slap from Eddie. As they walked onto the street Eddie grabbed his hand. Richie’s first instinct was to look for paparazzi but he relaxed when he didn’t see any flashing lights.

“Now whose jumpy?” Eddie asked, knocking their shoulders together.

“It’s me. You better stay close and keep me safe.” Richie replied, earning a hand squeeze and small smile from Eddie.

Richie had called ahead to the restaurant, asking for a private room. Again, Eddie thought it was strange he didn’t comment, letting Richie pull out his chair and ordering a Manhattan from the waiter. Richie wanted to tell him the why but decided that was a third date conversation. Maybe fourth.

Like lunch they fell into an easy conversation. Richie revealed in making Eddie laugh and Eddie seemed to enjoy picking on him, never letting Richie get away with bullshit.

When they finished Richie was planning to wait with Eddie for his uber before ordering his own and was debating if asking Eddie out for breakfast was too much, when Eddie pushed him against a building and kissed him, winding his hands in Richie’s hair and tugging him down. Richie groaned into the kiss, shocked but not about to question it.

“Take me back to your place?” Eddie asked, arching against Richie.

Dumbly, he nodded, ordering a car before turning his attention back to those lips. He barely noticed when the driver showed up, the man had to honk two or three times before they broke apart.

The ride back was torture, Eddie kept trailing his fingers up Richie’s thigh, pressing kisses to his jawline. He tried not to be too loud but Eddie seemed to know exactly where to kiss him.

Finally they were in his airbnb and Eddie was kissing him again, barely letting Richie lock the door behind them.

“Wait Eddie-” Richie stopped him as Eddie’s hands went to his belt.

“Do you not want to do this?” Eddie asked, biting his bottom lip and looking up at him through his eyelashes. He had to know how he looked, utterly gorgeous and fuckable. It made what he was about to say even harder.

“No, no I really really do,” Richie said, bending down to kiss Eddie again. “It’s just- it’s been a while for me and in the past, well, sex hasn’t meant much to me. And I think you could mean something to me so I don’t want to mess this up. So could we maybe just- cuddle?” His dick hated him for asking but Richie felt like this could be real and that made him willing to hit the pause button.

Eddie’s eyes fell and he was quiet for a moment. Richie thought he was mad and started to talk again. “Look, I know it’s a bait and switch and I do want you- I mean that’s obvious-” He waved a hand in front of his tented jeans. “You’re so fucking sexy- but I have a terrible track record with relationships and I think you’re special. Please don’t hate me.”

Eddie raised his eyes, his expression still unreadable as he shook his head. “I don’t. I really don’t. We can cuddle.”

Richie exhaled, relieved. “Good. I am an excellent cuddler, I promise.”

Richie took Eddie to the bedroom, both of them laying down and Richie pulling Eddie close, wrapping an arm around the smaller man’s waist. “This is nice.” He said, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder.

“It is.” Eddie’s voice sounded off but Richie didn’t question it, instead nuzzling Eddie’s neck.

Richie didn’t mean to but he fell asleep. When he woke up it was still dark out but now he was alone.

“Eddie?” He sat up, looking around. Next to him, where Eddie should have been, was a piece of paper. Richie frowned, unfolding it.

Richie,

I have my own confession; I know who you are. That hat was a terrible disguise. When you entered the coffee shop I thought I could fool you, that we would sleep together and then I could sell the pictures to the press. It’s awful I know. I can give you excuses about how my job doesn’t pay well and I have student loans but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, kind and (usually) funny. You deserve better. I hope you find that. I’m so sorry.

-Eddie

He crumpled the note, closing his eyes and letting bitter disappointment wash over him. A year later and he hadn’t learned. He still made bad choices, still picked the wrong guy. Richie let himself be upset for a few minutes before dragging himself out of bed and calling his sponsor, hoping that he could rouse the man from bed and convince him to talk Richie out of the drink he desperately wanted.

@wheezyeds @constantreaderfool @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @moonlightrichie @lifesucksheres20bucks @thorn-harvester-ven @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @andaleduardo @xandertheundead @s-s-georgie @s-onora @roobarrtrashmouth @njess04 @gczebos @kasp-brakz @sourmoist @playing-jim @princesass-theresa @mimiharu @kaspbrak-tozier-reddie @no-she-wasnt-reddie @oldguybones @sloppybitxch @sedanleystanley @kaspbrak-king @ticomat @hadererer @da-damned @purplepoisonedgem @sparklingrainbowdragon @richietoaster @sxndythinkstoomuch @overcastedhills @trashmouthtozierr @blondekasp @richiezvoid @thebriarpatch

#reddie #tinyarmedtwrites #not exactly a happy end #sorry #I had the idea and couldnt get it out of my head #and then resisted making this into a full fic

139 notes · View notes

peppersonironi · 3 years

Text

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter Four

For my @dukethomasbigbang fic, we have the third prank, and fourth chapter! I hope y'all like it! Yet again a huge thanks to betas @queerbutstillhere & @theycallme-ook

Summary:

Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement.

Read on Ao3

Ah, Cheerios, the best kind of breakfast cereal. Duke just didn’t get why people seemed to hate them so much. They weren’t bland, they just had a nice even subtle oat flavor which was refreshing compared to all the intensely sweet sugary crap that Dick kept attempting to sneak in past Alfred. And they were so delicious with milk! Of course, they were also fantastic when you added things to them as well, like a light drizzle of honey, or a small handful of granola. If you were feeling especially adventurous - or if Damian was the one to go shopping with Alfred and therefore got the choice in what was bought that week - you could even have it with some unsweetened vanilla oat milk.

“But does that count as a subset of cannibalism?” Duke wondered aloud between bites of cereal.

He took another bite thoughtfully and hopped down from the island in the middle of the kitchen to make his way out the door and down the hall. Alfred was away for the weekend (Tim had mentioned something about regaining his honor in a pie baking duel with Ma Kent? Duke wasn’t sure.) so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Not that he ever got in trouble. For some reason.

Duke angrily crunched down on another spoonful when a sudden banging around came from the ceiling above him. Duke froze, suddenly terrified. What was it? Aliens? Did Alfred (The Cat) finally figure out how to phase through walls? Were some of the skeletons (which Jason had warned Duke he stored in the drywall) finally reanimate and were slowly crawling out, in a slow determined quest for revenge?

As the opening to the air vent just a few feet ahead banged open, releasing a lone figure, Duke was dismayed to find it was not, in fact, some fantastical being or occurrence.

It was just Steph.

Duke quickly finished eating the spoonful of Cheerios and chewed as he waved a greeting with his spoon.

Stephanie, who was completely covered in glitter and carrying a feather duster, glared daggers at Duke and slowly, methodically, drew the duster across her throat.

Duke swallowed heavily and cringed. Ah, it probably would be in his best interest to avoid blaming the purple clothed bandit for any of his pranks in the future.

*****

For the second time that day, Duke found himself in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Though this time, instead of pondering the moral and psychological repercussions of eating his cereal with oat milk, the teen was having a pre workout snack with his younger brother.

“Add more whipped cream, Thomas,” Damian advised, passing Duke the can. “Dairy is protein, and protein is essential to proper nutrition.”

Duke took the can with a grin, and added a more generous than necessary squirt to the top.

“Alright Dami,” Duke said as he set aside the can, “But you need to be sure to add more than one cherry. Fruit is good for you, you know.”

Damian sniffed superiorly and delicately pulled out three maraschino cherries from the fancy jar than Alfred kept in the pantry. He then placed them precariously on top of the summet of his ice cream sundae mountain.

Duke held up his spoon in front of Damian. “Shall we dig in?”

Damian grinned - a rare occurrence which took the years off of his face, allowing him to truly look like a child. Duke quietly celebrated, ever since he first saw Damian smile at him, he had made it his mission to make his younger brother happier more often.

They clinked their spoons together, and dug into their huge deserts. It was a good thing that Alfred wasn’t home at the moment, or the old Butler would have an aneurysm at the amount of sugar they were putting into their bodies. But oh well, they deserved it for the training session that they’d be taking part in later that afternoon.

It wasn’t often that Bruce had enough time to do a full workout session with any of his kids, let alone something smaller like a one on one thing, or him and a few others. Duke had only gotten this privilege during his first year of staying with the Waynes, and at the time, when he was futilely trying to kick down trees in the yard, he hadn’t understood why such a thing was coveted by his siblings.

But now he did, so he completely understood Damian’s excitement when the thirteen year old had animatedly informed him that because all the others were gone from the city that day, only he and Duke would be present for the training session. So of course Duke suggested making a special treat in preparation.

They were at the very bottom of their large bowls of ice cream when Bruce walked into the kitchen carrying his large jug of water.

“Are you boys ready for today?” Bruce asked, and Duke and Damian grinned.

“Of course, Father. We have been preparing extensively for the past half hour.”

Bruce eyed the empty bowls in front of each of his sons, and grunted. “And sprinkles helped you do that?”

Duke scoffed. “Of course, B. Didn't you know that?”

Bruce looked skeptical, so Damian butted in. “Father, Pennyworth is always informing you to eat your colors. You americans eat such bland food, all tans and grays. Surely compact fluorescent bites are the best way to remedy such a problem.”

Bruce squinted, but didn’t seem in the mood to argue, so he turned around and began to leave the kitchen. “Just be in my study in twenty minutes.”

Behind him, Duke offered a fist bump to his partner in crime. Damian accepted with a smirk.

*****

“Please tell me I’m not late!” Duke exclaimed as he rushed into Bruce’s study.

Bruce and Damian were over by the clock, looking as if they were about to input the time. Duke heaved a sigh of relief at that. Being late to a training session was a mortal sin in the Manor. Or at least, that’s what Jason told him. He said it was the reason he had died (something about Bruce kicking him out, which made him go to Ethiopia for some money an old rich uncle of his had left him, and then the Joker catching wind and tried to rob him, which somehow ended in with him, a warehouse, and a crow bar).

Suffice it to say, Duke made it his mission to never be late to a training session. Ever.

“Tt, Thomas,” Damian remarked, turning back to the clock. “You were cutting it close.”

Bruce sighed. “You’re fine Duke.”

Duke nodded and took his place right behind Damian. The boy huffed in a satisfied manner and crossed his arms.

“Any day now, Father. Unlike you, my time is precious.”

Translation: Damian was excited, and tired of waiting.

Bruce frowned as he spun the arms of the clock again. “The clock is broken.”

Duke raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s really just a door, right?”

Bruce frowned back at the face of the grandfather clock, not bothered by Duke’s incredibly funny remark.

A few seconds later, Duke tried again. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

Bruce’s eyes were narrowed to slits by now, and his brow furrowed in concentration. “The entrance is malfunctioning. I want you boys to go around and check the others. Including Stephanie’s smuggling tunnel.”

Duke blinked. “Stephanie’s what now?”

Bruce made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Yes, I know about that. Now go.”

Duke and Damian looked at each other, shrugged, then left the room. Might as well do what Bruce says. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could work out. Plus they were sort of curious to know what was going on. Neither of them knew, they were innocent! Especially Duke.

Fifteen minutes later, and the trio reconvened in the study once more. Bruce looked angry, Duke looked confused, and Damian was positively fuming.

“This is outrageous!” He cried, as soon as he entered after Duke. “None of the entrances are working! I even attempted to use imaginative means to enter, and nothing worked!”

Bruce’s grim look receded for just a moment. “I’ll let Barbara know she did a wonderful job shoring up the security if even my children can’t get in.”

Damian scowled. “What’s the point of making security that we can’t get into?”

Bruce closed his eyes for three long, tired seconds.

“Anyway!” Duke said, “They aren’t allowing access. Any theories? Or should we just get Tim?”

Damian looked appalled at the idea. “Father!” he cried, “you can’t call Timothy! He will be unable to operate at maximum capacity if he does not complete the weekend of so-called relaxation with the clone at the Kents’ farm.”

“So second best option?” Duke asked.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t let Barbara hear that when she gets here.”

*****

“Hhmmmm.”

Duke, Bruce, and Damian cringed in unison at Barbara’s contemplative noise. The young woman was typing on a laptop plugged into some kind of control panel in Bruce’s office. She hadn’t spoken to them more than first greetings when she had arrived, so they were left in the dark while she rifled through the Cave’s security system.

Finally, Babs closed the computer and set it to the side. Duke and the others held their collective breath.

“The Cave is registering you as already present inside,” Barbara explained, “Actually, it says that everyone is in the Cave right now.”

Bruce was still and silent, considering Barbara’s words. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to be an inch away from having a meltdown.

“This is preposterous!” He blustered, whipping about and glaring, not having any particular target. “The system is trash, I said we should have fixed it ages ago! And now look at the outcome! I must remain at peak physical capacity, and I am not able to if I miss even a single session! Father, I demand you fix this!”

“Woah, dude, chill,” Duke soothed, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Thankfully, the kid didn’t bite him. “I know you're frustrated, but we work more effectively when calm, right?”

Damian blinked, and glared at Duke for a long moment. “You are not incorrect, Thomas.” Damian finally allowed, turning away.

Barbara smiled. “Well, good news: I can get you in. It’s probably a good idea to call for back-up and wait till you have the forces to-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bruce interrupted, his eye twitching at the glare Babs threw his way. “We can handle it - right, boys?”

Damian sniffed proudly and produced some knives from who knows where. Duke nodded confidently.

Bruce grunted, and motioned for them to fall in line behind him. Barbara watched with her precise gaze as Bruce, Duke, and Damian made their way down the stairs. They didn’t turn the lights on, going for optimal stealth as were, and moved slowly downward.

“Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious,” Duke sang under his breath a little ways after the halfway point down the stairs.

“Making noise is very suspicious, Thomas.” Damian muttered.

“Quiet, Boys,” Bruce snapped before Duke could make a comeback, “We’re almost there.”

As soon as the doors to the Cave opened, they scattered and melted into the shadows. Duke just managed to see Damian crawl up the side of the cave wall, but didn’t see where Bruce went. He didn’t have much time to worry about that, though, as he was hiding himself among equipment that lined the sides of the space.

The path he had chosen gave him an easy pass to circle the main platform, and gage the situation. And boy was it a situation. Because, you see, like Barbara said, they were not the only ones in the cave. They were just the only sentient ones.

The elevator dinged, and Barbara rolled out and into the light. “Are those Manikins?” She asked, incredulous.

*****

Duke smirked proudly at the sight before him, the same sight that left the others outraged and confused

Someone, somehow (It was Duke, and through much hard labour during some time while the bats were actually asleep - he got someone to cover his patrol, this bright young girl called Maps to do it. She said she was a friend of Damian’s, and quite skilled with a grappling hook. Tim had mentioned her before, so Duke wasn’t surprised.) managed to get dozens of manikins - those hyper mobile ones that you can personalise their positions - and spread them out across the cave. And not just that, they had managed to stylize them after each member of the family.

The manikins also seemed to be moving around at preset speeds, through some mysterious robotic means (Duke mentally thanked the stars that Bruce didn’t bat an eye at someone purchasing thirty roombas with his credit card.).

The first manikin, the one that caught everyone’s eye, was clearly meant to represent Stephanie. It was doused in complete purple, the exact shade of her suit and automated to throw the glitter bombs stored in a sack by its side at seemingly everything - though apparently mainly at the nearest authority figure.

Said authority figure was obviously Bruce, who was moving slowly in wide arcs around the chaos. It was wearing one of those ghost costumes, (you know the ones with just a sheet and cut out holes? Yeah, that’s Bruce.) except with a black sheet. And two plastic forks taped to either side of the head to imitate Bat ears. Though by this point it was also covered in purple glitter, thanks to Steph.

Somehow, the figure right next to Bruce was completely untouched by the purple sparkles, despite wearing the exact same outfit as Bruce’s manikin, plastic forks and all. (Although to be fair, this one was significantly shorter.) Though this mystery could easily be solved by the fact that it was Cass. Well, that explains pretty much everything, actually.

Nearest to Bruce and his mini-me at that point in the rotation was a toddler sized, bright green manikin that represented none other than the current Robin. And if that weren’t enough, think of Edward Scissor Hands. Now imagine those knives and blades and such taped over the whole body. Now you have an accurate picture of Damian Wayne in Manikin form. Honestly, it wasn’t that far off.

Humans weren’t the only things replaced in the Cave, as just by Damian were little dog, cat, and cow statues. And a giant bat stuffie colored red.

Bruce’s manikin had to stop it’s wide arc and jerk suddenly to the side to avoid the next member of the family. Tim Drake’s stand-in was barely visible underneath the six foot tall pile of bulk coffee bean bags stacked around it.

Right behind Tim was a large manikin painted blood red, wearing a faux pink leather jacket with sparkles and rhinestones glued it. It looked like it was meant for a six year old girl. What didn’t look like it was meant for a child, though, were the strips of ammunition draped across its shoulders like a fancy scarf. The look was completed by a large red bucket dumped haphazardly over the head of the manikin.

To the side of the Cave, just barely out of the war path that was The Red Bucket, was something different. Instead of a manikin like you would find in the clothing store, a halloween decoration was set up. And not just any decoration: A life-sized recreation of Dracula that looked so cheap, it was probably bought at Party City for ten bucks. (Hey, it was on sale! Duke wasn’t one to ignore such a spectacular bargain!). The only thing customized about it was the cheap, long, cherry red wig perched precariously on its head. Hey, everyone always said Kate looked an awful lot like a vampire!

The simplest manikin was somehow one of the most recognizable. Painted plain white, it was mostly unadorned with the exception of “007” painted across the chest in big, black, block letters. Now who could that be? It wasn’t like the Bats casually knew a british spy.

But all of that is fairly sane, compared to the … others.

In one corner of the room, a manikin was on fire. Completely on fire. The blaze was huge. Somehow, the manikin itself wasn’t on fire, though. One got the impression that it was supposed to be reminiscent of the burning bush story, or perhaps a phoenix. Ha, phoenix. Flamebird. Duke hoped he wasn’t the only one who found that funny.

Dick’s was on a complicated zip line pulley type system thingy. It was upside down and twisted into a pretzel for a bit, then it reached a checkpoint and was replaced by a new “Dick” in a different position. It looks like Dick’s doing mid air acrobatics. Oh, and he’s wearing a crop top that said “I’m A Dick.”

There was yet another all-green manikin seated on a hover chair that looked suspiciously like alien tech taken from the Watchtower. There was a face drawn on, and it was emulating the Oracle Symbol.

Hidden amongst the shadows in the corner was another manikin, barely within sight. It was resting luxuriously in a clawfoot bathtub, which was filled with jewels of all kinds. Upon its shoulders were multiple cat stuffed animals.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement, the one that is easily the most terrifying. The one that is undoubtedly the Taser Girl herself: Harper Row.

What made this one different? Well, that’s because Harper was not, in fact, a manikin. Instead, the figure was not unlike a stick figure made completely out of metal pipes. The bottom was attached to an encased roomba which was currently going in wide, swooping arcs. The arms are raised triumphantly overhead. (Duke may or may not have spent three hours in front of the Hellmo meme, making sure that it was perfect). And, of course, it was conducting bright blue crackling electricity. (Duke had gotten the idea from one of those science experiment things that is made of lightning, and will every so often shoot a bolt and light something on fire. Minus the fire part. He didn’t have a death wish .)

It was just then that some lightning arced out and set an extra manikin that had been lying about on fire.

Duke cringed internally, but his mood wasn’t dampened for long. He took one look at the other Bats present, and muffled a snort of amusement. They were positively shocked - even Babs! That in and of itself was an utter victory for Duke. It got even better when they slowly separated and began to wander the Cave in wonder and horror. Duke split off as well, and hid behind the Dinosaur.

He almost tripped, however, on one of the babies. Yeah, Babies. Around the legs of the dinosaur, on their own roombas, were inflatable versions of the giant T-Rex. Somehow (maaaaybe with a touch of fiddling with controls), they were even faster than the moving people. They were zipping around and crashing into each other. When Duke hit one, though, it activated a system he had put in place which suddenly unleashed a gigantic roar throughout the Cave via the soundsystem.

The Dinosaurs weren’t the only extra addition to the native wildlife, though. Bats, hundreds of them, were replaced with stuffed animal versions of themselves, and painstakingly hung from string to the stalactites at the top of the cave, like a giant mobile.

Duke peaked out from the side of the wide space where he had been inspecting his own work to gage the situation with the other members of his family. The shock seemed to have worn off by that point, replaced with mixed reactions. Bruce was growing increasingly frustrated, Babs was trying not to laugh, and Damian was secretly pleased, enjoying the look on his father’s face.

Duke chuckled to himself as he went back to looking around in the nooks and crannies where smaller details - like the glow sticks representing glow worms - are set up. He had to admit, when he had set all of this up in two-days-without-sleep haze, he hadn’t actually been sure if it actually looked good. Two minutes later, and Duke was absolutely sure that this was in the top fifteen best Bat-Pranks, He’d have to petition for it to be added at the next meeting.

A sudden clamor came from the Batcomputer, and Duke grinned before practically skipping over to see what was the matter. This will be fun, he thought.

Upon his arrival, he knew it was true.

“Holy shit!” He crowed joyfully upon catching sight of the one manikin that had been missing earlier: his own.

Duke’s manikin was draped in gold curtains - clearly from the South Wing’s Music Room - to look like a toga, and sitting on a throne. Literally. (Bruce just had one lying about in the Attic) The throne rested on a huge platform covered in jewels (also taken from the treasure chest in the Attic). A light setup in the crannies of the Cave’s ceiling shot out beams of ‘disco’ light. Thin black vales hang from the ceiling to give the ominous feel of shadows. And, in case there was any confusion, a golden plaque rests at the base, and is engraved with the words “The Duke of Gotham. Bow Before Your Ruler.”

It’s beautiful, Duke thought ecstatically, so much better than I could have ever dreamed!

He promptly burst into laughter.

Bruce growled in frustration. “This is not funny, Duke.”

“I dunno, B,” Duke shrugged, “I sure think it is!”

“It is not. This is a defacement of the cave, plain and simple. And a poor use of resources to boot. This space is supposed to be efficient, a place that aids in the mission - and are those my Great Aunt Matilda’s emeralds?”

Duke shrugged again as Bruce was set off onto an even longer rant about wasting everyone’s time and abilities since they were going to have to clean it all up. Duke was mostly tuning Bruce out by that point.

“-if you are being flattered by the prankster, that is a clear sign of them trying to get you on their side.”

Duke froze and did a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t train you to be so easily manipulated.”

Duke coughed. “Uh, I think you got this mixed up, B. See that? That’s me on the throne. Clearly this whole prank was organized by me.”

Bruce stared at Duke for a solid three seconds. Babs was covering her mouth to avoid a giggling fit, or maybe just out of shock. Damian was frowning at Duke.

Bruce’s right eye twitched. “Duke, no need to be sarcastic.”

Duke opened his mouth to argue some more, to explain just how wrong Bruce was, when said Dark Knight whipped around and stalked towards the elevator. He froze, though, when he stepped in front of Damian.

There wasn’t even a moment's pause before Bruce was glaring down at his youngest son with resigned, tired eyes. “Damian, how many times have I told you that more knives are not better? You gave yourself away.”

Damian screeched in indignation, and raced to follow Bruce out, demanding for Bruce to see reason.

“Father, you are being ridiculous!”

But his cries were quickly silenced by the closing of the elevator doors, leaving just Duke and Barbara in the Bat Cave.

Babs pivoted to look to Duke and shrugged. “Sorry kid, but he’s just stubborn.”

Duke blinked in confusion as she wheeled away. Had she always known? Scratch that - she was Oracle. Of course Barbara knew.

Duke collapsed at the foot of his throne, and put his head in his hands. Next time, he promised himself, no one else is gonna be there. No one else can take the credit.

*****

“He’s really trying, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this will be fun to watch.”

“Yes.”

“Should we just tell Bruce and be over with it?”

“…”

“Yes, you’re right Cass. We wait and watch.”

#damian wayne #duke thomas #bruce wayne #barbara gordon #batfam #duke thomas big bang #dtbb21 #fanfiction #my fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

olivemac · 3 years

Text

1300 miles | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, very very slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | Likes and comments always appreciated. :)

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

Tag | @mrs--barnes

_____

previous chapter

_____

Jo wakes the next morning to a text from Danny: Did you fuck the Winter Soldier?

She rolls her eyes and responds: Fuck off. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore.

Danny replies with a leaf emoji and the words: Come upstairs.

Jo slides her glasses on and climbs out of bed. She pads into the living room as quietly as she can to find Bucky snoring on her couch with Toulouse perched on his chest. She can’t stop herself from snapping a picture with her phone.

Upstairs, she lets herself into Danny’s apartment. She’s met at the door by Greta, Danny’s PTSD service dog, a medium-sized German Shepherd who waits patiently for Jo to kneel down and scratch her behind her ears.

“Morning, pup,” Jo whispers.

“I’m out here,” Danny calls from his third-floor balcony.

“Coffee?” Jo asks.

“Cold-brew in the fridge,” Danny responds.

She detours to the kitchen before joining Danny at the small table on his balcony.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jo asks. Danny always smokes the morning after a nightmare.

“They’re called flashbacks, and yes,” he responds, taking a deep drag of the joint.

“But they’re getting better, right?”

"Since you came back, yeah, they're getting better."

“Give me that,” Jo says, reaching for the joint. She takes a drag then exhales slowly. “You can always wake me up when you have a flashback, you know.”

Danny snorts. “I was afraid I’d wander into your bedroom to find you getting dicked down by an Avenger.”

“Please stop,” Jo groans. "You get that you're my brother, right? And this is weird."

Danny laughs, "It's only weird if you make it weird." Then he says, “Seriously, though, what’s the deal with Mister Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? I mean, if Sam trusts him, then he must be a good guy, but he’s literally a hundred years old, Jo.”

“He’s…” she pauses, “really sweet and charming underneath the brooding exterior. I really like him, Danny.”

“But?”

“But he lives in New York,” she whines.

“Yeah,” Danny says, taking another drag on the joint.

“‘Yeah?’ That’s all you’re going to say?”

Danny shrugs. “Some things are worth working for.”

Jo laughs, “Okay, why don’t you get back to me when you’re not high. I’m heading back downstairs.”

“Love you, Josiebean,” Danny says, using the nickname he gave Jo when they were kids.

“Love you, too, Daniel-San,” Jo replies. Danny laughs at the Karate Kid reference like he always does, and Jo kisses his forehead and pats his shoulder before leaving.

_____

Bucky wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon, his stomach rumbling at the scent. There's a warm weight on his chest, and when he opens his eyes he's greeted with the yellow stare of Toulouse.

He looks at his watch. It's a little after eleven. He usually wakes earlier, but he also doesn't usually sleep as soundly as he did last night.

He wanders into the kitchen in his borrowed sweats to find Jo standing at the stove in an oversized t-shirt, shorts, and out-of-season Halloween socks, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her back is to him, and he takes the opportunity to study her naked legs. More ink peaks out from the hem of her shorts and covers most of her thighs. Bucky has the urge to drop to his knees before her and run his tongue over every intricate design.

Instead, he clears his throat, so he doesn't startle her, and she turns to face him. Her face is bare, and she’s wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses. Bucky can’t decide if she looks prettier like this or like she did last night, with her hair flowing down her back and her guitar in her hands.

"Morning," Jo says. “Sorry to shatter the illusion,” she continues, gesturing to her glasses and outfit.

Bucky smiles. He isn’t sure what the protocol is for greeting the woman you made out with and whose couch you slept on last night, but he decides he wants to kiss her again. He takes the few steps toward her and pulls her into his arms. This close, she has to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes.

“Morning,” he says. They’re so close and his voice is pitched so low that Jo can feel the word rumble in his chest. Butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Bucky leans down slowly and presses his lips against Jo’s. This kiss is softer and slower than the kisses they shared last night, and the heat that explodes in Jo’s lower stomach burns the butterflies away. Her fingers dig into his triceps, one arm yielding to her touch, the other firm against her digits. She sighs and opens her mouth to his tongue, letting him deepen the kiss.

He licks into her mouth, and Jo moans, her hands coming up to cup his stubble-covered cheeks. Bucky’s own hands slide down Jo’s back to her buttocks, pulling her hips flush against his so she can feel the effect she’s having on him. Jo gasps, and Bucky’s lips leave hers to trail wet kisses against her jaw.

When he pulls away, Bucky’s smile is almost smug. He likes all the sounds he’s able to pull from her, and he wants to hear more.

Jo turns back to the stove, catching her breath and trying to hide the flush she knows is rising from her chest to her cheeks.

“Breakfast — well," she looks at the clock on the oven, "brunch — is ready. Have a seat.”

Bucky places a final kiss against the back of Jo’s neck before sitting.

Toulouse rubs against Bucky's legs beneath the kitchen table. He reaches down to scratch Louie between the ears, and the cat lets out a contented chirp.

"He's usually not that nice to strangers," Jo says, watching the two of them from across the room.

"My sister had a cat growing up — big, fat orange thing that was missing half an ear. His name was Marmalade."

Jo smiles brightly and sets a plate of food in front of him. “Coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” Bucky says. “But I can get it.”

“No need,” she says, handing him a mug of fresh coffee. “You want oat milk? Sugar, maybe?”

“Black is good,” Bucky says, taking his first sip.

Jo sits across from him with her own plate and coffee cup. They spend breakfast talking quietly. Bucky likes the domesticity of it. He's gotten used to having breakfast at the Wilson's with Sarah, Sam, and the boys, but this meal with Jo feels more intimate. He has a brief flash of spending every morning like this, but he pushes it away as quickly as it comes. He's trying not to overthink whatever’s happening between himself and Jo. He’s not used to having good things in his life, but he wants to lean into this, take the risk.

"You said last night that you know who I am," Bucky says as they clear their plates from the table.

Jo is quiet for a moment, neatly stacking plates and coffee cups in the dishwasher.

“I may have seen a documentary or two featuring the Howling Commandos,” she says, closing the dishwasher and turning to Bucky. “And Sam and Steve may have crashed in Danny’s apartment for a couple of months when they were on the run following the Accords.”

Bucky is silent. He's staring at Jo with the same brooding intensity as last night, but there's something more in his eyes — a sadness she hadn't noticed earlier. She's seen that look before on Danny when he first came back from Afghanistan. It's the look of someone who's lost everything. But as quickly as it's there, it's gone.

Bucky clears his throat. “You knew Steve?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean, briefly,” she whispers. “Let me show you something.”

He follows her into the living room where she pulls a box from one of the bookshelves. She empties the contents onto the coffee table; it's a handful of polaroids featuring varied combinations of Jo and Sam and Steve and Danny. Bucky sits on the couch and picks up one of the photos. It's of Steve with a German Shepherd; in the photo Steve is smiling brightly, and Bucky's heart aches at the sight.

"That's Greta," Jo says, sitting next to Bucky, "Danny's dog. She was just a puppy then. She adored Steve."

Bucky laughs through his nose and picks up another photo. This one features Sam and Jo sitting at a table in a kitchen that looks like Jo's but slightly different — Bucky assumes it's Danny's; Sam is clearly in the middle of a story, and Jo's head is thrown back in laughter. A stab of jealousy hits him in the chest — Bucky wants to make her laugh like that. He skims through the rest of the polaroids, finally landing on one of Jo and Steve sitting side by side at a piano, Steve's large frame dwarfing the woman next to him.

"He found out I can play a few '30s and '40s standards on piano," Jo says, smiling at the memory. "There wasn't a lot for him and Sam to do cooped up here for three months, so I taught him some basics."

Bucky stares at the photo for a while before he speaks. "You play piano?" he asks.

"I started on piano, took up guitar when I was ten, then bass when I was thirteen. I can also play drums, organ, banjo, mandolin, and a little violin," she says. "And I have a Bachelors of Music with a concentration in voice."

Bucky stares at her for a moment, then tosses the photo back onto the coffee table and reaches for Jo, pulling her onto his lap. She settles with her legs on either side of his hips and her hands on his shoulders.

"So, you have very talented fingers, then?" Bucky asks with a flirty grin.

Jo rolls her eyes and laughs, but she's secretly pleased with where this interaction seems to be headed. She was worried Bucky would feel like she had kept something from him by not telling him about Steve last night, but he seems to be taking it in stride.

"Thanks for showing me those photographs," Bucky says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He gave up everything for me back then, so it's nice to see that maybe he had a little bit of happiness during that time."

"He wanted the same for you," she whispers, nudging her nose against Bucky's.

Bucky kisses her softly, then pulls away, staring into her green eyes. Jo slides her glasses off and sets them on the coffee table behind her.

She drags a finger down his vibranium arm and asks, “Can you feel that?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah. It’s—it’s different from the real one, but yeah.”

Jo hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything else. Their lips meet again, and this time the kiss is longer, needier. Bucky sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and Jo is certain she's going to have beard burn across her face tomorrow. But she doesn't really care.

Jo slides her hands into Bucky's hair, and he sighs into her mouth when she angles her hips against his just right, pressing against him slowly. His grip on her waist tightens before he slips his vibranium hand down across her backside to gently guide her movements. His flesh hand covers her right breast, palming her through her shirt.

Jo's hands leave his hair to slide beneath Bucky's t-shirt. He pulls back from her slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“I have scars,” Bucky warns.

“Okay,” Jo mumbles against his lips, trying for another kiss.

Bucky pulls back again. “They’re not pretty.”

Jo looks at him. “Bucky, do you really think I care about that? Do I look like someone who’s worried about conventional beauty standards?” she jokes. She smiles softly and brings a hand up to cradle his jaw. “You don’t have to show me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls away from her mouth to tug the shirt over his head before he can overthink it. He’s gorgeous like this, and Jo wants to touch every inch of him. She starts with his chest, and her fingers dance lightly across the scars on Bucky’s left shoulder before she presses a quick kiss to the spot where flesh meets metal. Bucky smiles at the gesture, then his lips are on Jo's neck. As he sucks a mark into the place where her neck meets her shoulder, Bucky slips his flesh hand beneath the fabric of Jo's shirt.

Bucky's thumb slides across her nipple, and he pauses, warm metal against his digit stopping him. Jo can feel Bucky's fingers against her breast, trying to work out what exactly he's touching. She leans back, her hands on Bucky's chest to keep him from following her and pulls her t-shirt over her head.

Bucky's fairly certain his heart stops at the sight before him. He’s not sure what to look at first: the small gold balls that adorn either side of Jo’s erect nipples or the intricate floral design inked on her sternum between and below her breasts, framing them perfectly.

“So…I have my nipples pierced,” Jo says, taking Bucky’s staring for hesitation or confusion.

Bucky licks his lips. “Fuck,” he mutters before running his thumb across her right nipple and taking the left one between his teeth.

Jo hisses and bucks her hips harder against his cock. He's hot and hard beneath her as she grinds against him. The feeling he had last night – of being on fire – has returned, but it's tenfold now. Every thought of taking things slow, every bit of doubt has evaporated in wake of his need to please Jo.

Bucky grips Jo's waist and flips her onto her back on the couch, coming to rest between her open legs.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing his bare chest against hers. His dog tags are cool against her skin.

“Very," she breathes.

Bucky's lips find Jo's again before trailing across her jaw, down her neck, and over her breasts. He lets his tongue explore one of her pierced nipples before taking the bud between his teeth and pulling slightly. Jo gasps, and her own hands slide from Bucky's shoulders down his chest and across his stomach, her blunt fingernails scratching against his abs as she goes. She palms his cock through his sweats, and Bucky's hips stutter. His eyes clench shut like he’s in pain, and he pulls away to catch his breath.

"Sorry," Jo says quickly, removing her hand. "We can slow down."

"No," Bucky all but growls, then takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. "No. It's just been," he pauses, "it's been a while since I've done this, and you're kind of driving me crazy, Jo." He lets out a breathy laugh, then seems to sober. "I just—I, uh, need to be in control of some things. If that's okay."

She smiles her understanding before kissing him, softer this time. Bucky leans into the kiss and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He props himself up with his vibranium hand, and his right hand moves back to Jo's breasts, teasing each nipple in turn.

"Tell me what you want," Jo says as Bucky's teeth bite gently at her pulse point.

Bucky presses his lips against Jo's ear and whispers, "Touch yourself. Please. I want to watch you fall apart."

Jo whimpers. She catches the look on Bucky's face as her hand travels down her body and into her shorts. His pupils are blown wide, barely a hint of blue visible around black. She knows her own eyes look much the same.

She hisses when her fingers meet the bundle of nerves between her legs, then slide lower. Bucky can't decide if he wants to watch her hand beneath her shorts or her face. He settles for moving his eyes between her face and breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she takes. Finally, he lowers his head back between her breasts and traces the outline of the tattoo there with his tongue. Jo moans and bucks her hips.

Bucky presses his own hips against the couch, trying to find the smallest bit of relief. He's not going to last. It's been too long since he's been with someone this way, and his body feels like a live wire. He reaches up to push the fabric of her shorts aside, moaning when he realizes she's not wearing anything beneath them.

He feels Jo's fingers pull away, and he growls, "Keep touching yourself." She does, her fingers rubbing hard circles into her clit. "Good girl," Bucky praises, and Jo keens, Bucky's name falling from her lips.

He slips his own fingers inside of her. She's so wet and warm, Bucky is afraid he'll finish just from this. Or maybe it will be the sound of her moans that do me in, he thinks. Because she sounds lovely, better than she did on stage last night. And she feels perfect wrapped around his two digits. He adds a third, and Jo's whole body tenses. Bucky can feel her warm heat tighten around his fingers as her legs bend and draw in closer to her body. The sight of Jo coming pushes him over the edge. He's spilling into his sweatpants like a teenager, and he doesn't even care. All he can think of is the sound of Jo, the feel of Jo, the look on Jo's face.

Bucky collapses onto Jo's body, his full weight resting on her for a second before he props himself up again and looks at her. She's smiling sleepily, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and he can't help but admit that it makes his ego swell to know he can make her smile like that.

"That was..." he starts.

Jo hesitates, then runs her fingers through his hair softly. "Good? Great? Amazing?" she says.

Bucky breathes out a laugh and rests his head on her chest for a moment. "All of the above," he replies. Jo hums, and Bucky continues, lifting his head again to look at her, "You're fucking perfect, doll."

Jo laughs, and replies, "You probably say that to all the girls, Sarge."

Bucky sobers. "No, Jo, I don't. Really." He brushes a strand of hair from her face. "When I said I haven't done this in a while, that was an understatement," he says. Dr. Raynor told him he needed to open up, nurture friendships (or whatever this is turning into), so here he goes. "I wasn't really planning on this happening — not that I'm not glad that it did..." He pauses.

"But you live in New York, and I live here. And we just met,” Jo finishes.

"I don't know how things like this work these days," he says. He's looking at her with such sincerity that Jo thinks her heart might burst. "I told you I wanted to do this right. Dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards.”

Jo cocks her head to the side and smiles. "Let's start with dinner."

_____

They lay in silence for a while, Bucky's head resting on Jo's naked breasts, her fingers running through his hair. Jo's starting to think he's fallen asleep when Bucky speaks again.

“I should probably go,” Bucky says reluctantly. "Sam was expecting my help with the boat today."

"I'll drive you," Jo says. "Just let me get dressed."

"You don't have to do that. I can call a cab."

"Delacroix's, like, an hour outside the city. It'll cost a fortune. Let me drive you."

Bucky hesitates, but Jo nudges at his right shoulder gently until he agrees. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he stands and offers her a hand. While Bucky moves into the bathroom to change back into his own boxers and jeans, Jo slips into her room. She comes back out wearing jeans and a vintage Lilith Fair t-shirt; she's traded her glasses for contacts. Jo shoves her feet into her combat boots at the door and turns back to kiss Bucky quickly before they leave the apartment.

_____

The drive to Delacroix is quiet except for Jo's Paul Simon playlist thrumming from the car speakers. Bucky thinks he might actually like the music. Or maybe he just likes listening to Jo sing every word.

When Jo pulls up outside Sarah's house, Bucky turns to her from the passenger seat. “I don’t have your number,” he says.

“Give me your phone," she responds, smiling and holding her hand out.

Bucky unlocks his phone and hands it over. Jo saves her number before texting herself so she has his, as well. She deletes the text conversation and hands his phone back.

"There you go, Sarge," she says with a wink.

Bucky leans across the car's console and wraps his vibranium hand around the back of Jo's neck. He pulls her close and presses his lips against hers gently. Jo responds by running her fingers across the stubble on Bucky's jaw and sweeping her tongue into his mouth. A moan rumbles through Bucky's chest, and he tries to move closer to Jo's body, but he knocks his knees roughly against the center divider.

"Shit," he curses, pulling away. "It was easier to kiss a dame in the front seat of a car in the '40s," Bucky complains.

Jo laughs. "Kissing a lot of dames in cars, were you?"

"I got around," Bucky says, a grin on his face.

He feels like himself around Jo – not exactly the person he was before the war, but close. He almost feels like he could be a better version of that man; he wants to be that for Jo. For now, though, it's easy to flirt and laugh with her, watch her eyes light up and her smile brighten.

"I believe it, Sarge," Jo teases. Over Bucky's shoulder, she notices Sam standing on the front porch of the house. "I think I've stolen you away from Sam long enough," she says.

"Please, doll, steal me away anytime," Bucky flirts. He kisses her once more. "I'll see you Tuesday," he whispers, his hand lingering on her cheek before he climbs out of the car.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” Sam laughs as Bucky ascends the front porch steps.

“We are not talking about this,” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, we’re definitely talking about this,” Sam says, clapping Bucky on the back.

______

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff

12 notes · View notes

flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Night Adventures in an Unlikely Maze of Blue and Yellow

Hiiiii guys. This is for @batwngs, the MVP of leaving the best comments ever and being generally an amazing person. I still have trouble closing my imagines so nevermind the underwhelming ending. Anyway enjoy the probably sweetest thing I’ve ever written, it’s really really really freakin’ cute.

Masterlist in bio // pinned

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader

Word count: 3174

Warnings: none beside mentions of doing the do and one (1) innuendo

Summary: While most people would qualify married life as boring, having Dick Grayson for a husband turns the most mudane task into an adventure. This is the story of one shopping trip turned into a teenage dream (Katy Perry can suck it up)

You were making breakfast when you heard it.

The sound of the coffee brewing and the sizzling pan were singing the beginning of a new day, harmonizing with your soft humming of a song you had heard on the radio the day before. The sun basked the whole kitchen in golden sun and warmed your back through your fluffy robe, so much you never wanted to leave this spot. You closed your eyes, taking in the peace you had long seeked. But then, it was interrupted by a loud crash and a high pitched scream.

You perked up, turning down the stovetops and rushing to the bathroom. Luckily, your husband never kept the door locked. In fact, it was wide open when you came in. You reached the shower handle and pulled it open with all the concern in the world, only to see Dick with a pout on his pretty face.

“Dick” You frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“This is the worst thing that happened to me” He almost sobbed. Your concern spiked.

“What happened?” You asked. “Are you hurt?”

“My toes...” His pout intensified as he pointed behind him. “The rack broke and all the bottles fell on my feet”

The sudden stress and concern fell, only to be replaced by your incredulous expression. You shouldn’t have been surprised by his blown out of proportion reaction, but again, Dick was probably the most dramatic person you knew. Punch him, shoot him, beat him up to an inch of his life, the guy will shake it off and get back on his feet. Minorly inconvenience him? You’ll never hear the end of it.

“You big baby” You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be fine”

“You won’t join me and make it better?” He now gave you his puppy eyes, opening his arms. You had to admit, it was hard not to cave in and go hug the giant toddler. “I’m hurt”

“You’ll get over it” You tried to say sternly, but a small smile still made it past you. “I’m going to finish breakfast now”

“Don’t forget--”

“Your cereals yes I know”

“You’re the best” He yelled after you as you closed the shower door. “I love you!”

“I love you too!”

You went back to the kitchen and turned on the stove tops again, taking care of the hashbrowns and bacon awaiting for your return in their pans. While they cooked, you cut oranges and melons, poured Dick’s favourite cereals in a bowl and put a cup of oat milk right beside. You started the eggs when you heard Dick come out of the bathroom, and managed to have everything ready on the table seconds before he came walking in in his own matching robe, his hair all damp and face shaved.

“Smells amazing in here” He announced loudly.

You walked to him and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled of aftershave and jasmine shower gel. “Just in time”

Dick paused in his steps and stared at the full table with childish wonder. Then, his beautiful, almost sparkling eyes found yours. “What did I do to deserve you? And most importantly what would I do without you?”

“You were very handsome and convincing” You answered the first question with a sly smirk. “And probably dead in a ditch”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but closed his mouth when nothing came out. “Probably dead in a ditch, yeah” He admitted, before his gorgeous smile graced his features again. “Thank you for breakfast babe”

“You’re very welcome” You gladly accepted the quick peck on your lips, and laughed as he hurried to the table. You followed him and sat in front of him, watching as he piled food on his plate, unimpressed. You had been caught short handed when you first started dating, foolishly making food for two people like the boy didn’t eat enough to match a small village. But now you knew the trick and would never make that mistake again; you had to cook for a family of four. It was of utter most importance at breakfast, because he always woke up hungry. You didn’t mind though, because nobody appreciated your food more than him. You’d always get a ‘thank you’ before and after each meal, and he’d usually drop positive comments while he ate as well.

Cooking for Dick Grayson was gratifying, to say the least.

“What?” He asked right after he shoved a spoonful of cereals on his mouth. “Why you shtaring?”

“Don’t worry about it” Your smile widened as you shook your head.

“It makes me shelf conschious”

“Aw baby” You let out a small laugh. “Don’t be. You’re cute when you eat cereals”

He smiled wide, chewed cereal and milk pouring out of his mouth and onto his chin. You averted your eyes from the disaster and sighed.

“I walked into that one” You mumbled, looking up at the ceiling. “Should have known. That’s on me”

“Sorry” He half heartedly apologized, the laughter in his voice evident. “You can look again now, I swallowed”

You slowly trailed your glance on him, sending him a silent warning not to add a sexual joke to it. He visibly wanted to, but instead chose the prudent way and held his hands in defense of his innocence. You nodded slightly in satisfaction and served yourself breakfast, or what was remaining of each plate. You had enough however, since Dick knew exactly how much you needed and took care of leaving your preferred quantity. How thoughtful of him.

“So, I guess we’ll need to go to Ikea to replace that shower rack” You spoke up once you knew his hunger rush had calmed down. “We can go this afternoon if you’ve got nothing to do”

“Oooh, I wanted to buy candles for the living room” He nodded. “Heard they got new ones. Yeah, we can go this afternoon”

“Cool” You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee. “There’s always less people near closing anyway, so that way we’ll avoid the crowds”

“Brilliant” He pointed, nodding along. “I hate when they’re all gathered around the Rättviken and you can’t even see your Pilkån”

You laughed at his exaggerated mannerism and his pretentious eye roll over his botched swedish accent, then finished your breakfast in comfortable silence. Whoever tried to scare you about married life when you were younger was clearly missing on something amazing, or was dead wrong, because you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

Some might say going to Ikea in disguise might be a little excessive.

But you and Dick knew better. The number of times you were accosted by either journalists raising to the opportunity to grab a quick interview taped on their phones or nosy citizens looking for a peek of Gotham’s finest son to show off on their instagram feed was enough for you to take measures to ensure your privacy. You didn’t exactly mind, in fact, you thought it was kind of funny. However, sometimes you wanted to be left alone to your candle and shower rack shopping.

Today was one of these days.

Hence, the baseball caps and sunglasses that would follow you even inside away from the sun rays, and away from unwanted attention. Dick suggested he wore his fake mustache, but you deemed it unnecessary for this not so delicate operation. Arms linked together, you entered the swedish domestic heaven and began snooping around the showrooms, pointing out what you liked better and styles you would definitely consider if your house hadn’t been entirely redecorated when you bought it some years ago.

“We should buy an apartment just so we can recreate those rooms” You said as you paused in front of a beautiful study. “That would be fun”

“How about we just buy the show rooms so we can go whenever we want?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, good point” You grinned, then let it fall. “If only we had more than negative ten dollars in between us both”

“But then,” He began, glancing at you. “The same problem arises for the apartment option. We’d still be broke”

You blinked a few times, then sighed. “Then we’ve got no choice” You stared at him through his sunglasses. “We gotta steal the showrooms and make a run for it”

You held for two more seconds before you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore. The few people in the store looked at you like you were crazy, but you cared very little for them and their opinions. The facts were you had fun and they didn’t. You moved along to the bedrooms, where the big fluffy beds just called your name. Like your minds were connected, you and Dick both launched yourself on the king sized mattress in the orange tinted room. You bounced like you weighed a feather, then sank into the memory foam that would guarantee a good night of sleep to anyone bringing the mattress home.

“I’m comfy here” Dick scooted closer to you, reaching for your waist to cuddle and burying his face in your neck. “Don’t wanna leave”

“Babe” You giggled, half heartedly pushing him away from you. You knew it was impossible to move him if he didn’t want to be moved. “We’re gonna get kicked out of the store if we get caught cuddling”

A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes, and before you could strategize to stop whatever plan he acted in his mind, he somehow pulled you from the middle of the bed and used his vigilante stealth to carry you inside a closet, shutting the door behind him. Your face was flushed at the sudden rolling and spinning, and he only had a shit eating grin you could see all too well even in the dark.

“What the hell?” You whisper-screamed. “We could have been seen!”

“Nope” He seemed so proud of himself. “Made sure of it”

“Cameras?”

“Blind spot” He replied. “I checked everything. I’m a pro, babe”

You kept glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “I hate you”

“Uh huh” He gave you a small, unconvinced nod, knowing all too well it wasn’t even close to be true. “That’s why you stormed off the closet the second after I brought you here… Oh wait”

“Smart ass” You lightly slapped his chest, a small smile creeping on your lips. You kind of enjoyed the thrill of hiding out somewhere anybody could burst in at any moment, and you definitely didn’t dislike the proximity to your husband. Even if you were married, his close presence still made your heart do backflips.

“Your smart ass” He corrected, giving you once again his puppy eyes. Well, you couldn’t actually see his eyes, but the tilt of his head and the slight jut of his lower lip all pointed to his famous facial expression that got him virtually anything. And you were far from immune to it. So naturally, you leaned in for a kiss, knowing it was what he was begging for this time.

And just like that, you were making out like two teenagers in the janitor closet.

It was messy, teeth clashed and giggles interrupted the motions more than not. Dick bumped his head at least twice on the bar above him and you almost fell down on your ass if it hadn’t been from Dick holding you. Hands got grabby and before you knew it, the temptation to make articles of clothing fly like fireworks brought you back to reality. You reluctantly broke the kiss, still giggling as he definitely didn’t want to leave your lips just yet. He whined when he realized you weren’t coming back.

“Hey, hold on cowboy” You chuckled, holding his shoulder. “If we keep going on like that, we’ll end up making a baby inside this closet”

The playful expression came back, along with a dash of flirting. His hand caressed your arm. “Would it be so bad?”

“Yes” You deadpanned. “Because you would name the baby like, Songesand or something”

He gasped. “I would never name my child after Ikea furniture”

You raised an eyebrow. “We’re not naming our baby Björn either”

He paused, caught in the headlights. You knew him so well he was becoming predictable. “But then how will people know he was conceived in swedish furniture?”

“You dork” You poked his chest, making the grin return on his face. “Obviously we let people know by having an ABBA reference in his middle name”

He laughed loudly, but you didn’t care whether or not you got caught. You were having too much fun. “Please marry me now”

“Sorry, already taken” You tsked, showing your ring. The one he put on your finger on your wedding day. “But he’s a cool guy, maybe I could talk to him about us seeing each other”

“Nah, he’s a jerk” He brushed off. “I’d rather have you all to myself”

He was about to kiss you again when you heard the lights going off. It was already dark in the closet, but there was no doubt, the main lights had been shut down. Your eyes widened as you stared at each other for a moment in surprise, until Dick grabbed his phone in his back pocket and checked the time. He turned the phone to you, letting you read the clock screaming 17:45 at you.

“Uh oh” You bit your lip. Fifteen minutes after closing. “They’re closing already? Shouldn’t they do a check up before?”

He shrugged. “Maybe the employees got some places to be?”

“Who’s got places to be on a Tuesday night?”

“Nightwing?”

“So the employees are all vigilantes?”

“Maybe, we can’t know for sure”

“Sure, okay. So we’re locked in?”

“Yup”

You took off your cap and sunglasses. “Guess we won’t need these anymore”

“Come on” He said as he also took off his semi disguise. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about getting locked in an Ikea for the night?”

“I have actually” You pointed out. “It’s both my dream and my nightmare depending on who I’m there with”

“And I’m..?”

“Oh definitely nightmare” You replied in a serious tone, and his eyebrows raised. “Just kidding, being locked in here with you was on my bucket list”

“Attagirl!” He laughed, pushing open the closet like he realized you didn’t need to be hiding in there anymore. The store now had an eerie feeling, something on the other side of the vibe spectrum than it would usually be. It felt like you had crossed in another dimension narnia style. “This is gonna be fun”

“Where do we start?” You asked, stretching your legs. You had gotten a cramp from being all folded up in the closet. “Bathrooms? Living rooms?”

“Guards’ round” The mischief in his eyes returned, and just like that you were remembered you also would have to evade a guard. “We find out where he starts, how fast he makes his round, where he’s looking more carefully. Then we begin the cat and mouse game”

“Sounds like a plan” You nodded, then watched him perk up at something above your shoulder.

He put a finger against his lips and stared down the hallway until you heard the shuffling of keys. How he managed to hear it long before you did would forever remain a mystery to you. In a blink, he wrapped his arms around your waist and spun around behind the very wardrobe you were hiding in minutes ago. You put a hand against your mouth to hold back the giggle that threatened to reveal your presence, and it didn’t help that you could feel Dick’s grin on the skin of your neck. He only turned you around in his arms when he was sure the guard was far enough.

“All clear” He confirmed, a boyish expression gracing his features. Yup, you definitely felt like a teenager sneaking around where you shouldn’t. The thrill was a refreshing spin to your routine. “Where to?”

“Hmm” You hummed, tilting your head. “Cap on the living rooms?”

Without warning, he grabbed your hand and took off running in the opposite direction from the security guard and toward the beginning of the Ikea maze. You almost let out a squeal of surprise, but managed to keep it down for the sake of your stealth operation. He only slowed down once you reached the area, letting go of your hand to jump on a couch. He threw his arm over his head and adopted a dramatic pause.

“My love, thee life shall be intertwined withet mine for the ends of times”

“Oh my dearest Eleanor” You joined in, adopting a much lower tone to match his higher one. You kneeled in front of him. “I taketh the oath to love you forever”

“Even if my corset is not made of real lace?”

You gasped. “How could you lieth to me such way?”

Dick was about to reply something even stupider when you were interrupted.

“Who’s there?”

“Oh shit” You hissed, grabbing Dick’s wrist and sprinting away. You were just getting to the good part of your goofing.

“The English, they’re invading!” He yelled loud enough to be sure the guard chasing you heard. “Ring the bell, wake the men, hide the tea!”

“Hey come back!” The guard, well, a different one, chased after you. You didn’t plan on having two of them making rounds. “You can’t be here!”

“You’ll never take us alive!” You added before you took a shortcut through the living room appliances to try and gain ground, then glanced at Dick. “If you have any vigilante disappearance act, now would be the time honey”

“I’m trying to spot an exit point--oh there”

You were yanked through an employees only zone, from where you easily found the door for the outside smoking zone. You could hear the security guard behind, but you were too fast. You came to a halt in front of the fence, hesitating. You were able to more or less follow Dick at a running pace, but you were in no way an acrobat or parkour expert. Dick, knowing this, didn’t waste time grabbing your waist and lifting you above it and jumping suit. You then ran straight back to Dick’s car and drove quickly out of the parking lot towards your home.

“Oh my god” You laughed in disbelief. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done”

He laughed heartily. “You’ve always wanted to see what patrol was like as Nightwing, this is as close as it gets without doing the real thing”

“I mean, beside the role play probably”

“Hmm no, it happens more often than you would think” He nodded. You kept staring at him for a moment, but he was serious. Well, after a small reflexion, and knowing his family, the surprise kind of fell apart. It made sense.

“We should do this every week” You declared. “It was fun!”

“Told ya it would” He winked.

“With all of this though,” You began, suddenly thoughtful. “We did forget the shower rack”

“And the candles!” He gasped. “Not the candles!”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson

103 notes · View notes

feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter two: you’re all i’ve got tonight

“i don't care if you hurt me some more, i don't care if you even the score. you can knock me and i don't care, and you can mock me and i don't care, and you can rock me just about anywhere, it's alright.” -”you’re all i’ve got tonight”, the cars

Bill wasn't necessarily cruel to her, albeit not from how Sam saw her parents and the way in which they communicated with one another during the mornings when she was growing up, and given she hardly saw him during the week except in the mornings and in the evening; however he seemed on the verge of cruel to Matilda and Cassandra. The first morning Sam spent the night there at the house, following Marla's departure and her realization that she was alone there in Lake Elsinore, she sauntered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast prior to their leaving for school and Bill about to head off somewhere outside of the house—and he never said where he was headed either—no sooner had she sat down in the chair when Mattie stopped her.

“We eat in the dining room,” she told her in a flat tone of voice.

“Really? When I was growing up here in Elsinore and then up in Reno, my parents and I always had breakfast in the kitchen before school.” Mattie shook her head at that. Sam frowned but she figured it was for the best regardless of what she dealt with as a kid. She picked up her coffee and her bowl of cereal and took her spot there near the end of the table in the next room over.

“I sit there,” Mattie told her, still in a flat voice. She moved over one. “Cassie sits there.”

Careful not to let her see her rolling her eyes, Sam took her spot right across the table from her. Soon Cassie came in the room, already completely dressed for the day. Indeed, Mattie was fully dressed herself. They merely sat there as well with their hands in their laps, while Sam had one hand on her spoon and another hand on her cup of coffee, still in her pajamas and with her hair unbrushed. They sat there and watched her.

Within time, Bill stepped in the room with two bowls of what Sam initially believed to be cereal and he set them down before them. She looked over at the tops of their bowls, at the plain oatmeal inside. It wasn't even oatmeal, just porridge.

The times in which she had oatmeal at her parents' house, Ruben always sprinkled some brown sugar or fresh blueberries on the top. But that was plain porridge as far as she could tell. Moreover, all three of them moved in robotic fashion, especially those two girls. They moved like clockwork to the dining room table there downstairs and they even ate their porridge in unison, to the point it made Sam squirm in her seat.

Even with her parents' marriage about to crumble apart four hundred miles away, all of her memories of the mornings before school consisted of having breakfast and watching cartoons, especially when she was their age. They were tiny adults as far as she could tell, but even as an adult herself, she knew they were lodged in a whole other world different from her. She drank down the rest of her soy milk.

“Don't you want to like—put some sugar on those oats, or something?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Why?” he asked.

“Plain oats in a bowl of water can't be very appetizing. When I was a kid, and on the mornings I had oatmeal, my dad always jazzed it up with brown sugar or fruit because he knew that there's no way it can be good for a kid.”

“But they are. These oats are inexpensive, but sugar is—forget it with brown sugar. I had to bust out a whole five dollars for a bag of that stuff just to satisfy your request for a cup of coffee. Same with the soy milk. I always look out for good deals, even with indulgences such as that. No way I'm wasting fruit on that, either. Cutting it up into pieces and then disposing of the rinds and the cores like that when they could be put to good use? Forget it.” She frowned at that. It seemed so strange to her; she remembered that Joey was rather thrifty himself, but he always managed to find a way to make things enjoyable with her. They had a strong bond to boot as well.

“How's the coffee?” Bill curtly asked her.

“Delicious. Nice and warm.” But then again, it missed something. The kiss of cream was perfect for her, but it lacked something within. She took another sip to wash down the soy milk and the rest of the cereal, and she stopped right in her tracks when Mattie and Cassie took another bite of porridge in unison. It made her shudder right in her seat, and she picked up her cup so she could go into the other room.

“Where are you going?” Bill asked her, still in a brusque tone of voice.

“I'm just—I'm just—” She could hardly speak.

“No, you sit at the table and finish your coffee. First off, it was expensive, as was that bottle of cream in there. The bag of coffee was five bucks, and the cream was two.” Sam almost burst out laughing at that; there was her answer to that. “Second, there's that nice carpet in the living room—you're not spilling coffee on that.”

“I won't?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest at that and she stayed still there. All the times she had stood up for herself, and when Lars told her to do so that one time given the nature of her very name. She climbed off of the chair and she walked towards the kitchen doorway, when he stepped right before her, still with his arms folded across his chest.

“You're a rebellious little thing, aren't you?”

“Bill, this isn't school,” she scoffed as she adjusted one of the straps of her camisole. He shook his head at that.

“Not in front of the girls, please,” he told her without moving a muscle.

“They're just tiny adults!” she pointed out with a gesture back to the two little girls at the table, both of whom still moved in robotic fashion. “Look at them!”

“They're children,” he insisted and he never raised his voice for a second.

“They don't act like children,” she argued.

“Sit down,” he commanded, and he never flinched for a moment when he said that.

“Why?”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down or I take your coffee.”

“Take it then,” she scoffed and she handed him the cup, and she stormed past him into the kitchen. She needn't drink down that cheap coffee, anyways. She needed to get away from those creepy children.

“You splurge on those type of crackers again, I'm locking you in your room,” he called after her, to which she whirled around and gaped at him.

“What?” She couldn't resist chuckling at that.

“Yes. I am locking in your room if you splurge on cheese crackers like that again.”

“I got those for them!” she insisted, “and what do you—” She laughed at that. “What the hell do you even mean by 'splurge'? They were like a buck fifty! Not even that! They were like seventy five cents each.” And he shook his head.

“By the way, you owe me a new glass.”

“By the way, how 'bout you buy your own damn glass,” she retorted, and he lunged for her right then. He never grabbed her but he did stop her right in her tracks by his mere presence.

“Don't you dare curse at me again, young lady, or I'm really locking you in your room. You're never leaving this house if you curse at me again.”

“Like you would,” she persisted. “Like you would do such a thing to your precious star student.”

“I would,” he persisted himself, and with a cold look on his face. She trembled a bit, much like when she scolded at Aurora back on New Year's Eve. The sole exception was that she didn't have the safety net of the telephone and a restaurant in Ithaca around her.

“I most certainly would,” he repeated her. She sighed through her nose, and then she realized where she had moved to: they may as well have been in arm's reach.

“By the way, I should tell you that I have friends nearby who might to want to come over at some point,” she said in a single breath.

“In fact I might as well just do it now,” he replied to that.

“Why?” she demanded, but he never replied to her. “Why, Bill? Why?”

Instead, he almost bumped her with his chest from his standing so close right before her. She staggered back. He kept on moving closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted all manner of recyclables stashed away in the corner of the laundry room. The man did not throw anything away.

“Why!” she yelped.

“Get upstairs now. Or I'm tying you up while I'm at it.” Sam fixed her straps once more.

“Do you want to see your precious friends again? Get upstairs.” He downed the rest of her coffee right then and there. He held the cup right before his chest even though Sam could clearly see on his face that he hated it. Fuming, she stalked back upstairs to the loft.

“Fucking sack of shit,” she said aloud as she closed the door right behind her; the joke would be on him, anyways, because the door opened into the room. She returned to the dresser on the other side of the room, right next to her bed, and she picked up her hair brush. The way in which her hair moved through the bristles made her think of Rapunzel.

If her hair grew long enough, to well past her waist, she could in fact hone her in at any given moment in the future. She need not dye her hair blonde, however, but she could in fact behave like Rapunzel. She pictured Testament outside, down on the lawn, and with Joey right before them as well, complete with the guitar before his body. He sang to her to let down her hair: given the very nature of his voice, she knew she could hear him from afar, from thirty feet off of the ground.

She stood there before the dresser when the warm summer breeze blew in through the window next to her.

The very start of August, almost time for the Santa Ana winds, or the Diablo winds as they were referred to up in the northern half of the state, when things were dry as a set of bones and easily set on fire despite the cold piercing feeling of it all. She returned to the thought of Joey, her prince who had come to save her from the tower, from the house upon the windy moors.

She turned her head again and she wondered if Bill would in fact seal her door shut at any given moment. It felt beyond reason, especially given he fretted about buying a bag of crackers for one of his own children: there was no way he would do such a thing, not with her being his supposed star student, unless he was genuinely cruel at heart.

She brushed her hair once more before she turned to the door once again and propped it open.

No way he could do it now: she was alone up there anyway. She left it open as she took her spot at the desk and began on a brand new drawing for herself.

That very thought of Joey down on the grass, with Testament right behind him. Or rather, she figured she would draw Joey solo.

She was near the Los Angeles area again. Somehow, she had to make her way there, and it wasn't until she and Chuck ran into each other at the supermarket when she made a mental note to ask him and Tiffany to take her to an art shop when they swung by the house in the next week. She also made a note to call up Marla again when things became quiet again at the house.

But things remained rather quiet downstairs all the while, such that she had no clue as to whether the girls left for school already and Bill had left the house as well. She waited until the winds picked up some more before she headed on back downstairs to the kitchen for some more cheap coffee.

Regardless of it being cheap, she brewed herself a new cup with a little kiss of cream. She yearned to have coffee with Joey again, and she yearned to have coffee with Alex at some point. So much more to that boy than she had originally assumed before, and she was about to see more of him when the time came. Something behind that cool demeanor and she wished to see it as she stood at the kitchen sink and she sipped on her cup.

Every day since Sam saw Chuck at the supermarket, and given school had already started despite the very heart of summer, for the whole five days a week, she always took to the desk in her room. Whenever she opened her drawer for one of her pencils, she always saw that piece of rice paper at the very bottom. Every so often, and careful not to damage the delicate nature of the paper, she slipped it out of the bottom for a better look at Alex's signature and his handwriting.

Almost three years she had had this piece of paper with her and it felt like a whole eternity ago back to the time Cliff was alive.

When she could make her way up to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit that field again, just to get a sense of his presence, to feel the mere memory of it all again even with his body incinerated and cast about that grass, was a whole other question. Metallica themselves were still up there, as far as she knew anyway. Meanwhile, she had no real means of driving up there, and she held out the hope that something would crop up and serve as her ticket out of there.

At one point, on Friday afternoon, she had considered calling up Marla again to find out if she had landed something at the school. But then again, if she did, then Bill would have said something to her about money. But then again, he kept the whole thing to himself. In the meantime, she wondered what she could wear that night when they came to pick her up the next week. Indeed, she wondered how they would even come to the house as well, given Bill dismissed the whole thing on that first morning.

She hoped to see Chuck again at some point between that day and the next Friday as she made her way down the block to the supermarket again for another sandwich and some better coffee. She had her own money to herself but she could see how Bill fretted about that sort of thing.

Every time she broke even with a dollar, she pocketed the change. There had to be something more to the house, however: if there were all manner of old books there, there had to be something more, like an empty jar given how much he worried about money and ridding of things. Or so she figured if that first morning was anything to go by.

When she returned to the house and she made her way back upstairs, she thought about that night in the following week. She recalled that Bill never replied to her suggestion that friends could come over when they so felt like it, and thus she could only assume that he disallowed it.

Or perhaps he did allow it, however he never said anything, much like how he never said anything about what carried importance such as money. She set down her things and then doubled back down the stairs for the cordless phone, and she returned once more up the stairs for Chuck's number. She sat down at her desk and she dialed it; at the same time, she had no idea if he was even home back up in the Bay Area.

And yet, it didn't even ring once.

“Hello, hello?”

“Hey, Chuck, it's Sam.”

“Oh, hey! I was just thinking 'bout you, um—hang on a second—”

“Sure, sure.”

He disappeared and in his wake, a hissing noise emerged on his end, such that it made her move the phone back from her ear.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said in the background, and someone behind him chuckled. He returned to the phone right then. “Sorry—I'm making chorizo for Alex, Greg, and Louie right now. Complete with homemade tortillas, too.”

“Oh, my god, that sounds so delicious.”

Someone behind him said something.

“It's Miss Samantha,” he told them.

“Hi, Sam!” Greg shouted in the background.

“Hey, Sam!” Louie chimed in.

“Hi, Samantha!” Alex followed suit in that big voice.

“They all say 'hi'.”

“Hi, fellas!” she said, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face.

“Hi, fellas,” he echoed her, and they both laughed out loud. There was a metallic clink and then he returned to her again. “Anyways, how's it going?”

“Um—listen about the Death Angel show next week—you guys might hell of a time getting here.”

“Why's that?”

“Um—are they right behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you guys keep a secret?”

“I can.” He turned his attention to the three of them again. “Can you guys keep a secret between all of you?”

“I can,” said Alex.

“Yeah, I can, too.” The sound of Louie's voice made her think of what he told her about Zelda in the hotel room. The secret was out of the bag as well, and she wondered if Louie even could keep a secret as dire as that from someone, anyone, especially if that someone was Joey.

“I'll try to,” Greg confessed.

“D'you get all that?” Chuck asked her.

“Yeah.”

“Wish we had like a speaker or something to hook the phone up to,” she heard Greg say, and Louie laughed out loud at that.

“Okay, so. It's not complicated, but my counselor—whom I came out here with for my senior project—apparently—kinda—sorta—married me.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. When Marla and I came out here earlier this week, he made me sign some things, and they were like concealed so I couldn't see what they were, and apparently they were nuptial papers.”

“Oh, my god—is he even allowed to do that?”

“What is it?” Greg inquired from the background.

“When she and Marla came out here the other day, her counselor made her sign some papers and they were apparently for marriage. Like he duped her into it.”

“Is that even legal?” she heard Alex ask him.

“I dunno,” Chuck confessed, “doesn't sound legal.” And then he returned to her. “So what does have to do with the show?”

“He is so—cheap and controlling.”

“The dude's a control freak,” he told them.

“Total control freak,” she corrected him.

“Total control freak,” he echoed her.

“He actually threatened to bar me in my room!” she exclaimed.

“He actually threatened—wait, what?”

“Yeah! He threatened to seal me in my room if I spend money on certain things.”

“The guy actually threatened to lock her in her room if she even so much as spends money,” he relayed back to them.

“What the actual fuck,” Louie blurted out.

“Yeah, I don't get it, either,” she confessed. “I tried to stand up to him—”

“She tried to stand up to him,” he relayed it back to them.

“—and he like bullied me into submission. Like—literally backed me into a corner.”

“Just totally backed her into a corner.”

“God,” one of them muttered in the background.

“I kind of worry about you guys coming over here, to be perfectly honest.” She sighed through her nose and bowed her head a little bit. It was the truth: she didn't know if they could in fact break through to him, that is if they could. There was another metallic clink, followed by another loud hiss of the chorizo in the frying pan, and then it went away.

“Off the heat, boys,” Chuck told them, and then he returned to the phone again. “You said he's cheap, too?”

“Like, really cheap,” she replied. “I spent a dollar fifty on a couple of little bags of crackers for his two daughters and he yelled at me for that.”

Silence on their end.

“Chuck?” she asked him. “Are you there?”

“Sam, I will swim in that lake and burrow under the house if I have to,” he vowed.

“No, don't do that,” she told him. “Don't, Chuck. Please don't.”

“No, he's gonna be dealing with a guy who rides big bikes in his spare time,” he continued.

“Most badass—” Alex cleared his throat and then he leaned in closer to the phone. “Chuck is the most badass Native American since Sitting Bull. Mark my words, Samantha.”

“Uh, yeah, what he said,” Chuck quipped. “That sick bastard's not going to want to mess with me. I'm sure he wouldn't mess with Joey, either. Mr. Hockey Player. Hockey player who knows how to fight dirty.”

The mention of Joey's name made her close her eyes. She had only been away from New York for less than a week and yet she missed him so much, as if he had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

“Sam?” he asked her.

“I'm still here.”

“By the way, why does she wanna swear us to secrecy?” Greg called from the background.

“Yeah, why are we sworn to secrecy about it?” Chuck asked her.

“I don't want Joey to worry about it,” she told him.

“She doesn't want Joey to worry about her.”

“He should probably know about that sort of thing, though,” Louie pointed out from behind him. “You know, her being his girl and everything.”

“I don't know, to be honest,” Sam confessed, and she had to stop herself from laughing at that sentiment. “I'd rather he'd just miss me.”

“D'you hear that absolute statement, Lou?” Chuck asked with a bit of a snicker.

“I did, yeah.” Sam thought about Louie, and she knew that she had to call up Zelda at some point as well. Marla did advise her to call either of them in any instance whatsoever.

“Besides, Joey has enough to worry about, I would think,” she pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, he definitely does,” Chuck answered to that, “Anthrax are in the studio right now. Or—no. They went on tour—just yesterday, actually. Brand new tour, too! But—it would make sense, though. But—you want us to keep it all under wraps, though. So we gotta honor that wish.”

“Yeah, I won't tell a soul,” Alex promised from the background, and she remembered that he didn't really have anyone to talk to about that sort of thing anyway.

“I still want to come along to the show, though,” she insisted. “You know, I wanna see Death Angel, and I wanna see you guys, though.”

“She still wants to come along with me and Tiff to the show,” Chuck echoed her. “By the way, you coming with us, Alex?”

“Yeah, I might as well. Don't really have anything better to do at the moment except sit on my butt and read.”

“Don't blame her,” Greg said, “I don't blame her one bit. I'm coming along, too.”

“I don't, either!” Chuck proclaimed. “She wants to get away from that mother fucker and out of that damn house.” He then returned to her. “We'll figure out how to get you out of there,” he promised her.

“I can always do a Rapunzel sort of thing,” she suggested, “like let down a rope of sorts and climb out the window.”

He laughed out loud at that. A big hearty laugh that made her smile in response.

“I dunno if push will come to shove in that instance, but we'll figure something out, though.”

“Enjoy that chorizo, by the way!” she declared; ever so faintly, she heard the front door open.

“Oh, they are,” Chuck assured her, “especially Alex. A little too well, might I add.”

“This is damn good, though,” Alex insisted in a muffled voice.

“Before I go,” Sam started again, “you mentioned Anthrax are doing a brand new tour and a new album soon?”

“Yeah! Uh—State of Euphoria, I think it's called.”

“I like that,” she told him, and she smiled again, that time out of a time gone by her. “When's it coming out?”

“September, I think? I'll have to ask Charlie the next time I see him.”

“Anyways, I gotta go,” she told him.

“Okay—we'll come and get you Friday night. Don't know how but we're gonna do it, though.”

“Gonna get you away from that pig,” Alex called from the background.

“What he said!” Chuck said again. “You be careful until then, little Sammich.”

“Yeah, you guys have a good weekend.”

They hung up at the same time, and it was right then, she had no clue what was about to go down that weekend. She sighed through her nose as the silence fell over the bottom floor. The door propped open and she couldn't hear anything what was going on down there. She stood to her feet but she lingered there by the chair. She listened closely to the silence from downstairs.

It was tempting. It was tempting to walk out of her room and listen to what was being said down there, in the softest of voices.

And she bought into the temptation to an extent.

She stood within the doorway and she turned her head to the side to better hear them. All the shows she had gone to in the past never damaged her ears as much as the silence from downstairs, silence penetrated only by the intermittent soft voices of two small girls. The noise never damaged her ears, anyway, given she always wore ear plugs.

Careful not to make any more noise, she crept over to the top of the stairs and she stood there with her back to the wall. Mattie and Cassie's voices echoed up the first stairwell from downstairs. She wished to see what they were doing there at the very bottom floor. But she had no idea as to how to do such a thing without jarring them for even one second.

She closed her eyes and she pictured Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie in a small warm kitchen up in the Bay Area somewhere, all congregated around a small table and with plates of fresh spicy chorizo and homemade flour tortillas rested upon their laps. So simple, and yet she wondered how those little girls down below would react to it.

She thought about Alex and his cold stone face, the way he was so mature despite his youthful age and the gray streak on his head only added to it. She was able to crack through to him a bit, but these two girls felt like a challenge, especially with Bill never too far away from there as well.

Sam thought about her first weekend there, given they had started school so early.

Then she heard one of the two girls mutter, “Amen.”

She opened her eyes at the sound of that. They had come home and whispered a lengthy prayer. She never saw a cross anywhere in that house.

Alex's parents may have been non traditional Jewish but he wore a yarmulke and a Star of David once in a while: they probably celebrated Hanukkah and Rosh Hashanah to boot, too. But to hear that word only brought up more questions about this little family here before her.

The front door opened again.

“Hello, father,” one of them said in a flat voice. If it was Sam and Ruben, she would've been overjoyed to see him at the front door.

“Hello, girls,” Bill greeted them; his voice floated up such that if Sam moved a little closer to the railing down below, he probably would have seen her. But she moved forward a little bit, and she made out the sight of his blond hair near the front door. “Did you say your prayers?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read your scripture?”

There was that one instance during Anthrax's tour of New York City the year before, that morning where those women who walked by her and Zelda and they called their music Satanic as they kept on walking. Indeed, come the next Friday, she was about to see a band called Death Angel with three guys from a band called Testament; the only thing to make it even more potent was to have Exodus there with them as well. She squirmed in her spot there on the stairs and her stomach turned at that thought.

“Have you done your homework yet?”

Sam frowned at that.

“They're elementary school age,” she muttered. “Why would they have homework?”

One of the girls said something that she couldn't hear.

“Well, remember, the Lord is always on your side, especially on the bus rides to the school.”

And then it dawned on her. They started school so early because they went to a religious private one rather than a public, and ultimately free, one. No wonder he was so stingy with money!

She began to wonder if Marla had said anything to the people at the school about his still being on the payroll. If she did, then he would be removed from it.

And then he would lose his money and his sole income as far as she knew. Therein lay his reason for why he was so cheap. It worried him so that he was willing to become cruel to Sam herself. The whole thought made her heart hammer inside of her chest, and yet she couldn't speak to him about that sort of thing. He forbade her from speaking about it.

Instead, she ducked back into her room and she clasped her hands to her head. She didn't know what to say right then, either, and Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie already had it out for the guy, too, after his threat to seal her away in her room. Add to this, she knew that there was no way she could feel okay with his being cruel to her, either.

All she could do was wait out the weekend and maintain an appearance to herself. If something happened at the school, surely it would remain a secret as well.

“Miss Shelley?” he called from the second floor, such that it jarred her, and she dropped the cordless phone. She scooped it up and she stuck it under her mattress.

“Are you home?”

“Yes!” she called back.

“Okay, good. I need you to make dinner tonight.”

She surfaced from the room right then, and he stood there at the landing beneath her.

“What would you like?” she asked him.

“I found some really good deals on pasta—there's a couple of boxes awaiting you in the kitchen. And then just some sauce.”

“Okay! Sounds easy enough.”

He nodded but he never smiled at her.

The whole entire time she made dinner, she thought of Chuck in that kitchen up north. She considered tossing in a little bit of spices into the vodka sauce to liven it up a bit, but the one spice she found in the cupboard above the stove was cinnamon. Indeed, as she made up that pan of sauce, she took the jar down from the rack and she unscrewed the lid.

Not true ground cinnamon, but the very aroma of it reminded her of Cliff. How she yearned to have a cup of Mexican hot chocolate again, and how she wished to see him again.

Soon, dinner was ready and she served the plates to Mattie and Cassie, both of whom awaited her with their hands in their laps. After her realization, she felt a little more sympathetic towards them as she set the plates before them both.

They never thanked her but they picked up their forks and ate in unison once she and Bill took their seats in silence. He glanced up at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“This is quite good,” he told her with his hand up by his mouth. “Excellent, actually. It needs a little salt, but it's good, though.”

Neither of the girls said anything but they did help her clear the table afterwards. Later, she turned in for the night with a new perspective on it all.

But at the same time, she needed to get away from that house. Away from the tightness of it all, especially since they were probably of the crowd that saw Testament and Anthrax as the music of Lucifer herself.

On Sunday morning, the three of them left for church, and even though Bill offered her to attend along with them, she turned it down given she didn't believe in the same things they did, either. Instead, she took her seat there at her desk with the cordless in hand and she dialed Marla's number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Marla.”

“Oh, hey, Sam! How's it going?”

“Alright, I guess. I ran into Chuck the other day—he, Tiff, Alex, and Greg are all gonna take me to see Death Angel down in L.A. this Friday.”

“Cool! Um, listen—I wasn't able to get a job at the school, as of yet. I got put on a waiting list for something, though, and Bel got me an interview at the glass studio she works at. Commutes to Albany are tough but I think I can do it, though. But I was able to tell Mrs. Robinson, mine and Bel's old counselor, about Bill still being listed on the payroll. She told me that's going to be rectified at the end of the month, like they have to send out the final check in two weeks and then he gets a notice on the fourth week.”

“Listen, about that—”

“Oh?”

“Apparently Bill's daughters go to a private religious school. He literally doesn't say shit about this sort of thing with me, but my guess is it's a bit pricey. Those payroll checks were the only way he's able to send them off there.”

“Oh, shit,” Marla blurted out.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he's gonna have to do something else, though. After the way he treated you and me both, and after he legitimately threatened to lock you in your room!”

“How'd you find out about—” Sam stopped. And she closed her eyes. “Louie,” she muttered with her head tilted back away from the phone, and she returned it to her ear.

“Sam, you can't let him get under your skin like that!”

“I feel kinda bad about it, though.”

“He'll figure something out, though. If he was able to maintain a spot on payroll this whole entire time after he got fired, he can figure something out for him and his girls.”

“They're creepy, by the way,” Sam confessed.

“They are? How so?”

“First off, they don't behave like little girls. They sit quietly at the dining room table before breakfast and dinner, like they don't even talk to each other. And they eat simultaneously, too, like completely in sync with each other. It's really weird, like unsettling, I want to say. Everything is really strict here—like really strict. Alex grew up in a bit of a sheltered household, but I doubt it was anything like this. It's all because of the whole faith thing and also because of the whole money issue, too. I imagine that getting worse when he gets kicked off of the payroll for good, too.”

“Ew.” Marla shuddered on her end. “Besides, how're the boys even gonna come and get you on Friday night? Because I remember how that place is laid out. There's no way around it.”

“I have no clue. Chuck even told me he has no idea. But—you know.” Sam rolled her eyes at what she was about to tell her. “I have faith in those guys, though.”

Marla giggled at that.

“Yeah, I have faith that they're gonna have faith in themselves.”

Marla laughed some more at that. It was good to hear her laugh again, even if it was for a few moments.

Over the course of that week, Sam made more art for herself, until Friday night came about. She had set aside her nice black blouse, the same top she wore when she saw Testament and Stormtroopers of Death both the first time around, and her black jeans, which had gotten rather low slung with the passage of time so they accentuated the curvature of her hips and ultimately her body. Testament themselves were going to be all that she had that night as well: the best she could do was sneak out of the house and meet up with Chuck and Tiffany at the property past the house.

The sun began to hang low over the tree line and the haze from the Los Angeles area not too far away from there.

Bill and the girls were downstairs doing some kind of study with their Bibles, which meant she had to use the back door to get out of there. But even if she used the back door, she still had to go past the living room and within their line of sight. No makeup on her face lest he question her for a second, but she had to time it right.

She reached the second landing of the stairs and Bill said something to the girls. A rustling noise and she knew that he had stood up.

“Shit,” she muttered. They were waiting for her outside—she didn't even have to look out the window in order to know that they awaited her—and yet she had no way out of there without a bit of inquiry. Sam returned to the loft on the third floor so as to gather her bearings and rethink things.

The front door then opened. Bill said something.

“Is Sam here?”

Greg!

Sam gasped and she hurried down the first flight of stairs at that moment.

“I'm—here to see her?” he replied; she reached that top landing where she spotted Bill before the doorway with his hands pressed to his hips. Greg looked so funny there in the doorway with him, that long beautiful dark hair down over his chest and the little stubble of a mustache over his upper lip, and his slender body wrapped in a black T shirt and low slung black jeans.

Like a dark version of Jesus himself.

“Well, she has a lot of work to do, son,” Bill sneered at him.

“No, no, it's okay, Bill!” Sam called out to him from the landing. He turned his attention to her with a finger pointed up to her.

“You have a lot of work to do, young lady—get back up there.” Greg widened his eyes at that.

“Well, I can take a break, can't I?” Sam pointed out. Bill shut the door right on Greg's face, to which followed a loud “ow! That was right on my nose!”

“Get back in your room,” he ordered.

“Don't slam the door on his face!” she yelled as she stormed back upstairs to the loft. She shook her head as she made her way to the window. Out there, on the block right behind the house as it ran along the lake's edge, she spotted Greg as he walked on back to the low two door hatch back royal blue car over there. Chuck awaited him on the outside of the car. From a distance, she watched Greg shake his head.

“Damn,” he declared as he rubbed his nose. “Got me good, too!”

“Well, fuck,” Chuck said.

“Well, we've got to get her out of there somehow,” she heard Alex tell them from the back seat; even from upstairs and a distance, she could hear his big loud voice. “Show's about to start in like an hour.”

“What!” Chuck was stunned at that.

“Yeah, dude! It's seven fifteen!”

“Shit!”

“Hey, there she is!” Tiffany called from the passenger seat. Chuck and Greg turned to the window and Sam waved both arms at them.

“Gotta get her out of there,” she heard Chuck tell them. There was a pause as she looked on at him, just like Rapunzel. If only there was a way in which she could tell him that the way out was through the back door, and she was close to it as well. Greg said something, which was then followed by another pause.

“Hang on, I got an idea,” she heard Chuck tell them. “Greg, come with me—this is gonna get us killed but it's gonna get her out of there, though.” He got off of the side of the car and the two of them walked along the road, along the lake's edge. Sam knitted her eyebrows together as she watched Chuck and Greg all the way to the back of the house.

“Wait here,” Chuck said to Greg, and he turned his attention to her. “Meet him here at the back door.”

She nodded her head at that, and she doubled back to the door with her purse over her shoulder.

Another knock on the front door.

“Who is that now?” Bill grumbled as Sam reached the second stairwell again. When his back was turned to her, she hurried down the next flight of stairs to the very bottom. He opened the door only to see Chuck right there, dressed in heavy black leather and with a red and white feather attached to one side of his head.

“Peek a boo!” Chuck lunged for him.

“JEEZ!”

Sam made a run for it right there to the back door. Right in her line of sight. Greg awaited her out there.

She jiggled the door handle. Locked!

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, but then she turned her attention back to the front door right as Bill shut it. She ducked into the kitchen and the window there over there sink. Greg nodded at her from outside. She opened the window and, with one foot on the sink basin and her other foot right out the window, she climbed through. She poked her head out, followed by her arm.

“Greg!” she called out to him and he hurried over to help her out.

“You got me?” she asked him as he took her hand and set a hand on her knee.

“Yeah. You got it?”

“I think so—” It was a struggle given she almost slipped on the sink basin but she managed to take her other foot through the window. She climbed out through the kitchen window and she landed onto Greg's slender little body. They fell on the grass in unison, and he groaned at the feeling.

“You okay?” she asked him as she lifted herself up into a push up position.

“Yeah.” He gasped for air and he gazed up at her with a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Sam hill,” he greeted her, and that brought a laugh out of her.

“Sam hill, is that what you called her?” Chuck laughed along from the side of the house.

“What in the sam hill is going on 'round here?” she laughed as well. She helped Greg to his feet and then she led him out of the back yard and into the street. The three of them ran back to the car right as the setting sun touched the tree line on the far side of the lake.

“Let's get you the hell out of here,” Chuck advised her as he took the keys out of his pocket. Sam reached the passenger door behind Tiffany and she poked her head into the back window where Alex awaited them.

“Alex?” He leaned forward and greeted her with a big toothy grin.

“Hey—” He froze right in his tracks with those deep eyes wide with fear despite the sun.

“What's the matter?”

“What's wrong, Alex?” Tiffany wondered aloud.

He pursed his lips together and held still, and then he bowed his head a bit.

“Very slowly—look—over—there,” he said through gritted teeth and without moving a muscle. Sam turned her attention to across the edge of the lake to the back door of the house, where Bill stood there with his hands pressed to his hips.

“Get in the car!” Greg shouted. “Get in! Get in!”

Alex scooted over and Tiffany leaned the seat forward for Sam and Greg.

“We gotta go,” Chuck declared as he climbed into the driver's seat, “—we gotta go—we gotta go—we gotta go!”

He fired up the car and they lunged forward down the street, only to find it was a cul de sac.

“What the hell!” Alex declared, but they were quick to make the turn around in there, all past the small houses there at the end.

“Hang on, everyone—” Chuck called back as Alex, Sam, and Greg leaned to the side with the turning. But then they doubled back down the street as fast as they could to the next block over. They kept on going until they past the supermarket. Out of breath, Sam leaned back in her seat.

“We out of sight?” Tiffany asked him.

“I think so,” Chuck assured her as they proceeded on to the heart of town. “Didn't look like he can get very far, either.”

“No, there's no way he's getting very far,” Sam added from the safety of the back seat and from in between Alex and Greg.

“That was intense,” Greg admitted.

“Very much so,” Sam added. “I wanna thank you guys, though. I couldn't be happier to be here right now. You guys are all I've got right now tonight.”

“Yeah, we get to hang out for real now!” Alex said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, yes, it's all fun and games now from here on out!” Chuck declared as he reached for something in the center console. “Little pre show ritual, ladies—and gentlemen. Some Motorhead to set the mood!”

She pictured Marla running down the street in Manhattan to those fast drums on that first song “Overkill”. They drove along fast to it, especially once they reached the freeway and began towards the heart of Los Angeles against the sunset. She nestled down in between Alex and Greg all the while: add to this, not only did her parents not know about it, but Joey didn't, either. And it was right at that moment, as the wind fluttered through their hair and Lemmy's growl sliced through the noise of the road underneath them, that she realized she had become a true bad girl.

2 notes · View notes