#i woke up and couldn’t sleep and apparently this is what my brain settled on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hertzwritings · 2 years

Text

Between the pages, chapter 3

A/N: The love for this story is literally OVERWHELMING! Thank you so much for giving this a chance, because I’m already in love with it. I have no words, except for thank you and the following. I am in awe of the amazingly, beautiful, amazing, kind and openhearted people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, @cooldreamlandsandwich - my son by verbal adoption and a serious help, rock and idea-giver. Thank you for sparring with me and giving me more wonderful ideas. I’m so proud of you and who you are, thank you for you.

Feedback feeds the soul and requests are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and have none.

You can donate to my Ko-Fi here, and depending on what you donate, I’ll write you a personalized oneshot/story! It would help me tremendously.

MASTERLIST

BETWEEN THE PAGES MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x female reader

Warnings: Fluff, language, some light pining

Wordcount: 2.035

Previous chapter

Yes, I'm changing

Henry woke up with a start, his eyes blinking against the harsh light of the sharp morning sun. He rubbed his eyes groggily and turned to look at the clock; 06.15. Way too early for him – it was Saturday which meant no work and no students, so he should be able to sleep in, but apparently, his body and mind had some very different ideas.

Classic.

He swung his legs out of the bed, groaning a little, and trotted to his kitchen to start the coffee up. As the steady rhythm of the machine filled his ears, he leaned back on the counter and yawned. His thoughts wandered to Y/N. She had wormed her way into his brain – he didn’t know what to think of it, mostly because it wasn’t until he didn’t spend time with her, that he realized. He had friends, but none of them had stayed in his head in the same way as she did. It was a little strange. He poured his coffee and sipped it, burning his tongue slightly with a hiss. Fucking mornings.

The day dragged on, slowly the hours ticked by as he worked on his paper, research and lectures for the coming week. He had a hard time focusing on the paper, his mind constantly traveling to Y/N and their collective work on it and a sense of guilt came over him as he tried to work on it. It felt a little wrong to write on the paper without her next to him. It was strange, feeling like this – Y/n ad somehow settled in the pit of his stomach, bringing her smile to the forefront of his head; as his thoughts swirled around her, he found the leather-bound notebook, he wrote small notes in, out, and looked at the three pages already filled, before jotting down another sentence.

For a man, who didn’t believe in love, the words on the pages were very much starting to look like a romantic writing a novel.

He was pulled from his thoughts with the phone next to him beeping, a text lighting up the screen.

T: just an FYI, it’s Y/N’s birthday Monday.

Henry stared at the message from Tom with brows furrowed. She hadn’t mentioned it at all, not given the slightest indication that it was coming up and he was worried that he seemed too angry or unapproachable for her to approach him about it. Another message ticked in, and Henry’s eyes followed the line of words.

T: She never celebrates it. I don’t think she has many people around her to celebrate with. Food for thought.

H: Thanks for the heads up.

He put his phone down and stared at the laptop in front of him, making up his mind on the spot.

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

Come Monday, his bag was a lot heavier than it normally was, and this time it wasn’t weighed down by books – he was balancing a small cake on his other hand, walking slowly to his office, eyes trained on the cake in his hand.

He didn’t know what had come over him; it was like the devil took over, and he just couldn’t stop himself, probably going overboard a lot. He caught Tom’s eyes as he moved down the hall and Tom simply grinned at him; his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Henry simply shook his head and opened the door to his office with his elbow, the rolled sleeve of his shirt almost catching on the doorknob. He sucked in a sharp breath as the box with the cake wobbled dangerously in his hand, but it thankfully stayed put until he put it gently on his desk and let the heavy bag fall from his shoulder.

He rushed to his classroom with a minute to spare and panting, started his lesson on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the words falling from his lips without thought; his thoughts were on Y/N and the bag in his office, and whether or not he had done too much.

The class ended ten minutes before it should, Henry simply didn’t have the mind to keep going. The class seemed elated as they packed, but Maisie ran to him with a smile on her overly painted lips, pulling her shirt down slightly as she stopped in front of him. He sighed. “What can I help you with, Ms. Bowen?” He asked neutrally. “So… The semester is ending soon.” She said in a husky voice. He simply raised an eyebrow at her. “And I was just thinking… When it does, I’m no longer your student.” “Your point being?” He asked. She shot him a smile. “Well, I was wondering if you want to get a drink, then.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Every year. Every year there was one student like this. “Ms. Bowen.” He started. “Please, Maisie… Sir.” She said, winking at him. “Ms. Bowen.” He continued. “That’s highly inappropriate. I’ll suggest we forget this conversation completely and you find someone else to throw your affections towards. Preferably not a teacher.” He said in an even tone. Her face fell a little and she scowled at him. “You’re a prude. I’m an adult, you know.” “You don’t act it. A no is a no.” He gathered his things and left the girl in his classroom, not even looking back. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time he was propositioned by a student; he knew how he looked and understood the fact that his looks paired with his teachings and voice made a lot of them… Feel things. Not that he would ever do anything about it.

When he reached his office, Y/N was leaning against the wall next to the door, her smile etched on her face. He grinned back at her. “You’re late.” She said, her lips a cheery pink today. “By a minute.” He grumbled and unlocked the door, opening it and letting her inside. She glanced at the desk and frowned. He smiled and opened the box, revealing the cake wit happy birthday written in cursive, white letters on top. “Didn’t have time to get a candle.” She grinned at him, her eyes shining. “I’m disappointed.” She said happily – and to his surprise, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. His heart stuttered for half a second and he must’ve eaten something bad this morning, because his stomach surged at her touch. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck, and he couldn’t help the satisfied smile cross his face. “Thank you.” She mumbled against his shirt. “Nobody has gotten me a cake for years.” He slowly pulled away and their faces were overwhelmingly close. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but, er, I got you more than cake.” She frowned and let go of his neck, the cool air unwelcome on his skin.

“What? No, Henry, you didn’t have to…” He shook his head with a smile and grabbed his bag, pulling out the several wrapped gifts. “I wanted to.” Her eyes were wet as she saw the array of gifts in his hands. “I can’t accept this, Henry.” “You can. No returns.” He winked at her and handed her the gifts, his heart speeding up – he really wanted her to like the gifts. He might’ve only known her for a month at this point, but she mattered to him. A great deal.

She sat down in the chair, that had somehow become hers, her fingers dancing on top of the gilded paper and sniffed once. “I don’t know what to say.” He sat down across from her and grinned. “You haven’t even seen what it is yet. It might be completely stupid.” She quirked her eyebrow at him, and her pink lips split into a thankful smile, her fingers quickly wiping the tears from her eyes. He began cutting the cake as she slowly unwrapped the paper – she was one of those people, who didn’t want to tear the paper, clearly, because she took great care. He noticed the bluish tint to her hands again but didn’t comment on it.

She gasped as the first present was unwrapped, and he felt a moment of absolute terror, that she hated it. “Holy shit, Henry.” She looked at him with wide eyes. He had found a website, that sold different makeup-things shaped as books, quills and Victorian wands, and had pretty much outbought the store. He had bought the Starry Night palette (not that he really knew what that meant), where a beautiful rendition of the painting rested on top of it, and it opened as a book. He had bought the Jane Eyre one as well as the Sherlock Holmes one, all of them looking like vintage books. She beamed at him and opened them with small gasps here and there as she surveyed the colors. “These are beautiful, Henry. Thank you!” He nodded to the two last gifts on her lap. “Don’t thank me yet.” She quickly unwrapped the smaller one, four different lipsticks tumbling out – all of them named after classic heroines in novels – and finally, she unwrapped the last one.

Her eyes were wide and mouth slack as she stared at it. His heart stuttered. This one had a deep meaning for him, and he hoped she’d like it. “Is this a…” She looked at him, her fingers holding the book so carefully, as if she was afraid she’d break it. “A first edition of Pride and Prejudice?” He said with a soft smile. “Yes. It was my grandmother’s, and now it’s yours.” Her eyes were once again wet, tear dripping from her eyelashes as her hand ran over the spine, reveling in the feeling of the raised letters. “I don’t know what to say.” “A thank you is the norm.” He winked at her. “This is too much, Henry.” She said earnestly and looked at him. He shrugged. “It’s a book.” He said nonchalantly. “How much did you spend on all of this? I should repay you…” “It’s no matter, it’s your birthday. Those don’t come around every day.”

In reality, he had spent entirely too much on all of the things, but he was repaid tenfold by the look on her face. It was special, the way she looked at him. He had to admit it, maybe there was something more on his end than just friendship – the feelings she stirred in him made him want to smile and jump, which was very much out of his normal behavior. Not that he would let her know.

The sat together, ate cake and talked idle chatter for a while, the hours going by without any work being done. Finally, she had put her plate down and leaned over the table, catching his eyes with her.

“Listen, I need to make you promise me something.” She said with urgency in her voice. “Okay?” He leaned over as well, a magnetic pull between them. “This is going to sound so ridiculously cliché, but I need you to promise me that you won’t fall in love with me.” He chuckled a little and ignored the flutter in his stomach. “You are a walking cliché, Y/N.” She smiled a quick smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Promise me.” He drew a deep breath and leaned even further over the table. He heard her breath hitch. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power not to fall in love with you.” He answered truthfully. She nodded, happy enough with that statement and leaned back into her chair again, grabbing her gifts and her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and waving goodbye to him. “Seriously, thank you. For all of this.” She nodded to the things in her arms. “I haven’t had a birthday this comfortable and enjoyable for years.” “You’re welcome.” He answered and looked at the door as it closed behind her.

Yes, he’d do everything in his power to not fall in love with her. He didn’t think he could keep it, because he was like a moth to the flame with her.

But she didn’t need to know that.

TAGLIST:

@acaceta a @a-skov @angelmather1 @cooldreamlandsandwich @est1887 @enchantedbytomandhenry @fionnthebandersnacc c @herroyalbubbliness @keiva1000 @kebabgirl67 @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler @pandaxnienke @perfunctory-username69 @sleutherclaw @summersong69 @spookyboogyuniverse @stardusted26 @thereisa8ella @timetraveller4 @thatonechickhere @themanfromu @thelastpyle @yourlocalhoney @wheretheriversrunintothesea @arishbear @kebabgirl67 @lysarria @mis-lil-red

70 notes · View notes

silkenstarlight · 3 years

Text

blackbird's lullaby

Summary: After a rough day, Bucky can’t sleep. Reader decides to help.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: a bit of angst in regards to Bucky’s past, but the end is fluffy and sweet :)

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: something possessed me to write this instead of working on my finals, so here, enjoy the fruits of my academic negligence lol

My masterlist

Join my taglist

Do not repost or translate! Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged :))

Bucky’s side of the bed was cold when you woke.

You sighed deeply, wrenched from the arms of a dream, rubbing the heavy, lulling tug of sleep from your eyes. You were half awake, toeing the line between the violent brightness of a dreamscape and the hazy, blurred shadows of your bedroom. The warmth of the blankets wrapped around your limbs and threatened to pull you under again, but before you could succumb to their soft, enticing tangle, a singular thought rose in your mind from the murky depths of sleep. At first, it was quiet, a hushed voice in your brain whispering to you that you were alone. But then, the concern gained traction, and it blared in your skull with a deep, unnerving clarity, a nagging insistence that made your eyes snap back open.

Where the hell was Bucky?

You sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. 2:46 AM.

You frowned, turning to face Bucky’s empty pillow, and reached a hand out, lightly tracing the crisp, untouched folds. The sheets on his side of the bed were still flat and pristinely tucked, his pillow perfectly fluffed. He hadn’t bothered to try to sleep.

You knew why.

You peeled back the blankets and shivered, met instantly with the deep chill of night air as you unfolded yourself from your fleece and goose-down cocoon.

Bucky preferred to keep the apartment cold. You obliged, of course, bundling up in endless sweaters and blankets as he opened the windows wide and turned the rotary fan on full blast. You never questioned him about it, never asked if you could dial up the thermostat just a few degrees. You knew that keeping the apartment cold helped him to avoid the dreaded space of sleep, helped him to outrun the ever-looming specter of his nightmarish past. And, whenever he did come to bed, he gave you all of the blankets, covering his body with just the thin cotton layer of a bedsheet.

You knew that he rarely fell into a deep, nourishing slumber, so you tried to help boost his energy in other ways. Big, steaming pots of the strongest coffee you could brew, a fridge stocked with healthy snacks, and daily morning walks around the neighborhood together. He quietly thanked you for your efforts, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and leaving fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table every Sunday. But, even though he preferred to stay awake, whenever you rolled over in bed to snuggle into his side and found that his eyes were still wide open, a hard lump rose in your throat and a worried pit formed in your stomach.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and put on your slippers, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts and shrugging it on as you padded out to the kitchen. You just wanted to check on him and make sure that he was okay.

When he had returned from his mission earlier in the evening, he had seemed a little off to you. Usually, he was quiet, preferring to listen to you as ranted about your stressful workday or gushed about the newest book you were reading. He never wanted to talk much about himself, silently refusing to drag the horrors of his work into your home. It was where he felt at ease-- the plush pillows, the diffused, ambient lighting, the cloying scent of vanilla candles-- it was all so you. He didn’t want to taint the safety and warmth he felt when he was surrounded by your essence with the cold uncertainty and lingering shame of his work. Even though his missions nowadays were usually unrelated to his past as a clandestine Hydra operation, and even though the two jobs differed vastly in motive, he sometimes felt the creeping prick of deja vu traveling up his neck. Follow this person. Disable that vehicle. Shoot this opponent.

All of the lights in the apartment were off, so as you approached the kitchen, you used the bright white glow of your phone screen as a flashlight. You didn’t want to go directly to the living room and make it too obvious that you were checking on him. He would just shake you off if you did, insist that you go back to bed. So, you reached into the cupboard above the sink and grabbed a glass, turning on the faucet and filling it as you peered over the countertop, trying to pick out Bucky’s rigid frame amongst the inky shadows of the living room. You turned off the faucet and brought the glass to your lips, swallowing a couple of small sips.

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” The sound of Bucky’s voice coming from the couch made you jump, the thick glass of your cup clacking against your teeth. You placed it in the sink and walked over to the couch.

Despite the low light, you could see that Bucky was still wearing the clothes he had on when he came home from his mission. Gray tee, leather jacket, dark jeans. He hadn’t even taken off his heavy black boots.

You stepped slowly towards him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to bury him in a hug and pepper him with kisses. Instead, you sat next to him, leaving a little space between your body and his. Now, you could see his clenched jaw, his jittery, tapping fingers, and the jumping vein in his neck that only pulsed when he was stressed. His gaze was fixed on some indeterminate point on the wall in front of him, as if he were lost in thought.

This wasn’t a normal sleepless night. Something was wrong.

“I… I guess that I should be asking you the same question,” you said softly, voice gravelly and low from sleep.

He didn’t respond, just took a sharp inhale that made it sound like he was staving off tears.

You couldn’t help it. It was like your body could sense his distress. Your hand jerked up to rest on his shoulder, a subconscious reaction to his apparent suffering. You let it stay there, though, stroking your thumb lightly along the cool leather of his jacket.

He stirred from his reverie and turned to look at you. It was so dark, the curtains shut tight, not a single ray of moonlight filtering into the room, but the blue of his eyes shone bright, glistening with the wet sparkle of unshed tears. Sadness swelled in your chest.

“You can tell me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to listen.”

His gaze dropped from your face, silently weighing your words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you enough to open up. The truth was that he didn’t trust himself to speak. If he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And then, his demons would be given a voice, and the doors to this vanilla-scented, blanket-swathed haven would be wrenched open to the darkness that waited for him beyond the threshold.

But he could also see the way that his silence affected you. You frowned more on the mornings after he didn’t come to bed. You talked and talked and talked, trying to fill his ears with noise to distract him from the numbing static in his skull. And you were constantly touching him in some way, whether twining your lithe fingers around his thumb or draping your body on top of his in a warm, crushing hug. It was as if you didn’t want to let him out of your sight.

So, he let out a long exhale and reached up, taking your hand from its perch on his arm and twining his fingers tightly with yours. He idly stroked your palm with his thumb and decided to tell you the truth.

“I… I had a bit of a setback tonight.” He felt like he was wrenching the words from his throat. He couldn’t look at you, a deep sense of shame settling into his bones, but he stared at your hand held in his and felt the creeping self-doubt hesitate just a little.

“What do you mean?”

He dragged his eyes up to yours, blinking nervously. “I, uh--” he inhaled sharply and felt tears prick at his eyes. “Someone used my trigger words tonight. And it worked.”

Silence lay heavy between you as you digested what he said, but you didn’t pull away, didn’t pry your hand from his. You simply held his gaze.

“How is that possible?” He had gone through years of extensive mental treatment in Wakanda, the emotional scars that he suffered after years of lost identity and unwilling servitude seemingly healed. But, now, it seemed that one of those scars had re-opened.

“Ayo said that it was unlikely, but that it could happen. Relapse is a part of the process.” His voice was pained.

You nodded slightly, assenting to Ayo’s expertise. But Bucky’s next sentence made you fall apart at the seams.

“I thought I was different, after all these years. But I guess I haven’t changed. I’m still him.” He spat the last word, his face creasing into an expression of disgust.

You didn’t hesitate. “Come here.”

You gently separated your hand from his and reached up to his shoulders, guiding him towards you in a tight embrace. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and he pressed his chin into the notch between your shoulder and neck. As you began tracing your fingertips along his jacket collar, his chest heaved in desperate inhales, slow tears tracking down his cheeks developing into full, wracking sobs.

“You’re safe. I won’t let you go.” You pressed your mouth against his temple in a soft, soothing kiss.

“You were never him.” Although your voice was barely a whisper, it spoke volumes, your words ringing clear and true in the quiet stillness. Bucky shuddered, squeezing you close. You moved one of your hands up to cradle the back of his head.

You stayed like that for a long time, until you saw the blue light of dawn trickle through the gap beneath the curtains, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for Bucky to say what he needed. When his breath finally stilled into a regular rhythm, no longer halting and ragged, you pulled back and took his face in your hands, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I’m so tired.” His voice was flat and broken, but when you wiped a stray tear from his cheek with your pinkie, a small, grateful smile formed on his face.

You nodded. “Well, I know what will help. Come here.” You pulled back, shifting down the couch, guiding him with you with your hand wrapped around his arm. When he had enough space to lie down, you stopped, settling into your seat. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he could risk falling asleep in his current emotional state, but he sighed, knowing that he needed to rest. He laid back, resting his head on your lap, and looked up at you.

You carded your fingers through his short hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He melted into the gentle gesture, relaxing into the couch, into the warmth of your body.

And then, you began to sing.

You were quiet at first, as if trying out the thought of singing him a lullaby. Your voice was tentative, trying out the feeling of the different notes in your mouth.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

You thought that your voice was nothing special, your untrained, warbling syllables rushing from your lips in a breathy exhale. But Bucky loved it. The way you let your words flow together, followed by a long, lilting end note and a pause to inhale-- it was sweet and soft and so very you.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

He could feel it already, the lull of an encroaching dream. His first instinct was to fight it, to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he let his lids shut, blocking out every sense except for the sound of your voice.

“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly,

Into the light of a dark black night.”

And, as he welcomed the embrace of sleep, your voice followed him, a glowing amber halo of warmth that pushed the dark away and lit his path into the space of dreams.

“All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

He dreamt of blackbirds and forehead kisses, of vanilla candles and forgiveness.

He dreamt of you.

286 notes · View notes

xcrystalzero · 3 years

Text

sun is up

pairing: kaeya x f!reader

summary: who knew that waking up next to a stupidly handsome cavalry captain could be so conflicting?

note: hehe. also this one is a little spicy (not very because i'm shy but still) so minors begone!

The sunlight was hitting your face from the wrong side. With a groan, you threw a hand over your eyes in an effort to block out the intruding rays. Not to much avail of course since sunlight had a tendency to seep in through any opening it was given.

It was warm too, a gentle, unfamiliar warmth that seemed to surround you, seeping into your bones and tempting you again and again with the comfortable lull of sleep.

However, your brain knew that it was morning now and no matter how tight you closed your eyes or how deep you snuggled back into the blankets, you weren't going to be able to go back to sleep.

With a resigned sigh, you let your hand fall back down to your side, allowing your eyes to flutter gently open. The sight that greeted you was no less than disorienting.

You had been right, the sunlight was coming from the wrong side of the room. Maybe because this wasn't your room. Sitting up, your still drowsy brain decided that it was time to take a look around. The room wasn't extravagant, but not quite bare either. That wasn't what caught your attention however.

On the ground just a few feet from the edge of the bed lay a pile of clothing. It occurred very slowly to your still offline brain that some of that was yours. You could see it from here, the worn pants from your Knight's of Favonius uniform and that lacy black bra you had bought a few days ago in an effort to feel just a little more sexy. Oh how you loved that bra.

The other half of the clothing however, was a bit of a mystery. Cocking your head, you identified a pair of brown boots, what looked like black gloves, and fluffy white fur collar. Those seemed familiar for some reason.

It was at that moment that you felt the bed shift slightly under you. With a soft gasp, you whirled around, drowsiness falling away in sudden panic as you prepared for an ambush.

You were not however, prepared for what you did see.

It was no secret that Kaeya was a beautiful man. From the deep navy of his hair to the physique his work as a captain had earned him, he was attractive and he knew it. The sight before you now however, was by far the most beautiful side of Kaeya you had ever seen.

His face was turned towards you, half buried in the pillow his head was resting on, silky strands of hair fanned around him in a deep blue halo. The sunlight that had so rudely awoken you cast gentle rays on his face, turning his tanned skin golden and accentuating the line of his collarbone not concealed by the covers. Perhaps the most majestic part however, was his expression. Kaeya was an expressive man and you'd seen just about every emotion, real or fake, cross his features at one point or another. Now however, all those exaggerated angles were gone and for once in his life, the Cavalry Captain looked relaxed. And then he shifted just a bit, the covers rising slightly to reveal the side of his toned torso.

Relaxed and naked apparently...

"Oh shi-" you smacked a hand over your mouth, eyes blowing wide open in horror as things actually started to register. Kaeya Alberich was in your bed. Or no, you were in his? And he was naked. And you were also definitely naked. And-

Unbidden, images of last night rushed forth and you remembered.

"My beautiful [name], would you be so kind as to join me at the tavern this evening?"

That was what had started it. A simple invitation when you really needed a drink. If you remembered correctly, Kaeya hadn't been much better considering how many bottles of wine you two had gotten through before Diluc had grown cross and kicked you out.

You remembered very well, the midnight wind in your hair and Kaeya's hand on your shoulder as you drunkenly braved the streets of Mondstat. And then somehow, you'd been at his place. You just wanted to make sure that he was safe as you knew all too well the kind of messes drunk Kaeya could manage to get himself into.

Yes, you had just wanted to drop him off. But then he was so close to you and you were breathing in his scent, that stupidly comforting scent that you'd been trying for weeks to ignore. His lips were at your ear and he was asking you something in a desperate, very un-Kaeya voice.

"Please, can I kiss you?"

And you nodded because of course you did. No matter what the logical part of your brain tried to tell you every single time you were near him, you knew. This was what you had been hoping for, dreaming of ever since you had met him. You had told yourself it was impossible, that his flirtatious words were a luxury that everyone got to experience, thrown about with no less care than a comment about the weather.

But now, those words were saved just for you. Whispers of "you look so beautiful like this" and "you're so good for me" spoken softly enough that your doubted even the wind could catch them. And then his hands were on you, cold cryo fingertips tracing up your waist and then to your back as they worked at hooks and pulled you further into him.

And your hands were in his hair and then on the clasps of his corset and the ties of his pants, yanking and throwing as though they were the things you hated most in the world. Perhaps at that point in your life, they had been. And then he had been on you, pushing you down into the bed as you arched upwards to meet him, the feeling of wanting to touch him the strongest thing you had felt in your entire life. And then he had reached down...

And... you had slept with your coworker.

It took all the self control in you not to leap out of the bed immediately as you considered your options. There was no way you could stay around until Kaeya woke up. Or, could you? Again, there was that voice in your brain, begging you to just nestle back into the covers and savor this time you got to spend with him. You had to ignore it. This wasn't anything special after all right? You two had just needed to blow off some steam and had seen each other as convenient.

Kaeya was just that kind of guy right? No strings attached, no commitments.

It didn't matter that just seeing him roaming the courtyard from your office window was enough to spike your heart rate through roof. That when he stood a little too close to you during meetings, you had to ball your hands into fists to resist grabbing the lapels of his jacket and smashing your lips into his right then and there.

"Please..." he had said. This stupid beautiful man was going to be the end of you.

"I just have to get out..." you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself into a sitting position in hopes that action would clear your thoughts. You got halfway off the bed when you heard it.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The world went cold. It took you a moment to work up the courage to turn towards the voice, eyes still wide in surprise as you did. You could have sworn that Kaeya was asleep. Everything had suggested it from the uniform rhythm of his breath to the limpness of his splayed arms.

And yet, there he was, very much awake, one visible eye glinting in amusement at your reaction.

"So the eyepatch stays on during sex..." was the only thought your brain could produce in that moment and you honestly could have slapped yourself.

"G-Good morning Kaeya..." you decided on instead, though it only seemed to amuse the man further as he too sat up right behind you.

"Good morning to you too. And to think you were trying to sneak out just a moment ago without saying anything to me..." He was close again, his breath on your ear sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, his arms came up, sliding under yours before closing right underneath your chest, pulling you into his.

You wriggled slightly in his grip, breathe hitching as his lips made their way down, grazing against your neck. "I-I thought you'd like that better. Since this... this is just a one-time thing." The words hurt to get out and you felt Kaeya stiffen slight behind you.

Without warning, you were yanked backwards, a soft yelp escaping your lips as you found yourself nestled amongst the pillows once again, though this time, a pair of arms encircled you, caging you in with nowhere to run.

Kaeya's periwinkle eye looked down at you when your panicked gaze flew up to meet his, steady and more sincere than you were sure you had ever before seen.

"Now, is that what you really think of our relationship? I'm hurt..." He reached over, taking your chin gently in his fingers as he angled your head up towards him. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?"

You gulped.

"No. I want you forever. I want you all the time and I just want you to want me too."

You couldn't say it. You couldn't risk it.

Kaeya must have mistaken your silence of a yes however as he retracted his hands immediately. He pulled himself off of you, settling on the edge of the bed with his back to you. It may have just been that stupid thing called hope, but for a moment, you thought that you say hurt in his gorgeous eye.

"Ah I see, well that's fine as well. For what it was, that was a pretty fun night. Shall we go get breakfast or something?" That had to be pain. He was good at hiding his emotions, but you knew Kaeya better than anyone. He was hurt.

"... no."

"Not a breakfast person? That's alright then, you're welcome to see yourself out whenever you'd like."

"No I don't want it to be a one-time thing. I want you Kaeya, for as long as you'll let me." You didn't know where the words were coming from but when he whirled to face you once more, hope in his eyes, you knew you couldn't stop. "So, please don't make me leave?"

Apparently that was all it took as you barely got a moment to breathe before his lips were on yours. It took you a moment but you returned the kiss, hands reaching up to pull him down into you. His lips were hungry, threatening to devour you if you didn't hold your ground. Unconsciously, you arched against him and through the kiss, you could feel his smile.

There was a strange warm feeling growing in your chest that only seemed to amplify the moment Kaeya pulled away, the most genuine smile you had ever seen from him plastered over his lips.

"Oh darling, you have no idea what you just got yourself into..."

note: maybe i'll write one of these for a bunch of characters... you guys wanna see that?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader

156 notes · View notes

bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

My first Phic Phight fic!

For @ecto-american’s prompt

His name was Danny.

That was the first thing he knew for sure was true, when he had first woken up it was what everyone called him, and it fit just fine, wasn’t something off or uncomfortable so he let it settle over him before he tried to speak.

His voice didn’t come at first, and it hurt to try so the nurses made him promise to take it easy for now, to sit back and listen. So he did.

He listened as the people around him spoke at length about how much they missed him, about how they couldn’t wait to get him home again, about how glad they were he’d survived.

The loudest and most talkative of the people that visited him and called him Danny, was a large man in an orange jumpsuit that went on long enthusiastic tangents that Danny had long stopped paying attention to. He was almost always with a smaller, authoritative woman named Maddie, who insisted He call her Mom. They told him they were his parents.

They told him they loved him.

And then they told him everything else.

The first time Danny remembered something it was with excitement, he was still in the hospital room and between the visits from the men in the starched white suits, his parents, and the doctor, he had been wrestling with the feeling that something was missing.

It had only been when Maddie had finally taken off the hood and goggles of her jumpsuit had Danny gotten a flash of familiar red hair and asked, “where’s Jazz?”

His heart buzzed at the question, sure, so sure that it would get answered, that he had remembered something.

But both Jack and Maddie had just looked at him, disappointed, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, once the doctor declared him competent and unlikely to slip back into his coma, his parents had taken him home.

There were streamers all over the house and a giant party banner that read “Welcome Back” in thick black lettering and Danny forced out a small smile as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Maddie walked up behind him and he flinched, his body acting before his brain could catch up.

She had frowned at his reaction, and when Danny, stuttering, tried to apologize she said it was okay, and with a tightlipped smile, she pulled him into a hug.

He forced himself to relax, frustrated with himself. This was his mother, there was no reason for his instincts to be so afraid. Jack had joined the hug and eventually Danny found himself relaxing for real, sure maybe getting his memories back was a slow uphill climb, but at least he wouldn’t do it alone.

Eventually his parents let him go and told him he was free to walk around the house and reacquaint himself with it. His room was the first door on the left upstairs, the bathroom was down the hall and the basement, apparently, was off limits.

So Danny went upstairs into his room. It looked something like a teenager’s room he supposed. There were the posters hung haphazardly on the walls and they were torn at the corners as if someone had ripped them all off the walls before hastily taping them back up. The bed was made too, and there was a lot less dust than he was expecting after being gone for a whole month.

In fact, it looked like he’d cleaned and organized the whole room before he’d fallen into his coma and Danny didn’t know why, but that thought set him on edge. Maybe he was just an organized person?

It was just… he didn’t feel very organized.

He kept looking around. There was that feeling that something was missing, something important to him, and he walked over to the nightstand by his bed. Placing a hand on the polished wood Danny fought the flash of a model spaceship that appeared in his memories. It wasn’t here though and Danny frowned. Was that something else he’d thrown away and simply forgotten?

Shaking his head Danny headed back downstairs, maybe he should just ask Jack, er, his dad? He should really get used to calling them mom and dad. But before he headed down he went to the room across from his and knocked.

Maybe he was being foolish, but he had expected someone to answer, had a name even come to mind. When no answer came he opened the door himself only to find a storage room, nothing but shelves and boxes and Danny scolded himself for the painful ache he felt in his heart.

It was another week before Danny had another memory, and just like the last two, it didn’t fit quite right. Like a piece from another puzzle jammed where it shouldn’t fit. So he’d asked Maddie.

“Sam?” she’d said, a carefully blank look on her face, “Oh! I remember Sam, she was an old friend of yours you used to talk about her all the time. Shame she moved away.”

And just like that, he’d had his answer as ill fitting as it was. Sam was a girl he knew that moved away, the memory he’d had, of her crying face screaming at him to stay awake just stay awake damnit, was probably from a long time ago. The pain he felt in his chest -just to the right of his heart- at the thought of her not being near and that he’d probably never see her again? That was nothing important.

It was another couple of weeks of sleeping in that house, waking up and going downstairs to eat with his parents, to chat about memories he didn’t have and tell stories he never resonated with, before he woke up screaming for the first time.

Maddie had instantly run into his room, Jack not far behind and Danny scrambled away from them both. His mind filled with images of painful green light and the ominous glint of red goggles twisting his reflection in their lenses as they looked down on him.

His parents had pushed past the barrier of pillows and blankets he’d made and pulled him into their arms, rocking him and shushing him until eventually he’d tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep again. The nightmares returned.

Eventually Danny stopped asking questions about his memories.

Either they were incomplete, fragments of something real that had been twisted in time, or they were wrong entirely, figments of his own active imagination. He’d never had a sister, they insisted. It was his mother, Maddie that had stayed up late some nights to help him with his homework and bake him safe, edible cookies as a reward. Tucker was a kid he knew at school, yes, but he’d moved away years ago and they hadn’t spoken in person since.

He had blue eyes, when he looked in the mirror, not green.

It was frustrating, being unable to trust himself- his own memories. If it was anything more than broken, incomplete fragments he’d have argued, insisted they were real.

But then again, he also had memories of Maddie leaning over him, scalpel in hand to cut away at his flesh. And he knew that couldn’t be true; the woman that smiled every time he came downstairs, called him sweetie and kissed him on his forehead every night, wasn’t the monster in his dreams. She couldn’t be.

So he ignored them.

He ignored the moments of instinct when Maddie or Jack went for a hug or a kiss and he flinched, ready for an attack. He ignored how he never seemed able to give a straight answer when they asked about his day, even if he hadn’t done anything interesting at all. And he ignored his nightmares, stuffing towels under his doorframe to muffle the sounds of his screams. There was no reason to keep waking up his parents like that.

But no matter how much he ignored, he compartmentalized, or he forced himself to smile, to hug back, and to spend time bonding with his parents, he never felt safe. Maddie insisted that he was, of course she did, this was his home. But even as he smiled and agreed and let her hug him again, he wanted to leave.

This time his dream wasn’t a nightmare. No scary, well lit labs with beakers and glowing buttons, or disgusting, painful flowers shoved into his mouth. Instead there was the ticking of clocks, rhythmic and constant. A gloved hand gently soothed his hair back, and Danny’s fear seemed so far away.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d had since he’d gotten “home”.

That morning he’d asked for an analogue clock. His parents had been confused, but they acquiesced easily and took him to the store to pick one out. The one he’d ended up choosing was a large ornate antique with little clockwork gears and a loud tick. He was excited to put it up in his room, right above his bed.

He slept better after that, and some of the tension that had been building in the house eased.

His dreams were still mostly nightmares, attacks by inhuman ghostly figures were the most prominent. But they didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste, fear and uncertainty as the ones with the table, the scalpel, and the round, red goggles.

But now they were interspersed with better ones, fuzzy hugs and fields of blinding white, sitting in a garden pruning flowers as a soft, familiar voice gave him instructions, playing video games as the player character, confident and excited with a familiar presence at his back. And his favorite ones, the ones in the clock tower with the hooded figure and his soft smiles. The ones where he felt safest.

The ones that couldn’t be real, not if what his parents told him was true.

The next time they went out as a family after that Danny had wanted to go to a garden, and while at first Maddie was hesitant, Jack had insisted the great outdoors were perfect for helping him recover properly. Danny had been thrilled and hugged both of them in thanks, their answering smiles were soft and Danny had the thought that it had been some time since he’d seen those smiles reach their eyes.

Danny had a video game he apparently liked to play called Doom, and he was pretty good at it, judging by the level of his character. When he tried to message either of the two friends he had on his contact list though, the game glitched and his info got deleted. Frustrated he tried to reboot the system but the game itself had somehow gotten corrupted and there was no hope in recovery.

Just another thing that was apparently important to him that he’d destroyed or couldn’t find.

The worst was the time he woke with Maddie sitting next to him in his bed, she had a troubled look on her face and he didn’t know what it was he’d done wrong. Had he screamed in his sleep without knowing it?

“Danny honey,” she had said, looking over to him but not meeting his eyes, “do you remember what you dreamed about?”

He’d answered no, he hadn’t, which was mostly true. The only thing he really remembered about his dream was the feeling of safety and the ticking of a clock.

It took a month for Danny’s parents to feel comfortable leaving him alone in the house in order to go to work. He watched them walk out the door, fending off forehead kisses and muttered reassurances that they’d be home soon to check on him and that he should call if he needed anything, anything at all.

Once the door clicked shut however, the smile dropped off of Danny’s face and he set his eyes on the one thing he’d wanted… no, needed to do since he had that first nightmare.

He went to the basement.

The feeling of going down the stairs stumbled over a vague, blurry memory and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. This was just to be sure, just to prove to himself that all those dreams, all those nightmares he’d been having since his parents brought him home, were just that, nightmares.

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, confused when there was no lock, no resistance at all. Hadn’t they said he was banned from being down here? Why wouldn’t they lock it? Even Bluebeard locked the door his wife wasn’t supposed to enter.

The basement was…

A basement.

There were no spooky ominous beakers of strange and unrecognizable fluids, no haphazard lab equipment lying around without safety devices, nothing sterile or blinking and there was certainly no large metal table to strap someone down on.

It was just a normal basement with boxes and a desk, some chairs, a couple of old pieces of random furniture and Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This meant that Maddie was right, they really were just nightmares, probably some subconscious latent fear of going home with strangers that he couldn’t remember. That was all.

So why did he feel disappointed?

The next week was full of Danny waiting for his parents to leave before exploring the house more thoroughly. More than once he’d gotten caught in a half remembered routine that didn’t actually fit with his surroundings. Like bracing for a fight every time he opened the fridge, or expecting another flight of stairs after the second floor. Once he’d even risked going outside for a walk, trying to find his school based on half remembered directions that only served to get him lost.

It was a new routine that Danny found himself thankful for.

Not that he didn’t love his parents, he did! But for some reason, when they were gone, and it was just him with his space posters and his ornate ticking clock, and the piles of modified schoolwork that was supposed to help him when it was time to reintegrate into school, he felt a lot more relaxed. More carefree.

That was why, when he’d found the picture, it had felt like his world had crashed around him.

His parents had come home to find him sitting in the middle of the basement, tears long dried, and with the picture clutched tight in his hands, crumpled now with how long it had been.

“You lied to me.” he accused once they were within earshot. He didn’t have the energy to speak much louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence nonetheless.

“Danny-boy we can explain-”

“No!” Danny shouted, getting to his feet, “You lied to me .”

Jack flinched back and Maddie stepped in front of him, protective, as if somehow, out of the three of them Danny might be the threat. He growled.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, I trusted you with my memories, memories that were lost to me . I had a sister! You had a daughter . She existed, she was real, she’s in this photo! Smiling! ” Danny couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, it was all too much. To know that the girl in his shattered memories, the one with the soft hugs and the floral scents, that baked him cookies and held him when he cried at night, was real. And that she was gone, erased by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

He moved to storm past them, to go upstairs or maybe even outside and look up at the sky and try to make something of the twisting, knotted mess that was his emotions, his mind, his everything right now. But Maddie grabbed his arm before he could, tears spilling from her eyes.

“We didn’t want to hurt you Danny.” she said, voice soft and broken, “we didn’t want to give and then take away.”

She pulled him into a hug and Danny didn’t bother to struggle or try and break out of it, just let her cry into his shoulder as he stood there, waiting for his own tears to dry.

The next day Jack and Maddie left for work with more reluctance, neither one willing to leave Danny on his own again. But worry didn’t pay the bills and whatever it was they were doing at their job, it was clearly important. That was something Danny was starting to remember, all the things that were more important than him.

Danny went to the library this time, determined to start figuring things out on his own. His parents had said that his sister, Jazz, had died in the accident that had put him in a coma. They said they didn’t want to hurt him, or risk him not wanting to recover his memories if they were painful and that grief was difficult to deal with even without the head trauma and emotional conflict.

His parents said a lot of things, Danny was starting to realize. And almost none of it could be trusted to be true.

The first thing he did was look for a death certificate for his sister, Jazz Fenton. After hours of searching, reading every single name that existed in every obituary for this town in the entire month when his parents claimed the accident had happened.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So next he looked up phone records. Any Tuckers or Samanthas he could find, but he couldn’t remember their last names at all, just what they looked like.

How they had been crying over him.

He didn’t know if he believed that they’d just moved away. Then again, it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t know what to believe, if he believed anything at all. By the time he’d gotten home it was late, and his parents were already there.

At first they didn’t believe he was just at the library “trying to catch up on stuff” but they calmed back down once he’d shown them his library card and snapped that if he couldn’t even do that much why did they bother bringing him back from the hospital at all.

Dinner had been a quiet affair.

It took another week of library visits and recurring nightmares of dissection tables and glowing ghostly figures that attacked him before Danny gave up on finding out anything about Sam or Tucker. But he still didn’t stop searching for Jazz.

There was something almost obsessive about his search for her, he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know where she was, and if his parents, against all odds, hadn’t lied to him about that ... Well that was something he’d have to come to terms with when he came to it, not before.

He started scouring the Internet for her name desperate to find something, anything on her. And eventually he did.

There was an old article, from at least half a decade ago, that had her picture under the title “Four Teens go Missing in wake of Fenton Investigation”.

Next to her were two equally familiar pictures. Sam and Tucker… and then Danny himself.

Scrolling, desperate to find something, anything to add up the memories he was getting into a clear picture, he began to read the article.

In wake of the Investigation into the Fenton‘s possible abuse, Danny Fenton (15), his sister Jazz Fenton (17), and two friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley (15), have seemingly disappeared.

The discovery came shortly after Jack and Madeline Fenton were released on parol and allowed to return home to spend time with their children since no physical proof could be found of any alleged wrongdoings.

What could have caused their disappearances remains a mystery. The prevailing theory is that they were involved in a cult that may have demonized the Fenton parents due to their controversial occupation as “ghost hunters”. Another popular theory is that the children fled the results of the case, afraid of the alleged illegal experimentation. Other theories include kidnapping, witness protection, the possibility of murder, and tying up loose ends.

Will we ever discover the truth? It remains to be seen.

Ghost hunters …

Danny felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea rolled through him and he had to fight off the urge to relive his lunch.

Experimentation?

Nightmares and half remembered memories started clicking into place, finally , and Danny couldn’t stand it. Why were the only answers that made sense the ones that hurt the worst?

Would it have been better if he’d just let it go? If his memories never returned at all? If he just kept living, eating homemade cookies and flinching from hugs until eventually the itch underneath his skin dulled and he could just be happy as he was.

He closed the tab.

There was no one home when he got there, and it gave him the chance to pack what little belongings he had that held any meaning to him at all. The motions were familiar and he had the faintest feeling he had done exactly this before.

Maybe he had.

He’d made it out the front door by the time his parents pulled into the drive.

There was the urge to run, to go back inside and hide and pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what they caught him doing. But he was tired. He was so tired of feeling wrong and scared and uncertain and never knowing why.

So he held his head up as they got into the car and approached them with their hands raised, cautiously, like he was a wild animal they were afraid of spooking.

Was that what they thought he was?

“Danny, we can talk about this,” Maddie said, beseeching.

He met her eyes with his own. “Will you promise not to lie anymore? I don’t even know how old I am-”

“You’re fifteen son-” Jack interrupted, lying again.

“I was fifteen five years ago!” Danny yelled, his hand tightening into a fist, “I found the article! I read about the case! Five years ago.”

“Danno…”

Oh, he was crying. It was novel almost, Danny had thought he was too tired to cry, that there wasn’t anything more that could hurt him enough to create such a response and he didn’t quite know how to react to it.

He raised his hands awkwardly to scrub the tears away and stepped back, frightened, when Maddie tried to move closer to comfort him.

“Stay back! Stay back…” he looked at his hands, they were young hands, his reflection too, hadn’t changed from the picture in the article at all. Experiments. “What did you do to me?”

“It was an accident.” Jack said, before Maddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“We didn’t know Danny. How could we have?” She said, keeping her distance, cautious. “We tried to fix it-”

“Fix what? ” He hissed, “you haven’t told me what happened! You haven’t told me anything!”

“You!” Maddie finally snapped, tears falling heavy down her cheeks. “We were trying to fix you… but it wasn’t working and you just kept getting sicker… weaker… we had to stop.”

It was too much for her, and she turned away, leaning into Jack’s large frame as he comforted her. “We didn’t want to lose you, Danny.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You already did.”

Danny left his parents there, crying on the driveway of a house that could never have been a home. He had a clock tower to find.

#Danny phantom #Phic Phight #Phic Phight 2021 #fanfic #my fic #Bee’s writing

359 notes · View notes

okay-j-hannah · 3 years

Text

Part 1: The Sun God

Doctor Who : Multishot

Tenth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 6756

Warnings: There are descriptions of burns and burn victims. Also some talk of drug addiction

Request: This is just from my own head 😊

A/N: One step closer to understanding what’s ailing the reader... meanwhile *lovestruck sigh* the bickering and flirting between the reader and the Doctor is ✨giving me life✨

Prologue: The Dying Girl

Part 1: The Sun God {You Are Here}

Part 2: The Tonic

Part 3: The Ending Song

Life with the Doctor went by in a blur of rescued planets, saved species, and TARDIS accidents. The hospital visit planned so many months ago was long forgotten.

(Y/N) and the Doctor were simply swept away with adventure after adventure. After partaking the famed gouda of the moon and dancing the night away in the Blankar System, their companionship became less of a requirement and more of a favorite pastime.

There was still the looming mystery of (Y/N)’s alien tainted particle trail and the Reapers around every corner. But the pair of them found themselves rather enjoying spending their time exploring rather than hunting.

And the longer she spent on the TARDIS, the harder it became accepting she should go home at some point. It had been months. Months: and thoughts of her fiancé were knocking at the door in the back of her mind.

“This way!” The Doctor grabbed her hand and started to run. They were always running.

Though this time she was feeling a bit winded.

“You shouldn’t have pointed out their sham,” she laughed, disregarding the angry human mob behind them.

“Well, they shouldn’t have tried to scam the money off of you. The way they were groveling you, trying to pick your pocket – honestly.”

She gave him a silent look of admiration and scolded herself. “Could you have parked the TARDIS any farther!” There was a burning tickling her lungs – she didn’t normally get this fatigued so quickly.

The Doctor scoffed, gripping her hand tighter and spotting their blue box ahead, “Running’s good for the heart, (Y/N). And what with you only having one of those, I’ve got to keep your cardiovascular system in shape.”

They slammed into the TARDIS doors. Locked.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” (Y/N) said, leaning into the box heavily, “Shouldn’t it open at your command?”

“Oh hush,” he snipped, “Extra precautions aren’t a crime.”

The mob scrambled closer, finding them stationary at the end of the street. (Y/N) nudged the Doctor’s elbow, “If they aren’t a crime then why is our punishment on its way?” The Doctor fiddled with his silver key.

“Don’t rush me.”

“We don’t exactly have the time, Doctor.”

“You’re less fun when you’re grumpy.”

“I’ll be grumpier if we’re on the end of those pitchforks!”

The doors swung open as the mob roared. (Y/N) and the Doctor entered and felt as the humans pounded against the police box outside. Their torches could be seen ablaze through the window.

The Doctor didn’t hesitate to jump to the controls and put the TARDIS in an orbit while (Y/N) tried to catch her breath.

Her lungs were still burning, a stitch in her side. It felt like there was a pulse entering her brain, so loud it drowned anything else out. She didn’t feel good. Really didn’t feel good.

“That was a close one.”

She laughed, though her face pinched into a wince, “No thanks to you.”

“Like I said, if only they had kept their grubby hands off of you… (Y/N)?”

She was holding her head with both her hands, her face going slack. Her knees shook as she felt a comforting pressure on both her shoulders, “I feel a bit faint.”

It was the Doctor holding her steady, “You look it. What happened?” And as her knees buckled, he caught her smoothly, wrapping his arms around her. “Woah, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Did something hit you?”

(Y/N) sighed, her head reeling – she couldn’t open her eyes; the light was so bright now. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think so. We just started running and I couldn’t breathe.”

The Doctor looked at her with bewilderment, but with her eyes closed, he snuck some fear into the gaze. “Well, up you get. Lets get you to your room.” With his arm slung around her, they sloppily made it to the ladder lowered beneath the grates.

“I’m finding the lack of stairs here very inconvenient,” she joked, practically falling into the Doctor’s arms at the bottom of the ladder.

He smiled though his brow was tense, “I’ll keep that in mind when I do renovations.”

(Y/N) was dragging her feet by the time they entered her bedroom. It was quite a bit different since she first moved in. After a few shopping trips and cleaning sprees, it was positively habitable. At least that’s what the Doctor called it.

He gently laid her on the bed and went to pull off her sneakers, “I’ll get you some water. Maybe you’re just coming down with something.”

“I never get sick, remember.” She had a hand over her eyes.

The Doctor pulled the sheets to her chin and gave such an intense look of concern he knew she’d make fun of him if she saw. But that was always the Doctor’s way. He waited for when she wasn’t looking.

“You also are adjusting to a new lifestyle,” he muttered, noticing the TARDIS lowering the brightness of the lights. “Maybe you’ve finally hit a wall.” When he turned to give her time to rest, she raised her voice.

“Don’t go,” she called, regretting how it made her head pound, “I hate it when you leave me alone. I know you’re off having more fun without me.”

He grinned, a feeling of elation and triumph centering in his chest. He scolded himself.

“I know you’re not used to the sickbed, but usually this is when the ill rest.”

“I thought we just agreed I’m not ill.”

“You are fatigued.”

“And see how you didn’t use the word ill?”

He sighed out that easy smile that came whenever she bickered with him. He ran a hand over his face and returned to her bedside, “You’re growing as stubborn as me.”

“You know I fall asleep faster when you tell me stories.”

“Oh, great. Thanks,” he laughed, choosing one of the comfy reading chairs (Y/N) furnished her room with – he pulled it closer to the bed.

She smirked, settling into the covers, “You know what I mean. They’re not boring… they’re soothing.”

“You just like hearing me talk,” he cheekily intertwined his fingers before him, “Besides, I shouldn’t be disturbing your rest.”

“Then why have you pulled up a chair?”

He observed that her eyes were still closed, though her brow was no longer pinched in pain. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t sneak out of bed before you’re properly feeling better.”

“Nah – you’re just in denial.”

The Doctor felt his joints freeze into place. It took a few moments for him to ensure his voice was steady, “Denial?”

She fisted the sheets and tucked them under her chin, it was ridiculously adorable. “You won’t admit we’ve become friends despite our agreement when we first met. You care about me more than just someone who has a mystery about them.”

Did she think because she had a ring on her finger she could toy with him like this?

“I thought I didn’t need to say it aloud, (Y/N).” He stared at her serene face, propping an elbow on the armrest of the chair. He put a finger to his chin, “Did you believe I didn’t think that?”

“Oh, I knew you cared from the moment Jack offered to take me dancing.” If her head weren’t about to explode, she might have burst into a round of giggles.

The Doctor held back a frustrated groan at the memory, “I was only looking out for you – Jack can be…”

“A catch?”

He paused, staring at her with more longing than he ever allowed himself, “A dog.”

She grinned but winced. Almost instinctually the Doctor leaned over from his seat and rested an arm on the mattress.

“You okay?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, attempting to relax her face. “Tell me about Shakespeare again. Did he really have a full head of hair?”

The Doctor made sure her eyes were still closed as he lightly grazed a few fingers along her hairline, “He also was a terrible flirt.” He pushed the strands of hair away from her face.

“Bet Martha didn’t mind.”

“She said he had bad breath.”

“Then tell me about the mannequins – that one always gives me the creeps.” She felt her heart stutter as he continued to lean against her mattress. “Or maybe the TVs that sucked your faces off!”

He hummed, a deep sound from his chest, “Those stories won’t help you sleep.”

There was a moment of silence as (Y/N) simply took in the calming presence of him. One of the first things the Doctor promised her upon meeting was that he would keep her safe. And she felt it. She was safe with him.

“Tell me about the orange sky then.”

His chest ached. He knew exactly what she was asking for.

“The silver trees and the red grass,” she muttered, snuggling into her pillow, “Remind me how many times you failed your school exams.”

The Doctor chuckled, that ache threading up and making his throat dry, “All right.” He couldn’t help himself; he moved a hand and cupped her cheek. The same one he held when she woke from her coma.

~~~

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The usual comfort of her favorite watch wasn’t coming to her this time. She was staring intently at her engagement ring. Pulled off her finger and held to the light, it glittered mockingly.

Months, she reminded herself, months she had been away from home. Didn’t she care about how Andy was doing at all?

Of course she did.

But did she care enough to run home to him and plan that wedding and live the rest of her life as a primary school teacher married to a nurse?

Apparently not.

But why was that? As she stared at the ring, she didn’t feel what she ought to have been. She should feel as though she were engaged to the man of her dreams, anxious and excited to be married. The thought of him should give her butterflies. The sound of his voice should make her heart skip.

Why wasn’t she feeling that anymore?

The Doctor.

No, it couldn’t be. She was losing those feelings long before the Doctor pulled her from her classroom.

Great – now her thoughts were settling on the Doctor. That brown eyed beauty. Did he know how conflicted he was making her feel? The wonderful bastard.

She peered at the engagement ring for a while longer, wondering how she was going to tell Andrew that she was having second thoughts. That there was a reason she was so willing to abandon her earth life and run away with an alien man in a time machine.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

A sudden flash of memory fought for room in her head: the Doctor brushing her hair away, gently tucking her in and whispering the story of his home planet. Of Gallifrey beneath the burnt orange sky.

She shook her head. If she were to make a bulleted list of things to know about the Doctor, it would start with:

1. Stay near him; he’ll know what to do

2. He will keep you safe

3. He is incredibly and impossibly alone

4. He cannot share a life with someone he could lose

No, that’s not quite right. The Doctor cannot allow himself to share a life. Every time he does he gets hurt. Hundreds of years of hurt that she couldn’t possibly understand. He told her in strict confidence about some of his old friends he’d lost.

She couldn’t insinuate, couldn’t encourage, being anything more than friends and companions.

She could handle suppressed feelings when the Doctor had been suffering for the majority of his long life.

Besides – she was an engaged woman.

A sudden bout of boredom overcame her. A sensation so powerful and unexpected that she hopped off the bed and began to pace her room. It reminded her dolefully of the Doctor. He was always on his toes, brimmed with impatience and boredom, looking for the next adventure without any proper sleep. Perhaps she was becoming more like him.

She felt immensely better after her fatigue spell. She might as well go find him on the main level.

And there he was tinkering with some wires at the console. “Good morning.”

He grinned, seeking her face immediately, “Hello!” A spark of the wires and a yelp from his lips made her laugh.

“Lets go out.”

The Doctor sucked a burnt finger, but stared at her with a furrowed brow, “You what?”

“I’m bored!”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, “How are you feeling?” He came around the console and approached her sulking figure. “Does your head still hurt?”

She smacked away his hands, “I feel fine. I feel bored. Can we go somewhere exciting?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m not fainting, am I?”

“You could be lying.”

“Since when have you refused to go exploring with me?”

“Since you’ve taken ill and, as your physician, I can’t condone behavior that could make you more ill.”

She put her hands on her hips, “I am not ill!”

His cheeky grin grew, “(Y/N) …”

“Fine!” She threw her hands in the air and made her way towards the innumerable buttons and levers. “I’ll find a place myself.” She started typing on the keypad and twisting a few knobs – the TARDIS immediately responded with a plume of steam and a flurry of flashing lights.

“Woah now!” The Doctor flew over, turning a few things and setting the ship right, “There’s no need to spring a mutiny.” He rounded on her, less kindness in his tone than he’d shown her the past night. But the pleading look on her face had his lungs constricting.

“Please.”

He pondered her expression for a few moments, eyes flickering about her figure to ensure she wasn’t swaying on her feet. As he usually did, he went to stare at the ring on her finger. A painful ritual he caught himself doing regularly.

But the ring wasn’t there.

What had she done?

“All right.” Perhaps she needed to get out of the ship for a while. “I’ve got a planet in mind you’ll find interesting. I haven’t visited in a long time.” He set the course and pulled the lever to start the engines.

(Y/N) beamed, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind. He stiffened. She didn’t notice.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She went to brace herself against the railing and the Doctor cleared his throat.

“It’s called Axiless the First. As you can imagine, the planet is axis – less. It doesn’t spin like many planets do in solar systems. It doesn’t move near as fast because it’s so stationary. That means the day and night cycles last about six months. And the magnetic field that’s usually created from planetary motion, doesn’t exist so there’s no field shielding the planet from UV rays. They have to use sun shields just to go outside!”

The TARDIS bumped to a stop and the Doctor pulled out some shades from a compartment in the center console, “It’s a small colony of people as they do have to live on mid-latitude areas, but it’s fascinating seeing a motionless planet. Imagine if the Earth stopped moving – your oceans would flood the continents.”

He tossed a pair of sunglasses her way. She slid them on with ease, “How do I look?”

It surprised him the amount of heat that crept up his neck. “Uh, f-fine. Suits you.”

She punched his arm playfully, “Come on then.” She bounced towards the doors and missed how the Doctor moved his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He pinched himself.

The doors opened and a gust of hot air swarmed the ship.

The planet looked desolate, a desert of sand and rock. A few bare shrubs were scattered amongst the yellowed stones. There were even a few trees, though their branches were needlelike, and they provided little to no shade.

Sunlight was bathing everything in a harsh glow, it almost looked like waves were radiating off the sand. (Y/N) was slightly afraid to step on it for fear of burning the soles of her shoes. She had her sunglasses on, but she couldn’t help but shade her face with her hands.

“Bit hot, isn’t it?”

The Doctor stood beside her, blowing out his cheeks, “Must’ve landed in the middle of a day cycle. There was a fifty-fifty chance of hitting day or night. These glasses can be used in either cycle – day they’re sunglasses, night they’re night vision goggles.” He groaned, slipping out of his coat and throwing it into the TARDIS, “It’s hotter than I remember it being.”

“You don’t have a Hawaiian shirt in there somewhere?” (Y/N) laughed, stumbling as her feet shifted in the sand. “Surely you wear something more than those two suits.”

“I’ve got a dozen dress shirts and ties.” He started rolling up his sleeves, squinting despite having shades on. “Don’t you go bickering on about my outfits. Why is it hotter than before? The planet moves around their suns so it’s not like the sun has gotten closer and raised the temperature. Like I said before, it’s meant to be warmer than usual, the planet doesn’t spin. They have to keep the sun shields up to keep the harmful ultraviolet rays at bay, otherwise everyone here would burn.”

He started paving the way towards a sand dune; (Y/N) followed closely, feeling her feet heat up with how hot the ground was. “Are you telling me we’ve stumbled upon another doomed planet? What are the odds?”

She laughed but the Doctor ignored her. “The only way the planet could be heating up is if the UV rays have reached the surface. Like a microwave the sun is cooking the planet. Which means there’s nothing stopping the sun. Which means…” he put a hand through his hair, “The sun shields aren’t up and working.”

(Y/N) faltered, stopping at the top of the dune and catching her breath, “I don’t fancy being roasted alive, Doctor.” Below them was a small village, one made of glass and metal. “Do you suppose they know they’re living on a microwave?”

The Doctor wiped the growing sweat on his forehead. “Let’s go find out.”

The colony was little but were awed and welcoming at the presence of (Y/N) and the Doctor. It was impossible, in their eyes, for visitors to want to see their scorching planet. They were directed towards the people in charge, a race of humanoid beings; their eyes were a startling purple, and they had no hair. Intricate and beautiful floral patterns painted their skin and bald heads.

The smartly built huts were just as humid and stuffy on the inside as it was out in the sand. But they were grateful for the shade.

“I’m the Doctor and this is (Y/N),” the Doctor introduced, removing his shades, “We’ve come for a visit and couldn’t help but notice you’re… well, roasting.”

One of the humanoid aliens bowed, “You are correct. Our suns are infiltrating the shields. We’ve been suffering in this heat, unable to do anything.”

“What’s your name?” The Doctor asked, making his way towards a compartment of computers and scientific equipment.

The humanoid appeared to trust him near the technology. “I am Peony. This is my companion, Iris.”

“Like the flowers?” (Y/N) asked, eyeing their floral tattoos. “They’re very pretty names.”

“Yes, we’ve been compared before,” the other called Iris stated, “But the only correlation is that we are born of the ground. We’re planted seeds in a garden and sprout into being.”

(Y/N) gave them an appraising look, “Your babies are grown in the ground?”

“They’re a solitary species, (Y/N),” The Doctor called over his shoulder, “They don’t understand physical touch or procreation like you do.”

“There is no need for such intimacy,” Peony said. And (Y/N) could see how there was a purposeful distance between the two humanoids.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I’d miss the cuddles.”

“Right then,” the Doctor shouted, “What did you mean the suns are infiltrating your shields? They’re only comprised of hydrogen and helium, only hot plasma that reacts to nuclear fusion. It’s not capable of motives like infiltration. That would mean they’d have consciousness.”

Peony and Iris shared a purple-eyed look before stating, “We believe there’s more to it then that.”

“You believe your suns are alive? Like actual beings?” (Y/N) asked, feeling the back of her shirt stick with sweat. “How is that possible?”

The Doctor peered at the information before him, screens that monitored the strength of the sun shields, “There are beings out there that we don’t fully understand. Gargantuan, God-like beings that are too powerful to observe and communicate with. I wouldn’t believe it – only…” He put a finger to his chin, “This chart here shows UV rays behaving like soldiers.”

Iris nodded, walking towards him, “You see them beating against the shield. They’re using physical force.”

“Like the arms of an octopus, they’re reaching out and tapping on the door,” the Doctor muttered, “Right, okay then. What’s the plan?”

A haziness enveloped (Y/N)’s eyes. Oh, no, not this again. She closed her eyes and tried to stay upright, taking deep breaths. She had felt perfectly fine that morning. Must’ve been the blasted heat.

Heat exhaustion. That’s all it was. (Y/N) didn’t get sick – has never been sick.

“We’ve been working on the theory to get the planet spinning again,” Iris stated, “It would create a powerful magnetic field and shield us permanently.”

“What? No. No! You can’t,” the Doctor said, “Making the planet spin would bring disaster to the surface, you will more than likely kill everything trying to survive here. Besides, you’ve got to have a core…”

“Our core is metallic,” Peony interrupted, “And planetary motion will help it create that magnetic field.”

The Doctor was getting that crazed look about him, one that normally pushed him to do rather crazed things. “But don’t you realize when your planet begins to spin again, whether instantaneous or gradual, everything will change. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanos, natural disasters everywhere! The planet surface will slide with the speed, bodies of water will be forced onto land, and plant life will be unable to cope.”

Peony looked at him as if they’d heard such an argument before. “It will also bring balance to the thinning air. We won’t have to only live in certain areas of the planet to breathe. We wouldn’t have to adjust to six month day cycles. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the sun. We are running out of options, Doctor.”

“We are dying either way,” Iris said, “It’s only a matter of which gets us first.”

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.

(Y/N) was leaning heavily against the wall paneling. It was a good thing the Doctor had something to occupy his mind.

“It’s either falling into natural disaster or burning from the sun.”

“There must be another way. Strengthen the shields again,” the Doctor muttered.

Iris waved a hand over to a staircase, one that went underground. “Follow me.”

“It’s no good,” Peony said, “We’ve been exposed to these rays for too long. We thought them simply ultraviolet, but that’s false. These suns are living beings and living beneath them has filled us with toxicity.”

“How’d you mean?” They continued down the stairs, (Y/N) still feeling woozy but appreciating the miniscule temperature drop.

They made it to a doorless room that held a wide window. It looked on at what could only be described as a burn clinic.

“What is this?” The Doctor continued questioning.

The longer (Y/N) looked, the more afraid she became. Numerous of the planet’s species were laying there, each to their own cot. And every one of them was covered in harsh, angry red burns. It looked incredibly painful.

Others in yellow hazmat suits were walking around and applying ointment, taking temperatures, and wiping foreheads. A few of the affected people were writhing in their beds, going mad with the heat. They had to be held down.

“It’s a sickness,” the Doctor whispered, mostly to himself.

“No, they’re just sun burnt,” (Y/N) said with an air of desperation, “Nothing some aloe vera can’t fix.”

“You forget we aren’t dealing with a regular sun,” Peony muttered, “Those are not burns from exposure, they’re from a plague.”

The Doctor leaned against the window, taking in the scene, “You’re dying either way. Sun shields won’t stop them because they aren’t only suns. They have motives and biology and warfare.”

(Y/N) felt her knees shake, unable to tear her eyes away from the camp of victims. It was like a horrific car accident – you couldn’t look away. “Are we safe?”

“You haven’t been exposed that long,” Iris said, “We’ve been living here our whole lives.”

“You only have to worry about those already showing symptoms,” Peony went on, “Don’t go near someone with the plague.”

The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face frustratingly. He was deep in thought, (Y/N) knew, he needed to think of a solution. Because he was brilliant. Because he was the Doctor. And he couldn’t turn away.

“What if we manufacture a magnetic field,” he banged a hand against his forehead, “We don’t have to shield the entire planet, only the parts people can survive in. Oh, my head! We’d need to mine enough metal and charge it with positive and negative energy. But a system could be built where that’s magnified to a specific area.”

Iris and Peony were sharing a silent look again, “That is a possibility we had not thought of.”

“We were busy thinking of the entire planets safety.”

The Doctor suddenly grinned, “But the entire planet isn’t habitable. Only parts. And we can secure those parts. I know I can build it - do you have the metal to wield it?”

“We have a metallic core, Doctor,” Peony smiled, “How else do you think we built these structures?”

Hello, (Y/N).

“What?” (Y/N) looked around, not recognizing the voice that addressed her.

The Doctor faced her, “Sorry?” He was still grinning from his brilliance.

“I thought…” she paused, very conscious of the sweat falling down the side of her face. “Nothing, I thought I heard something.”

You did.

“Right, lead the way,” the Doctor said, gesturing towards the staircase, “And while we’re at it, maybe I’ll find some revolutionary antibiotics for your patients.”

Your head is strange. Very dark. Very empty. What is hidden behind this steel door?

“What is that?” she questioned but realized that she was now alone in the small, windowed room. “Hello?”

Hello. How do you stand having so much hidden in your head?

“Where are you?”

I’m here. Inside you.

“Very funny,” she wheezed. Her breath left her, much like the night before. “Who are you?”

Ancient. Ancient like your Doctor. You’ve got quite the thought train dedicated to him, haven’t you?

“What are you called then.” Panic. She mustn’t panic.

We have no name. Only fire and ruin and wrath.

“You’re – you’re the sun. The one outside! Is this you infecting me? Am I sick?” She looked at her arms, fear starting to broil. But there were no angry burns appearing there.

This is our form of communication. We are so far away. The shields have dampened our telepathic field.

“Well, what do you want then? Why are you talking to me?”

There was silence for a few moments before:

I was bored.

The same reason she and the Doctor came to the planet. She was bored.

“And are you entertained now?” the edge of mockery in her voice was satisfying. But her head was beginning to pound.

You’re very strange. Very weak. Are you aware of how weak you are?

“Shut up!”

“(Y/N)?”

She whirled around and found the Doctor at the bottom of the stairs. She was breathing heavy, sweat dripping from her chin and hands.

“Who’re you talking to?” He kept his face calm, void of the real emotion he was feeling. Fear.

She swallowed, finding her throat remarkably dry, “No – no one.”

Interesting.

“Are you all right?” He took a few cautious steps towards her, his shirt sleeves still rolled up and his tie now loosened. She eyed him thoughtfully. Too thoughtfully.

Very interesting.

“I’m fine. The heat – it’s too much for me,” she cracked a lackluster smile, “It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

The Doctor nodded carefully, raising a cautious hand and touching her shoulder. He pulled back almost immediately.

“What is it?”

Clever Doctor.

He stared at her with newfound confusion. The stare was so intense she felt as though she were being x-rayed.

“What have you done to her?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Can you hear him?” (Y/N) asked, whispering despite knowing the being could hear perfectly fine.

The Doctor refused to look away from her, “Answer me.”

You have some interesting trains of thought as well, Doctor. Very secret and very guarded.

“He’s in your head too?” (Y/N) looked back at the Doctor, trying her best to stay afloat. Her headache was becoming all consuming, she couldn’t ignore it much longer. Perhaps her wobbly knees will give way first.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, a few fingers to his temple, “You should ask for permission before you go snooping around.”

Ah, Time Lord – you have telepathy of your own.

“You have no right to this world,” he continued, “No right to consume what you don’t need.”

The man that regrets.

(Y/N) could feel the tension seizing the Doctor. She trailed her suddenly tired eyes towards his face. He wasn’t holding back now, he was upset – he was hurting. The label struck a cord in him. It made him think of an impossibly long list of heartaches.

And his companion: the dying girl.

She held her breath. That was a label she didn’t recognize.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t talk to it,” The Doctor said, moving his fingers from his head towards (Y/N)’s. “I’ve shut him out of my mind. Now I’ll shut him out of yours.”

You should be afraid. Be very afraid you weak, dying girl.

“Stop it,” she said. She wrapped her hands around the Doctor’s wrists, shutting her eyes tight against the words he could no longer hear. A burning like nothing else was heating her bones, it started low and began to grow until it was scorching.

“Stop it, stop it! PLEASE.”

“I’ve almost got it, (Y/N),” the Doctor ground out, “Bear with me, I’ve got you.”

No ones got you. You’re alone. Void of memories. Family. Life. Your time is up, dying girl.

Blisters erupted on her arms, searing away her skin. “Please! STOP IT.” Unexpected tears ran hot down her sweltering face. Sweat made her rosy cheeks shine.

There is no help coming. You are meant to die. From the moment you woke you were meant to be dead.

And snap. Her head was silent.

She fell into the Doctor’s arms, trembling and burning. He clutched at her, saying words that she couldn’t make out. White noise was shoving cotton in her ears. There was a scent of smoke in the air. Was that coming from her?

And she fainted.

~~~

It was bright. So bright.

There were shadows passing behind her eyelids and she was reluctant to open them. Every bone in her body, every joint, ached and burned. She was suddenly very aware of her limbs and how sore they were.

“What happened?”

Someone was near her, ready to answer, “You were filled with tendrils of that sun being energy. He stuck a needle into your mind and poisoned you. It was an instantaneous infection.”

She cracked open one eye to give him a look. It almost made him smile.

“He gave you the plague. You’ve been sick.”

She groaned, “If this is what being sick feels like, I’ve been terribly naïve.” She felt a hand on her forehead, and it was cool against the heat of her skin.

“You have been sick for a long while, my child.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. She was surprised to see a cat. A blooming cat.

“Novice Hame, this is (Y/N),” the Doctor frowned. (Y/N) swiveled her gaze from the robed cat to his placid face. He had that expression sometimes when he was dwelling on something particularly sullen or painful.

When he dwelled on the past. Or his regrets. The man that regrets.

“Where am I?”

“Remember that hospital I wanted to take you to all those months ago.” His voice sounded tired. His hand trailed to the back of her head.

Novice Hame purred, “You’re a patient at the New New York Hospital. We’ve been treating you the past few days.”

“Days?” (Y/N) questioned. She tried to sit up, her face pinched in pain, and the Doctor helped her. “What’s happened to Axiless the First?”

“I’ve given them the blueprints, the technology. They’ll be fine. The Sisters of Plenitude provided medicine for their plague victims. They’ll be fine without me.”

“You didn’t stay to help?” She watched him pull his hand away, intertwining his fingers tightly across his stomach. He sat more stony as he watched her without much reaction.

“They’ll be fine. I was needed elsewhere.”

The way he stared at her was excruciating. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking.

(Y/N) looked at her arms, searching for the blisters and burns she felt explode on her skin. But they were clear, “I don’t look like I have the plague anymore. Why do I feel so sick then?”

“You’re ill with much more,” Novice Hame said, moving towards the bed and fiddling with a side table of medications. “Like I said, you’ve been sick for a long while.”

“How long? Sick with what?” She put a hand to her head, feeling faint again. “I don’t get sick, nurse.”

The cat smiled with pointed teeth, “We’re still working it out.”

“You don’t get sick with human disease, (Y/N). We’re talking about alien disease.” The Doctor put more inflection in his voice though his face was still flat. “I should’ve taken you to this hospital the first chance I got,” he whispered.

“Alright, now you’re scaring me.” (Y/N) turned towards the novice and asked, “Tell me.”

The cat woman appeared conflicted, as if she didn’t know where to begin. But she shared a look with the seated Time Lord and sighed, “As far as we can tell – you’ve been ill all your life.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N) flickered her gaze towards the Doctor and saw the sorrow creep into his face.

“You still feel sick because it wasn’t just the sun plague that was ailing you,” Novice Hame continued, folding her hands in front of her, “The Doctor tells me you’ve been experiencing fatigue, dizzy spells, the last few weeks.”

She swallowed hard, “I’ve been tired is all.”

“You’ve been experiencing withdrawal.”

(Y/N) blinked, then scoffed, “Withdrawal?”

“Your body is dependent on a substance to keep it going. Since leaving Earth, you haven’t been receiving it.”

She glared at the cat, as if saying she’d better keep talking before something bad happens. The Doctor remained silent, sitting as still as he could but never taking his eyes off of (Y/N)’s reaction.

“While you were healing from the plague, we took the liberty of analyzing your blood. Over three-quarters of the cells there were mutated. They were defected, synthesized cells. They were still fully functioning; they just weren’t natural. They didn’t come from you.”

“Is that… is that why you were able to track me?” She addressed the Doctor.

If possible, his frown deepened. “Your particle trail. It was traceable because your biology has been tainted with a traceable substance.”

“What is this substance?”

Novice Hame continued, “The human body depends on constant cell replacement to survive. When you have a cut, the body creates new cells to heal it. When you scrape your skin, your body creates cells to replace it. Blood cells are used for so many things that they tire and die, and then must be replaced to keep the body functioning. Without cell replacement, oxygen won’t get to your organs. Nutrients won’t replenish growth. Nerves would become defective.”

“Alright, I get it,” (Y/N) said, her head aching with the upheaval of information. “Cells are important. I asked what the substance was in my body.”

“I’m telling you that’s what the substance does. This substance is acting as those new cells replacing your old ones. For some reason, your body has stopped producing its own cells, it’s completely dependent on outside help.”

“But – but if I’ve been dependent on whatever that is my entire life… how have I been getting it without realizing it?”

There was a long pause as the cat woman debated her phrasing. “Have you been in contact with someone or some place on a regular basis? A regular visit maybe that would give enough time for someone to administer the cells?”

“Well, the only person I see almost every day is my fiancé Andrew. The only person I see on a regular basis is Andrew.”

“And you haven’t seen him in months,” The Doctor muttered.

Novice Hame sighed, her voice delicate and feline, “What do you know of your fiancé?”

(Y/N) stared at her incredulously, “You’re not suggesting… you think my Andy has something to do with this?”

“He’s been with you from the moment you woke up,” the Doctor said with more of an air of thinking aloud. “Said so yourself, he was the first face you saw.”

Not true. And he knew it.

“Then we have reason to believe that this Andrew has been secretly giving you a substance of synthesized human DNA regularly. And you are in dire need of a cell replacement.”

(Y/N) sat there, a strange itch in her hands. She felt like she should be doing something. She felt like she needed to be moving. Her breathing was becoming heavy, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “Why would he make me addicted to something like that? And I need it to live?”

“Yes,” Novice Hame said, “We’ve been trying to get your body to regenerate cells on its own again, but to no avail. This drug substance is powerful and foreign.”

“And you can’t just make more of the drug?”

“I’m so so sorry.” The Doctor had finally put his face in his hands.

Novice Hame remained solemn, “We don’t understand its compounds. It may be synthesized, but we don’t know how to replicate it.”

They were silent again, except for the rapid breathing coming from (Y/N). She could feel the tears trying to creep into her vision.

“So I’m an addict, that’s it? I’m an addict with a drug dealer fiancé. Why would the Reapers want me for that?”

The Doctor stood from his chair, pacing in front of the bed, “And how could my alien tracer track you if this substance is only defected, synthesized human DNA? That’s not alien.”

“The mutations were manufactured by something alien; it always leaves a trace.”

“And the Reapers come after beings they believe have cheated death,” the Doctor continued, pacing with new purpose.

(Y/N) felt her eyes water further, “The dying girl.”

The Doctor snapped his attention to her.

“I was called the dying girl. Apparently I’m supposed to be dead. Meant to have died.”

He looked at her with fierceness, jutting a finger at Novice Hame, “You are going to find a cure.”

“But Doctor…”

“You are going to find a cure and fix this!” a deep seeded power was entering his voice. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, (Y/N) figured she’d ought to have been afraid. “She is going to get better. She has to!”

(Y/N) felt a pang in her gut.

“We’re going to ask dear old Andrew a few questions,” the Doctor continued, an ancient anger in his expression. “And we’re going to get you well. He’s bound to have more of that drug.”

“Doctor, she is very weak, you’re going to have to be careful.”

He put his hands on the railing at the foot of her bed. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to lose her. Not today.”

And (Y/N) believed him. Those tears left salty tracks down her cheeks as she stared at him. But if he didn’t lose her today, then when?

He cannot share a life with someone he could lose. Not so easily.

~~~

If you wish to be added to this series tag list specifically, don’t be afraid to ask!

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @zerocanonlywriteshit @youcandalekmyballs

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

277 notes · View notes

foreverfallingforthestars · 3 years

Text

tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light

Title from Taylor Swift's Never Grow Up, and this is stupidly fluffy, but that's apparently all I can do in 1k unless I totally go tragedy lmao

Word Count: 1100 Read on AO3 Rowaelin Month Master list

Day 2 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: College/University AU

~~~~

It was strange how accustomed Rowan had become to Aelin's presence in his life. At first, she was simply an acquaintance in his life as they shared classes until several study sessions led to them simply hanging out together as friends. Eventually, even that had progressed into dates, their barely existing relationship turning to a dedicated, loving one

It was hard at first, balancing college and internships with their newfound relationship. When they first started dating, they figured the only chance would be the physical touching, but it was more than that. All Rowan wanted to do was spend time with her, but he couldn't.

Being a year older than Aelin, Rowan had graduated first and found a job, one that was thankfully nearby the university, so it was only natural that Aelin moved in with Rowan for her senior year.

It took a bit of adjustment, though. Rowan and Aelin both had to learn how to live around the fact that Rowan now had a set 8-4 schedule of working while Aelin was up at random times studying. They had to get used to sleeping beside each other only to adjust to sleeping without each other, as well.

Tonight, it seemed, was one of those nights where they wouldn't get to sleep beside each other, and normally Rowan didn't really have a problem, except his brain wouldn't shut up. He tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in, but it wasn't working until Aelin walked in close to midnight. He watched as she went straight to the bookshelf and picked out a book without even turning the light on. She must've done this several times while he slept.

"Hey," he whispered into the darkness, causing her to jump.

"Holy shit," she cursed, whirling around to face him. "Why are you awake?!" Aelin walked over to the bed, sitting on her side and turned the bedside lamp on.

"Couldn't sleep," he responded. Aelin sighed before setting the book down and snuggled into bed. "You're sleeping?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her and already feeling calmer.

She nodded into his shoulder, and he sighed, letting himself sink into the bed. As he focused on Aelin's slow breathing in his arms, his mind finally quieted down. He could feel himself slowly falling asleep, and Rowan realized that maybe his problem was just the fact that he was getting used to having her in his arms despite their differing schedules. The last coherent thought he had was of how sweet Aelin’s shampoo smelled.

Rowan must’ve slept for a couple of hours when he twitched and woke up. Blinking a few times, he found himself facing away from Aelin, so when he turned around, he froze upon realizing that she wasn’t there in bed. The en suite bathroom light wasn’t on, which meant she wasn’t in the room. He sat up, his limbs and back aching slightly. He picked up his phone, realizing that he had only slept for about three hours, and that just meant that Aelin hadn’t been asleep for very long either.

Rowan slowly padded out of the bedroom and towards the living room where he now saw a dim light on in the kitchen, and he leaned against the doorway when he found Aelin hunched over the dining table, her laptop in front of her along with a notebook and textbook. Nearby was also an empty glass and plate, and he realized that maybe she’d never fallen asleep at all.

“Hey, babe,” he softly called out, stepping towards her, and she jerked in her seat before turning around to face him with a hand covering her heart.

“Jesus, you need to stop scaring me.” Rowan cracked a smile at that as he sat into the seat next to her.

“What are you doing? It’s 3AM, Aelin.”

“I’m studying,” she replied with a sheepish grin. Her eyes were sunken in, and her hair was carelessly thrown into a bun with strands falling out everywhere. It was clear that she was exhausted, but oftentimes university classes didn’t care for that, and he hated that he was free from that world, and she wasn’t.

“I know, but you’re not going to retain any information if you’re dead tired,” he responded, shifting closer so he could wrap an arm around her shoulder. He felt her melt into him, settling her head on his shoulder.

“But I really need to finish this,” she whispered.

“It can wait till tomorrow. You need to sleep. Did you even go to sleep?” he asked, looking down at her.

She looked away from him, biting her lip before she responded, “No. As soon as you fell asleep, I got up.”

“So you just had a three hour study session?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Then you’re fine. If you’ve been studying this long, you deserve to sleep for at least eight hours. Now come on, I’ll take tomorrow off if that helps.” He stood up, dragging her with him.

“No, Rowan, You can’t take off for me.”

“I can, and I will,” he insisted. “I don’t even care if you call me buzzard all day, but I’m making sure that you’re sleeping.” Rowan took her hand and tangled her fingers with his and started pulling her to their bedroom.

Aelin cracked a smile at that. “You love that nickname.”

He did, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “No, I don’t, and there’s nothing you can do to make me change my mind. School can wait.”

“Wow, someone should’ve said that to you a year ago,” Aelin teased as

“Someone did,” he laughed. “It was you. Maybe you should take your advice?”

“Pft, who takes their own advice nowadays?” He let go of her to sit down on his side of the bed while she climbed in on her side, and they laid down, settling in to face each other.

“Someone who looks like they’ve seen better days,” he answered, taking a wayward strand of hair and twirling it around his finger.

Aelin scoffed, playfully pushing his hand away from her. “Wow, rude. It’s 3AM!”

“Never stopped you before from teasing me.”

“Because it’s supposed to be me doing the teasing in this relationship,” she grumbled as she snuggled in closer to him.

“Yeah, well if this continues, it’s going to be me, and you can’t say anything about it because I’m feeding you.”

“I can just order in.”

“No, you won’t. You love my food too much.”

“Ugh, fine. Only because of your food, though.”

“Alright,” he laughed, “whatever helps you sleep.”

#rowaelinmonth #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #college au #university au #fake dating #romance #they're too cute your honor #insane fluff #wrote this during class lol

79 notes · View notes

nerdzzone · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

One of the challenges of sharing custody is sharing holidays which is something that Whitney Taylor found herself struggling with in the December of 2019. The prospect of spending Christmas without her son was dismaying, but the complications that come with the alternative might be even harder to face.

Chris Evans x OFC

Note: Thank you to everyone who has read, liked or commented on this story! I appreciate the support.

This was the entirety of my original plot, it was just supposed to be a one shot when I started writing it, but it took on a life of it’s own. There’s quite a bit more to come now so I hope no one is too disappointed by the way this ends! I’ve started working on the sequel and have it all mapped out, but I probably won’t post it until it’s mostly finished like I did with this one. So, keep your eyes peeled and please let me know your thoughts!

Part Two

—-

Part Three

26. 12. 19

Waking up, it took a few moments for the memories of the night before to come back to me. When they did, I was filled with relief that I was alone and Chris was no where to be seen. My head throbbed, partially from the alcohol I'd consumed and partially because of the regrets that were filling my mind.

How could we be so stupid? So reckless? How could we risk everything that we'd built for Grayson just for a few moments of relief? How would I be able to push my feelings for Chris aside again after sharing such intimacy with him?

It broke my heart to make the decision to be friends the first time we found ourselves in this situation, how could I be foolish enough to put myself through that again?

I turned my head and groaned into the pillow, a much more distressed, melancholy groan than the ones leaving my lips the night before. I felt like an idiot and I was dreading facing Chris.

After taking another moment to chastise myself for my bad choices, I checked my phone to see the time and was shocked. It was already almost nine thirty and I hadn't heard a peep from the rest of the house. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't have time to mope around in bed, puzzling out what to do.

So, I took just enough time to decide that I needed to make a quick exit before getting up to get myself ready to leave.

When I got to the kitchen, it was surprisingly quiet. None of the men or children were anywhere to be seen as Lisa, Shanna and Carly tidied up the dishes from the breakfast that I'd missed. Apparently, there was another snow storm forecast to start by the early afternoon and everyone had headed out into the snow as soon as they'd finished eating to start shovelling so that we could all leave before it hit.

I was relieved by their quick action because even if I had to shovel the whole driveway by myself and then drive home in a blizzard, I was not sticking around for another night.

Lisa had tried to convince me to let her cook me breakfast, but my stomach was in too many knots to even think about food. I politely declined and settled for a banana and a cup of coffee, chatting with the women as I ate. It distracted me for a while as I tried to shut off some of the noise in my brain, but once I was finished, I knew I had to face the music and head outside.

By the time I got out there, Chris, Scott and their brother-in-law were already halfway down the driveway which was an impressive feat considering how long it was. I waved to them as I put my bag in my car before heading towards where the children were playing in the front yard.

"Mama!" Grayson cheered as I approached them. "Look! We're building a snowman!"

I looked at the sloppy pile of snow they were assembling and smiled.

"Wow, I can see that! Great job, guys!"

He grinned as he ran over to me and threw his arms around my legs. It was a feeling that never got old and I leaned down to squeeze him closer, trying to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me. He was the most important thing in our situation and we'd lost sight of that.

"Can you help us?"

"Of course," I nodded. "But I need to go talk to your daddy real quick, okay? Then I'll be right back."

"Okay!"

With that, Grayson bolted back over to his cousins to continue their little project. They were so good with him, including him in their games and activities despite his young age and I was happy that he had such good role models to play with. Leaving them under Dodger's watchful eye, I took a deep breath and headed down the driveway to Chris.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Scott shouted over, the first to notice me coming their way. "Thanks for getting up so early to help us shovel the driveway."

I laughed at his sarcasm and stuck out my tongue, but when he shot me a knowing wink, I felt my cheeks burn. Of course Chris would tell him. I should have expected it, they were as close as brothers could be and Chris was always open with his family.

But it just made me feel worse about the conversation I was about to have as I went over to Chris. Luckily, he was on the opposite side of the driveway to the other two. At least that would give us a modicum of privacy.

"Hey, good morning," he grinned. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," I returned his smile, though mine was much more forced. "Thanks for letting me sleep in."

"Grayson wanted to wake you up at breakfast," he admitted, looking over at our son as he spoke. "He was worried that you'd be hungry when you woke up and there would be no more food left."

I couldn’t help, but laugh at the thought of his concern.

"He's too sweet, but I appreciate you stopping him," I admitted. "I guess I was tired out after last night."

"Last night," Chris smirked. "Last night was..."

He trailed off as he tried to think of a word to describe it, but my smile disappeared entirely as I could tell from the look on his face that we weren't reflecting on our little incident in the same way. So, I beat him to the punch.

"Last night was a mistake."

My words hung between us for a moment and I knew, from the way that his jaw dropped slightly as if I'd just slapped him across the face, that he wasn't happy with what I'd said.

"Oh, don't give me that crap!" He protested once my words had sunk in, keeping his voice low enough that no one would be able to overhear. "You're saying that it meant nothing to you?"

I really wished we weren't outside with so many watchful eyes around, but this conversation needed to be had and at least this way I'd have an excuse to keep things brief.

"I'm saying that it shouldn't have happened," I clarified, my voice wavering slightly as I questioned my own confidence in my words. "We've worked hard to keep things as stable as possible for Grayson and that's what we need to stay focused on."

"So, you just want to pretend that it never happened?"

My heart felt like it was in a vice. I didn't want to pretend it never happened. I wanted to be with Chris, I wanted us to give it a shot, but I knew that it wouldn't work. I was nothing compared to the women that Chris usually dated and when it all fell apart, Grayson would be the one stuck in the middle. It wasn't fair to him.

But that knowledge didn't make it any less painful when I nodded my head.

"I think that's for the best."

Chris scoffed, looking down at the snow as if he couldn't even stand to look at me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or cry and throw myself into his arms so I settled for simply standing there quietly, waiting for him to say something.

It felt like an eternity, but after a minute or two of total silence, he finally spoke.

"Just let me make sure that I'm getting this right," he started, looking back up at me with such an intensity that it made my eyes swim with tears. “You really have no feelings for me at all? Because if you feel even a little bit like I do then you couldn’t possibly think you’re making any sense right now.”

I swallowed hard, trying to come to terms with the situation that I found myself in. A situation where Chris could be standing in front of me, telling me that he had feelings for me after all these years that we’d been determined to be just friends. It would have felt like a cruel joke if there wasn’t so much hurt in his eyes, so much fear that I was about to reject him. Fear that proved to be entirely justified when I finally got my emotions under control enough to answer him.

"It doesn't matter," I told him softly. "It's not about what I feel or what you feel. We have someone more important to consider."

“That's bullshit!"

I flinched at the harshness of his words and his raised voice as Scott shouted over a reminder about language as the kids weren't very far away. I could feel the tears still filling my eyes, but I knew I had to stick to my guns.

"It's not bullshit," I insisted. "It's the right thing to do."

"But you said yourself, he's starting to notice that things are different," Chris pointed out, his voice thankfully much softer than it had been moments ago . "Why not take the chance to give him a normal family if that's what we both want anyway?"

"Because it will hurt him more if it doesn't work out."

"Hurt him?" Chris questioned, his scowl deepening. "Or hurt you?"

Both of us.

The truth was that I was worried that Chris would hurt me just as much as I worried that our decision would hurt Grayson, but I could handle the risk to myself if it was my choice. I couldn't handle our son being collateral damage.

I could feel Chris' gaze locked intently on me, but I couldn't lift my eyes to meet his. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold onto my argument when the decision I was making wasn't even what I truly wanted. I needed this conversation to end before I let my guard down and made anymore stupid choices.

"We can't talk about this here, Chris."

"Well, when will we talk about it then?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I need to think."

Chris shook his head as a sigh fell from his lips. He looked defeated.

"Alright."

I took that as an end to the conversation and turned to walk away, but I'd only made it a few steps when Chris called out to me again.

"I care about you, Whitney," he told me as I looked back over my shoulder. "This wasn't nothing to me. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to make this work."

That only made me feel worse as I had done it without such noble intentions and with doubt still plaguing my mind. I felt cowardly, but I couldn't bring myself to answer him as I looked away and continued on my way back towards our son.

I stayed outside, playing with the kids in the snow, until the driveway was clear. Once my car was free, I scooped Grayson up and said my goodbyes.

"Be good for your dad, okay?"

"Okay, Mama!" He smiled, pressing a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek. "I love you!"

"I love you too, buddy. I'll see you in a few days."

I put him down and waved as he ran back to follow his cousins who were heading inside.

Turning back to my car, I wasn’t entirely surprised to see Chris leaning against the hood. However, I was surprised to see that the scowl that had been firmly on his face since we talked had eased somewhat and I was even more surprised when he pulled me into a hug as soon as I was close enough.

"Drive safe," he warned me. "The roads still look pretty bad."

"I will," I nodded, easing myself out of his grip. "And I'm sorry, Chris. I really am."

"Don't sweat it." He shrugged, but the dejected look on his face did little to assure me that he accepted my apology. "We'll talk soon though, right?"

I nodded and stepped back, moving to get into my car as Chris moved away from the hood.

He stayed there on the driveway, watching me as I turned the car around and waving as I drove off until he was out of sight.

I felt exhausted and heavy. There were tears brewing in my eyes as I turned onto the road, just as they had been when I drove these streets on Christmas Eve as I was taking Grayson to dad's house and thinking I would be spending the holidays alone. It was amazing to me how I managed to escape the sad, bleak Christmas that I had been anticipating at that point, and yet still somehow managed to come away feeling just as lonely.

And it was amazing to me that I ever let myself think that raising a child with Chris Evans wouldn't be emotionally draining as long as we weren't in a relationship. At this point, it seemed to just make things harder, but I knew that one day both of them would thank me for the sacrifice I was making right now.

I knew that it was the right decision for all three of us and one little slip up, one lapse in judgment and will power, wouldn't derail all the hard work that Chris and I had put in to co-parenting our son.

Or, at least, I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't.

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans x ofc #once bitten twice shy

189 notes · View notes

alicedopey · 3 years

Text

Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Ivar x plus-size reader

Genre: Modern AU, Smut, Romance

Words: 3034

Warnings: Smut, oral (giving and receiving), self-depreciation

Summary: Working with Ivar has triggered something in your mind, especially at night.

A/N: This was supposed to be posted for @flowers-in-your-hayr ‘s birthday but is now my contribution to her 650 followers celebration. (Moodboard is her own creation) Enjoy !

“Mr Ragnarsson, I…”

“Ivar, call me Ivar.”

It seemed accurate, since he was balls deep inside you.

“Ivar”. You were painting. “I’m going to come.”

Your words made him thrust deeper into you. “Then come, Y/N. Come on my cock.”

His hips were snapping madly. He was close to his release as well. You could tell by the way his brows were tightly knit or his mouth was making this sexy pout you liked so much.

You raised your hips to meet his, he viciously grabbed your thigh and dived even deeper into you, touching your cervix in the most delicious way. A scream fell from your lips.

Eyes wide opened, you woke up in your bed. Sweat was dripping down your bed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you rolled on the side to check your alarm and your eyes widened even more when you realized you had overslept again. Fifteen minutes was not much but it was still a lack of fifteen minutes in your morning routine before going to work.

You jumped out of bed and into the shower. The hot water helped your muscles relax. Those dreams were driving you crazy.

They had begun a few weeks ago when you were assigned to work with Ivar Ragnarsson on a very important contract. Since you spoke many languages fluently, the Ragnarssons considered you as one of the most valuable employees in their firm. When Bjorn had offered you to work alongside his little brother, you were flattered. Scared, but flattered. After all, Ivar had grown quite a reputation and the last thing you wanted was to end up like his personal punching ball.

Yet, working with him had revealed itself to be quite an adventure – and not in a bad way. Ivar was witty and passionate. He was sometimes treating you like an assistant, especially in front of his brothers but he was bearable most of the time.

The real problem were those dreams that had been haunting you during your sleep for a while now. Of course, they were mostly about sex: him taking you on your bed, in his office, against the wall, in his car…

The first time it happened you had laughed, figuring it was just a fantasy. He was quite a sight, after all. Second and third times were annoying. Then, it took place once or twice a week…and it started affecting the way you were behaving at work. A mere glance his way and you instantly became an awkward mess. Ivar would mostly get irritated, which made the situation worse and he ended up looking at you as if you had grown two heads.

If only you could make them stop but the more you wished for your crazy mind to leave you alone at night, the more you dreamt about him. So much that you had to admit to yourself you were falling for your boss. A boss who, according to flawless creatures he took to his bed, would certainly not glance at you for one second. You and your curves, you and your fat….no, definitely not his type you thought as you straightened your blouse over your wide hips a few minutes later before leaving for work.

Ivar was not there yet when you arrived at the office. You almost ran to the conference room in order to get everything ready for the presentation. It had to be perfect or he would throw a fit. Every brother would start yelling at the others and you would be blamed by Ivar in the end.

“Everything ready?”

You jumped, hearing Ivar’s voice and turned your eyes towards him. He was nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes”, you let out in a whisper.

His eyes scanned the room to check how you had everything settled. “You did well.”

“Thanks.” You squeaked nervously.

Ivar chuckled at your reaction. A shiver rand down your spine. “Don’t be nervous, everything will be fine. We worked hard on this.”

If only he knew what you were really nervous about…

His brothers arrived shortly afterwards. Thankfully, Bjorn didn’t have the glorious idea to invite his mother to join the meeting or Ivar would have already been in a very bad mood.

They all took place around the table. You started the presentation to explain your line of work. Then, Ivar introduced the society you wanted to merge with and what the Ragnarssons’ firm could benefit from it.

As you listened to Ivar’s voice, you couldn’t help looking at his hand moving on the board. His strong firm hand…

“Sill here?”

You looked up, Ivar was eying you up and down, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you crossed your arms in front of you so that Ivar would not see too much of your curves.

“Yes. Your brother asked me to get some things ready for the big meeting with your uncle tomorrow. “

You thought he would leave after that but he kept staring at you while you stood there awkwardly.

“Need some help?”

“No, no…I’m almost done, thanks.” You stammered. Ivar never offered help to anyone.

He took a few steps towards you and took one of the files you had put on the meeting table to read it. “Looks like you worked hard. Bjorn will be glad.”

He smiled. A real smile that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He let go of the file which landed back on the table and set his eyes on you. The look he gave you made your heart flutter in your chest again. Lost in his mesmerizing eyes, you noticed he was closer when he put his hand on your hip. Your breath quickened. The heat radiating from his simple touch set your body on fire.

“I’m glad as well. Good job, Y/N.”

You did not hear the words, just watched his lips moving. Those plump tempting lips. Unable to resist the temptation to taste them, you kissed him. Ivar was not surprised. He kissed your back fiercely, his hand tightening its grip on your hip. He made you walk backwards until your thighs touched the table so you could lean on it.

You hiked up your skirt and spread your legs without even realizing it. Your body was acting on its own, all too eager to succumb to desire.

Nonetheless, Ivar did not move an inch and remained still as a statue. He was watching your body like a hawk as if he trying to remember every part of it. If only he could touch you the same way he was looking at you.

“Mr Ragnarsson, please.” You whimpered helplessly.

Ivar just smirked at you and played with the hem of your skirt. Your heart was beating so fast you had the feeling it would get out of your chest any minute now. You wanted him to put an end to your misery so desperately. He knew it and apparently loved watching you squirm, all needy and turned on.

When he finally sneaked his hand under your skirt, you bit your lip to prevent yourself from eliciting a sigh of relief.

His rough fat fingers stroked your skin until they finally reached your panties. His thumb touched your clit through the soft and soaked material. Your lower body lunched forwards, your teeth dug a little deeper in your lip.

“Oh, sweet Y/N…” Ivar whispered in a mocking tone. “Don’t damage those perfect luscious lips. That would be a shame.” He let go of his crutch, his body leaning a bit more on yours. Then, he inserted his thumb between your lips before saying. “Suck this. Pretend it’s my cock. Show me what you can do.”

Your lower lips clenched around nothing at his words. His other thumb pushed against your clit once more, eliciting a whimper to fall from your lips. You started sucking his finger greedily, pretending his cock instead as he had suggested.

“Good girl.” He praised lustfully. “I knew you could do it. Show me how well you can suck my cock.”

His motions on your sensitive nub accentuated and you took his thumb deeper in your mouth. Ivar groaned but ended up retrieving his fingers from your mouth. The two of you exchanged a lustful gaze before he attacked your lips with his mouth. His pace on your clit had become more urgent now. You pulled him against you and embraced him feverishly. Ivar kept kissing and pleasing you. Your body was completely on fire and yet, you were craving for more. So, you embraced him stronger, trying to get as much contact as possible between your two bodies.

Your lower body clenched, your breath quickened and you convulsed against him as you came. Ivar did not let go and made you ride your orgasm until you went limp in his arms. He chuckled, a deep chuckle that sent shivers running down your spine. “Ready for more?”

“If you are…” You whispered against his lips, congratulating yourself at the fact that he shivered because of it.

Emboldened, your palmed him through his trousers. Ivar groaned, pushing his cloth-covered dick into your hand. You rubbed him a few times before undoing his zipper and freeing his erected shaft. It was inviting to the touch, already glistening with pre-cum. But you did not touch him this time. Instead, you hiked up your skirt even higher to reveal your already damp panties that you led slid down your legs.

Ivar licked his lips. He was looking at your body as if he wanted to devour your body in one bite. A whimper left your lips. “Ivar, please…”

“Hmm?” He took his shaft in his hands and started pleasuring himself. “Did you want something?”

“You know what I want.”

“I want you to say it.” He rasped, still playing with himself. “Come on, Y/N. You can do it.”

You tried but no sound came out of your mouth. It was as if your brain did not want to give your body what it was craving.

“Y/N, I’m waiting.”

Once again, you opened your mouth to talk but did not produce any sound.

“Y/N, talk. Y/N ! Mrs Y/L/N !”

Ivar’s snapping voice made you startle. Several pairs of eyes were watching you; some expectant, some irritated. Well, Ivar was irritated.

You felt your cheeks heating under their stares, realizing you had been sex dreaming during a professional meeting.

“I’m sorry. I was…distracted.” Ivar’s glare intensified. He was probably going to strangle you. “You were saying?”

Bjorn explained patiently which points Ivar and you would have to work on. The meeting was adjourned after that. Ivar signaled for you to wait until everyone had left. Once they had, he closed the door and advanced towards you, each step making him grunt.

“We have some changes to do and we have to do them as fast as possible.”

He explained sharply. “Tonight. 7PM sharp. Your place. I’ll bring the wine.”

Then, he got out without waiting for an answer. You stared at his head until he had disappeared, realizing after a few minutes that your boss – who you too often dream about – was going to come to your place.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. You left as soon as you could, went to the grocery store and started cooking dinner the moment you got back home. Once you were finished, you took a shower. Your door bell rang as you were just finishing getting dressed. You threw a last glance in the mirror to check your appearance: leggings and a flowery blouse, casual but not too much. You ran to the door and took a deep breath before opening it.

Ivar had played the casual card as well, wearing dark jeans, a white shirt and a dark jacket under his usual coat.

“Please come in, Mr. Ragnarsson.” You invited him to take off his coat. “I’m going to put this in my bedroom. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

On your way back to the living room, you took some glasses in the kitchen. Ivar was on the couch, the bottle of wine was already cracked open, the files were out. As usual, Ivar did not lose any time so you started working right away, only taking a small break to each the chicken, pasta and salad you had cooked.

“This was nice. It’s been a while since I ate some real food. Drawbacks of being a busy businessman. Guess I need a real woman in my life.”

He smiled genuinely, which made you heart flutter for a second as you remembered your dream from this morning.

“Is there a man in your life enjoying your food?”

You shook your head. “Just cooking for myself.”

“That’s a shame, if you ask me.” He replied casually. “Any man would be damn happy with this. Don’t even cook for my brother Hvitserk or he won’t leave your side.” He smiled again.

Your cheeks heated under the praise. You had heard things about Ivar’s charming power but he rarely showed it at work – which was for the best or you would always be as red as a tomato.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Yes.” You barely whispered and shook your head to clear your mind.

“Are you sure? Because you have been quite distracted lately, just like this morning during the meeting when you completely zoned out.”

“I’m just…tired.” You answered, slightly surprised Ivar was expressing some concern over someone else, especially an employee.

“Troubled sleep?”

Your eyes widened a little. His seemed to twinkle with something else than casual curiosity and you wondered if his question had a deeper meaning for a second before answering.

“You could say that.”

“Hmmm.” He stood up with the help of his crutch. “Well, since we are done here, I’m going let you get some sleep. May I have my coat back, please?”

His question made you realize you might have stared at him for a bit too long.

“Of course.” You almost jumped up from the couch and the both of you headed towards your bedroom.

Once there, you bent over to reach his coat on your bed. When you stood up, your back bumped against Ivar’s chest. Embarrassed, you turned around abruptly and handed him the piece of cloth to your boss. He took it gently from your hands before glancing at your bed.

“So, this is the famous place where you have been having all those troubling dreams.”

Your eyes raised up abruptly to meet his. “There are some things you should definitely not talk about some topics at work, where anybody could hear what you are saying.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. That sexy asshole knew everything about everyone even though you had mentioned it once to one of your closest coworkers.

“One could say you are obsessed. Well, your mind is at least.”

He gave you a teasing smirk which caused your heart to make a somersault in your chest.

“Mr Ragnarsson, I don’t know…”

“Shhh…” He put one finger on your lips and you were reminded of your earlier dream again. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, believe me. Quite the contrary.”

He took your chin between his fingers. His eyes intensely stared at yours.

“Tell me in your dreams, what are we doing in that bed? Are we fucking nice and slow? Or are you making me sweat for it?”

“It depends.” You gasped at your own words.

“Is that so?” Ivar hummed against your lips. “How many dreams did you have, you naughty girl?”

“A few.” You whispered before Ivar took your lips ravenously.

His hands slid down your body to squeeze your plush bottom and push it against your pelvis. In response, you embraced his upper body and dug your nails in his back.

He had awoken a fire in you, you were not even aware you possessed. It was more powerful than in the dreams and so much better that you did not want to it stop.

Breathless, Ivar’s lips left your own to attack your own. Your head fell backwards, heavy pants left your mouth.

“Mr. Ragnarsson, I...”

“Ivar.” He cut you off. “I definitely want you to call me Ivar when you come on my dick.”

That elicited a deep moan to leave your mouth. You dug your nails deeper in his skin and Ivar groaned.

“You were having one this morning, hmm? What were you doing in that dream?” He pushed his erected cock against your core. “Tell me.”

“You were…you were eating me out in the conference room.”

“I like that.” The tip of his tongue tickled your neck. “I can easily picture myself buried between, your thick thighs. What do you say we reenact some of those dreams?”

He was now rubbing himself against you.

“Yes, please.” You whimpered. Nothing was more important now than being under him, screaming his name.

He delicately pushed you backwards until the back of your knees met the bed and you had no choice but to fall on it.

Ivar took off his clothes, you hastily did the same. The two of you exchanged a fiery look, trying to remember every inch of the other’s body. For once, you did not feel ashamed of yours. On the contrary, Ivar’s eyes on you were making you feel like the most desirable human being on earth.

Ivar let his crutch fall on the floor and his naked body finally met yours. You became away right then and now of what was going to happen, meaning sleeping with your boss.

Ivar sensed your discomfort. “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Nothing bad will come out of this. I’m going to make all your dreams come true.”

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia @flowers-in-your-hayr @gearhead66 @tephi101 @therealcalicali @peaceisadirtyword @ivarswickedqueen @ivaraddict @akamaiden @mblaqgi @captstefanbrandt @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @elenarogersbarnes13

#vikings #fanfiction #ivar x plus size reader #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #flowers-in-your-hayr #Smut #romance

231 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

What It Means to Love, 3k

established dean/cas, hurt/comfort, post 15x20, human!cas

day 2 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: hurt/comfort

“Dean, I am perfectly fine, I—” Cas paused, face scrunching up, then he sneezed before he could finish his sentence.

Dean took a step backwards. “Dude, gross! Seriously? Sneeze into your elbow. That’s like preschool 101.”

“Oh, then it’s so great that I went to preschool,” Cas said, managing to sound sarcastic even with his nose stuffed up. Dean winced as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. “It’s not like I haven’t been a human for only three months.”

Right. “Yeah, well, guess this is the perfect introduction." How the hell did Cas manage to still look so adorable slumped against the kitchen counter, clothes wrinkled and nose red? “Welcome to humanity, you have a cold. Here, stop that.” He couldn't watch Cas wipe his nose on his sleeve again. They didn’t have tissues in the kitchen, but he grabbed a napkin and handed it to him. Dutifully, Cas took it and blew his nose. “What you need is to get in some comfier clothes, lay down, and get some sleep.”

Violating the few feet he'd put between them to stay clear of the germs, he stepped closer to loosen Cas' tie. Cas let him, saying, "I can still help research—"

"No, no." Cas leveled him with a glare, but it had lost its bite now that Dean knew he couldn't strike him dead with his angel grace. Okay, it was still pretty menacing. "I'm trying to save your ass. Sam will kill you if you sneeze on his laptop or precious books. Come on, take off the coat, you gotta be burning up."

He was helping Cas slip it off when Sam walked into the kitchen. “Ew, gross," he complained, covering his eyes with his hand, and Dean realized he was essentially undressing Cas in front of the kitchen island. "Get a room."

"Grow up," Dean said, draping Cas' coat and tie over his arm. Okay, so maybe they’d given Sam a reason to be on-guard now, but, "It's not what it looks like."

Sam lowered his hand, then frowned at Cas. "Woah. What happened to you?"

"I'm sick," Cas answered, as if that wasn't obvious enough by his glassy eyes and disheveled appearance.

"Well, uh, wash your hands," Sam said, stepping back as Cas started for the door, Dean following. "Don't wanna spread any germs. And try to stay out of the library."

"Told you," Dean whispered to Cas as they went down the hallway. In their room, he gestured for Cas to sit on the bed as he rummaged through their dresser. “T-shirt and sweatpants,” he said, handing them over.

Cas unbuttoned his white button-down which was identical to the dress shirts he always wore as an angel. Apparently old habits died hard—in this case, an affinity for business casual. Actually, maybe Cas getting sick and out of his old clothes was a good thing. Dean didn't know the last time the trenchcoat had been washed.

Collecting Cas' shirt and pants, he said, “I’ll get rid of these disease-ridden clothes.” He thought he caught Cas rolling his eyes as he pulled Dean’s sweatshirt over his head. "You watch TV or something, I’ll go see if we have cold medicine.”

After starting a load of laundry and raiding the medicine cabinets in the bathroom and cabinets in the kitchen, he returned to the room to find Cas sitting cross-legged under the covers of the bed, remote in his hands.

“Here, you go,” Dean said, handing over a warm mug. Ancient Aliens played on the TV; one of Cas' favorite pastimes was refuting every crazy claim and theory the show presented with his own recollections of the ancient times. “Sam said this tea will help. He ran out to get some medicine.”

Eagerly, Cas took the mug from him and took a large gulp, then coughed. "Ow. It's hot."

"Drink it slowly, idiot."

Cas took a more hesitant sip, then squinted up at him. "This tea is incredibly flavorless."

Dean snorted. "’Cause your nose’s clogged up. And you probably burned your tongue. Another joy of being human."

Groaning, Cas dropped his head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. "Why is being human so difficult?"

Dean inwardly winced at that. Or thought he did so inwardly, but his expression must've revealed something because Cas glanced over at him, then straightened up, nearly spilling his tea. "Dean, I didn't mean anything by that."

Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged and sat down on the other side of the bed. "No, it's fine. You're right, being human sucks."

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world," Cas said.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Cas seemed about to say more, but then he sneezed. Into his elbow this time. Progress.

Ancient Aliens finished, and they got halfway through an episode of UFO Hunters before Cas started to nod off. Dean took the mug from him, and his eyes fluttered open, head jerking up. "I'm fine," he said.

"I know you're tired because you missed them saying aliens created the lost city of Atlantis."

Cas sniffled. "That's ridiculous. Everyone knows Atlantis was formed by—" He was interrupted by a yawn, and Dean made a mental note to return to that subject later.

“Come on, take a nap.”

“I am not a small child, Dean,” Cas protested, but he settled down anyway. Dean couldn’t resist adjusting the covers, essentially tucking him in. He wasn’t trying to baby him, but it was second nature seeing how miserable the guy looked. Turning off the lights, he went to the door. "You good? Need anything else?"

"No." Cas squinted one eye open to look at Dean over the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and, fuck, if he wasn't still the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen, even sick as a dog. "Thank you."

A tiny alarm went off in Dean's brain about germs, but he returned to the bed to kiss Cas on the forehead anyway. True love, and all that. God, he was getting sappy in his old age.

Cas looked marginally better when he woke up from his nap. If marginally better meant pillow hair and pillow lines on his cheek. Well-rested, at least. He swallowed down the cold medicine Sam had brought home, complaining that he could taste enough to know the flavor was not, quote, "similar to anything occurring organically in nature."

"Whaddya wanna eat?" Dean asked him as he drained his glass of water. "And don't say PB and J," he added before Cas could speak.

Cas set his glass down on the nightstand and slid further down under the covers. "Anything that won't make my throat hurt more."

"My, uh, mom used to make me soup when I was sick."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Whatcha making?" Sam asked, coming into the kitchen. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and Dean snapped him with the towel.

"That's for Cas, back off."

"Wow," Sam said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Look at you."

"Look at me what?" Setting aside the pot lid, he scraped the celery he'd been dicing from the cutting board into the pot.

Sam shrugged. "Taking care of Cas, making dinner, you're almost domestic."

Dean turned red and scrambled furiously for a comeback. "Yeah, and you're, you're still a little shit." Nailed it.

Sam laughed. "Wasn't an insult. Just meant, I don't know. Different for you, I guess."

Dean eyed him, stirring the soup. "Don't have much of a choice. Poor guy just turned human and he's already going through it."

"I think he's dealt with worse than a cold before."

"Yeah, well, wish he didn't have to deal with any of it." Any of it meant plenty. Between Dean’s own fuckups, world apocalypses, and near-death and actual death experiences, Cas had been through the ringer several times over. And now he was human—which, by all counts, wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, but it wasn’t ideal. It’d been a rough transition, anyway.

Cas seemed better recently, though, since getting somewhat used to being human. And things were going well between them. Getting sick was just one tiny wrinkle compared to everything they’d been through, right?

He stared at the soup and startled when Sam straightened off the counter with a comment that Jack was out with friends, he was leaving for Eileen’s, have fun giving Cas a sponge bath. Dean flipped him off as he headed out the door.

When the soup was finished, he ladled a bowl full and returned to the bedroom. Cas looked up from his phone when Dean entered with the bowl of steaming soup. “Hear from Claire?” Dean asked, nudging the door shut with his foot.

“She says she and Kaia have almost closed up the case." He set his phone aside. “They’ll be able to visit soon.”

“You tell her you’re sick?”

“She was incredibly non-sympathetic—thank you." Cas took the bowl from him. “She seemed to find it amusing that I once ruled garrisons and now can’t go five minutes without sneezing.”

Dean tensed, hoping Cas wasn’t hurt by the comparison, but Cas didn’t look offended. “Sounds like her.”

"Yes.” He breathed in the steam coming from the bowl. “This smells incredible.”

"Family recipe," Dean joked, sitting down next to him. "Well, someone's family. Straight from some blog online. Think it's pretty close to what my mom would make." He watched Cas pick up his spoon, and added, "Don't tell Sam." He'd never hear the end of it if Sam knew he was reading mommy blogs.

"Your secret is safe with me."

Dean picked up the remote as Cas ate, wondering if he should give Claire a piece of his mind. Sure, Cas was pretty easy-going about the whole giving up his grace thing, but no need to rub it in his face. Becoming human had to feel pretty pitiful after ages of being an angel.

He was trying to make it better where he could, though. “You wanna watch a movie tonight? I'll let you pick because you're bedridden."

"I am not," Cas protested, though he looked more than a little pleased at the idea of getting to choose. Dean braced himself for whatever ridiculous romance or musical Cas insisted on watching now—to date, he'd been subjected to La La Land , the ending of which had reduced Cas to tears for the rest of the night; Pride and Prejudice, okay not too bad, though he'd never admit it; and You’ve Got Mail, dammit not bad enough for him to hate either.

Instead of suggesting a movie, though, Cas said, "You're very caring, Dean."

"Uh." Dean turned from cycling through the movie options on the TV to look at Cas. He felt himself turn red under the look Cas was giving him, head tilted, that fond almost-smile he got. "Yeah, uh. What I do."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "It is what you do. You're very good at taking care of others."

"Oh, God, don't start that." By that, he meant the long compliments Cas so shamelessly gave him now, like he'd been storing them up for a long time and was finally able to hand them out. It was like the dam had broken that night when Billie and the Empty—

But he didn't want to think about that. Not when all the events since that day had led to Cas now sitting in bed blowing his nose, the trashcan by the bed overflowing with tissues. Poor bastard; he'd gone through one whole Kleenex box already.

"I'm only going to stop because talking hurts too much," Cas told him, tossing a tissue at the trashcan and missing sorely. Dean grimaced.

They nearly got through Mama Mia before Cas dozed off, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position and Dean’s arm was half-asleep, but he refused to move. The mere fact that they were sitting together in bed, pressed against each other, was still enough to send him into shock anytime he thought about it too much. Cas—a literal former angel—had fallen in love with him. It was almost too good to be true.

But Cas was currently slumped against him, drooling on his shoulder, so he guessed it really was true.

As the credits rolled, he turned off the TV and touched Cas’ forehead with the back of his hand. Not as warm as before. At his touch, Cas blinked awake.

“It’s over already?”

“Whaddya mean, already? I just had to sit through two hours of singing and dancing.” It hadn’t been that torturous, but he couldn’t admit that—he had a reputation to uphold. Straightening, Cas rolled his eyes. “Feel any better?"

Cas’ expression turned thoughtful, as if taking stock of every physical sensation in his body, and Dean had to grin at his seriousness. He nodded. "Yes."

"Great.” He glanced at the time on the clock and realized it was later than he’d expected. “You probably wanna get some rest.”

Cas nodded with a yawn. "You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to."

Dean froze in the middle of pulling back the covers, mind immediately spinning out. "What?" They'd only started sharing a room a month ago, oh God, he'd known it was too good to be true, Cas was sick of him—

"I want you to," Cas said quickly, as if sensing Dean's downward spiraling. "I just don't want you to get sick."

Oh. Oh. Feeling a little sheepish for immediately jumping to the worst conclusions—one of his greatest talents, if he did say so himself—he shook his head. "Nah, I have a great immune system."

Cas' expression turned guilty and Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"About that..." Cas started slowly. Dean gave him a look. "Well, uh... Your immune system isn't quite as healthy as you think. I've been giving it a boost for the past several years, every time you started to get sick."

"What?" Looking back, it was pretty remarkable that he'd never gotten even a common cold with all the other shit they dealt with. "Fuck."

"Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I should be thanking you. So, uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Of course Cas had been taking care of him for years, Dean thought, when they settled in bed and he turned off the lights. Cas told him he was caring, but it was Cas who was the caring one. He’d sacrificed his life for him, for Christ’s sake. Then gave up his grace to return to Earth because he wanted to be with Dean and Jack and Sam and everyone. The guy didn’t have a selfish bone in his body.

The thought should’ve been a comforting one, but instead he felt antsy, unable to stay still, shifting under the blankets.

Turning onto his side, he nudged Cas, whose eyes had fallen shut. With a grunt, Cas opened his eyes and looked over at him.

“You alright?” Dean asked, which wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.

“I was when I was falling asleep,” Cas grumbled. But he shifted to face Dean. In the faint light coming from the bunker hallway, Dean could see the concern in his eyes. It sent a pang through him. Cas had given up so much, and Dean was doing all he could to make sure he never regretted it, and Cas told him all the time that he was content with his choice, but still the worry sat heavy in his stomach.

"Listen,” he started. “I just wanna let you know that being human isn’t all bad. I swear it won’t be miserable forever. I know you've been introduced to the bad shit first, but—"

"That's not true," Cas interrupted, touching Dean’s hand resting between them. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dean, being human has been the single most rewarding experience in my entire life second only to raising Jack. It started with you rescuing me from the Empty and revealing my feelings weren't unreciprocated like I thought. I would say that's far from miserable.”

"Yeah, but you had to adjust to living without your grace, and eating food, and getting sick..."

"It's been difficult, yes. I won't lie and say I enjoy bodily functions or sneezing or headaches. But I do enjoy being with you and eating chicken soup and watching absurd TV shows. I wouldn't change this for anything. Whatever happened in our lives, it led us here. And I’m happy with where we are.” He studied Dean for a moment before asking, quieter, “Are you happy?”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” Dean hastened to say, because it was true. Fuck, it couldn’t be truer. “Of course. Just feel bad, I guess. That you gave up your grace and all that. Feel like I’ve hardly done anything.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever dreamt of. And anyway, it’s not a competition, Dean. I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s what love is.”

Throwing that word around, love, still made Dean’s heart skip a beat. But it was true. He loved Cas and he’d do anything for him. The same, he knew, was true on Cas’ end.

Cas said it best, so he settled for lifting Cas’ hand and kissing his knuckles.

“I would kiss you," Cas said, smiling, "but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Screw it," Dean said, and propped himself up on an elbow to kiss him. Then he shifted, turning over and pulling Cas’ arm to wrap around him. Even if the bastard was sick, Dean was making him be the big spoon.

"For the record,” he said, feeling Cas curl around him. “I wouldn't change anything either."

And he meant it. Even when he woke up the next morning with a sore throat and stuffed up nose. Cas—who seemed to have gotten over the worst of his cold—took only one look at him before declaring it was his turn to play doctor, throwing extra blankets at him and demanding the chicken soup recipe in a flurry of activity.

He’d take care of Cas, and Cas would take care of him. It sounded like a good life, Dean thought, settling back against the pillows with a smile. He wouldn't change a thing.

#j&kcreatorfest #destiel fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #human!cas #established dean/cas #post 15x20 #destiel #cas likes watching romances and musicals i decided for this fic #and history channel shows too #dean and cas' love language is forcing each other to watch shows and movies the other dislikes (or pretends to dislike)#expectingtofly writes

108 notes · View notes

sanders-sides-fic · 3 years

Text

A hole of your shape in my heart

So… My brain went to war with me today. So I wrote some Anxceit-centred angst to cope. Consider yourself warned, this will hurt. I do hope you'll enjoy it regardless, though.

Trigger warnings: implied depression, mentions of panic attacks, self harm, fainting, memory loss

If I forgot a trigger or there is something you would like to be added to that list, please go ahead and tell me. You can do so anonymously as well.

It wasn't that bad at the beginning. A bit of a cold shiver, running down his spine. Ice that seemed to settle in his lounges. A dull ache. Nothing serious, really. He knew that it wasn't good to ignore it, he knew that from the start. And yet he couldn't help it.

They were happy. That was all that mattered to him then. Remus and Janus were happy. That was more important than a bit uncomfortableness. He was used to having panic attacks, mental breakdowns and the sudden urge to cry anyways. This didn't make such a big difference.

Except that it did.

You see, Remus was born without a soulmate. He just didn't have one. Janus, on the other hand, had an accident when he was younger. There was a nasty scar on the left side of his face, which he had covered up with a tattoo of a snake later. Ever since that accident, he'd been soul-blind. Colourblind for soulmates. He did have a soulmate, he just couldn't feel the bond anymore. Oh, it was still there, alright. He could feel that much. But he just couldn't tell anything beyond that. So he'd given up on finding that soulmate.

That's how Remus and Janus had gotten together in the first place. And that was wonderful. It was great. They made such a nice pair. They were happy and in love and sweet and… And it had come as a blow to the face to Virgil.

The three of them had been friends for years. When they'd become teens, Virgil had finally realised what the bond had been telling him all the time. The pretty sparkles around Janus, the glitter in the air that portrayed his emotion in colours, the warmth around his heart that reminded him of Janus. Janus could only feel that warmth. He wondered what it felt like to him. What he felt like to him. Because Janus was Virgil's soulmate.

Virgil had been a bit happy and a bit sad about that. Happy because he liked Janus and he knew him and that was fine. Sad because Janus couldn't tell that they were soulmates.

And that was why he kept telling himself that he'd tell Janus. For sure. But somehow he always ducked out the last moment. Something always happened. Just little things, but things that were bad enough to make him retreat into his shell.

He should have known. When Janus said he would give up on searching for a soulmate he couldn't even tell apart from the rest of the world, he should have known. And yet he hadn't expected Janus to start dating people. Janus was his soulmate, his. He didn't even consider the possibility that he might see other people. How very stupid of him.

He had almost told Janus that day. They were eighteen then, and he had bought a yellow nasturtium, Janus's favorite flower. It was inside a black pot that he'd made himself. He'd always liked to do pottery, it calmed him down. This was the best one he made so far, he thought.

He also wrote down what he wanted to say. How much Janus meant to him, how badly he wanted to be with him, that they were soulmates, that he didn't even mind that Janus couldn't tell and that he was sorry he hadn't said anything before. That it was okay if Janus needed time because this was so sudden, but that he hoped he'd give Virgil a chance anyways. Virgil had used his favorite paper. It was a bit fancy, but not over the top. And it smelled like Lavender, which always calmed him down. He'd wasted quite a bit of this paper because he kept starting over, but that was worth it. Janus was worth it.

But Janus had already told him that he wasn't waiting for his soulmate anymore. And when Janus arrived at his apartment that day, it was with his hand in Remus's.

"He asked me out earlier. I can't believe I said yes, the way he did it was terrible, really." But Janus had smiled, and Remus had laughed, and Virgil had been late.

He knew Remus wasn't to blame, and neither was Janus. They were happy right now. Remus hadn't been happy or confident when it came to the topic of love in forever. Janus had suffered because he'd always been so, so scared of his soulmate rejecting him for not being able to tell. And now they were happy and it was without him.

It hurt. A lot. But he didn't want to ruin their happiness. It was only his fault. He was to blame, for hesitating. For not wanting to ruin their friendship. For being selfish.

So he secretly took the letter and hid it in the bottom of his desk drawer. And he wished them the best.

After that, they started to drift away. Remus and Janus had a lot of date nights. And Virgil drifted away from them because he couldn't stand seeing them. It hurt too much, was all. Whenever Janus would smile at him, whenever Janus laughed, whenever Remus sighed and told him about a cute thing Janus had done, whenever they shared a milkshake, whenever they were so there, so with each other.

Whenever Janus insisted Virgil come as well, saying he missed him. Because Virgil knew, he knew that was because Janus could still feel the soulmate bond. But Janus didn't know, and Janus didn't see him that way, and that was just cruel. Why did fate do this to him? Why did it hate him so much?

After a while, when Virgil couldn't take it anymore, he begun to initiate fights. Janus was too much of a liar, he was too anxious to trust him. Remus was creepy and gross, he couldn't understand why he would say something like that. In the end, he became more and more of an asshole to the two of them. Their days were either spent apart or fighting, and Virgil would cry himself to sleep, pain and cold emptiness gnawing away at his soul.

After a while, he had pushed them so far away that he barely saw them at all anymore. And by then he was so used to it that he could just pretend everything was fine during the day. Sure, he couldn't bare to take off his hoody even in scalding hot summer. Sure, his panic attacks got worse and more frequent. Sure, he had started to wear black eyeshadow purely to hide the bags under his eyes. Sure, he woke up to dried tears on his face every single day. But it was fine. He was fine. He could take this, if it meant that the two most important people in his life were happy.

Patton, the soulmate of Remus's brother, had somehow ended up noticing how he was alone all the time now. And he'd adopted him into their friend group.

Roman and Remus were on bad terms with each other, so he barely knew them. It was kind of a fresh start, even if it was a rocky one. Remy and Roman were the least accepting of him. Roman because "A, he is the type of person Remus would hang out with. And, B, he hurt Remus with his sudden bullshit. Believe me, if you knew the things I learned through my brother…" and Remy just because he didn't want to breath the same air as him. Apparently.

Remy didn't hang out with the group if Virgil was with them. They meet up without him, which was a solution everyone was fine with. Besides, Remy had always liked to suddenly disappear and appear according to his mood. At least that was what his soulmate, Logan, said.

Roman, on the other hand, couldn't stay away that much. After all it was Patton who stuck to Virgil like friendly glue made out of puns, and Patton was Roman's soulmate. Both of them were extremely clingy too, apparently. So the two of them exchanged sarcastic comments and rude nicknames, but they didn't outright hate each other. At least Virgil didn't hate Roman.

Logan was nice to talk to. Almost as good at debates as Janus. They didn't have debates about philosophy, though. Those were reserved for Janus, and it felt like betraying him to have such a debate with someone else. They soon got to a point where hanging out was almost enjoyable, where they kind of liked each other.

And then, suddenly, it got a lot worse. A lot worse. So bad, Virgil couldn't get up in the morning. He couldn't eat anything, couldn't stop crying, could barely breath. About four panic attacks and one night of terrible, terrible loneliness later, Roman, Logan and Patton showed up at his door.

He couldn't help himself. He was so lonely, and he felt so worthless, and Patton was the only one who really wanted him around anyways. So he shrugged their concerns off, taking a sip from his hot coffee - the only acceptable hot beverage in August - and saying: "Well, I just… assumed you didn't want me around. I mean, you don't like me much anyways, so."

Patton had gasped in offence and horror, and Virgil couldn't help but smile at that, though the hole in his chest was still too much to bare and he couldn't look at them. "Yeah, yeah. Except you, Pat."

He'd been wrong. Logan drew up an entire chart to prove how much he contributed to their friend group and how much he provided. Even Roman told him that he was wanted, needed even. It was nice and wholesome, and to his surprise, it made him feel so much better. For just a moment, the hole inside his chest wasn't as icy and cold.

They ended up watching Disney that evening, with a bowl of popcorn and too much comments to actually concentrate on the movie. Later at night, Virgil even confessed that he knew his soulmate. A sore subject he didn't want to touch normally. They asked him why he was single, of course, whether it didn't work out between the two of them, whether that was even possible. And Virgil had shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We never tried, he already has someone." Then he'd chuckled. "I guess that was why I was such an asshole to Re and Jan when they got together, too. Kinda made me feel jealous and… lonely. Don't tell them, though. They don't even know that I already met my soulmate."

Janus would have been proud of him, for how well he had managed to lie to his new friends. Well, not lie directly. But a lie of omission, right?

There were many days like this after that. Days where everything got too much. His new friends understood that he sometimes had bad days. Patton would sent him videos of cute dogs and cats when he let them know he was out of order for that day. Roman would send him memes and Logan would tell him fun facts. It was precious of them, and it made Virgil feel a lot less lonely. The cold was still there, layered around the soulmate bond, the hole was just as gaping as always, but he didn't feel as lonely. And that was good enough.

Other days he could almost pretend that things were fine. He would be around his new friends for as long as his little, introverted heart allowed him. Then he'd listen to music, get stuff done, worry about dead lines and the world instead of Remus, or Janus and his absence in Virgil's life. Sometimes he would read, too. Or do pottery. He didn't do pots anymore though. Or flowers. Just art or tableware.

He didn't even mean to do it the first time. Really, it was an accident. He was just tired, and he did the dishes and then he accidentally cut himself with a knife. But as the blood trickled down his finger, the pain outside kind of overwhelmed the pain inside. So he sat down and watched his finger bleed. Because his hand was wet, it looked like more blood than it actually was.

He thought about that moment often after that, whenever the pain got too much to bare and he could barely hang on. And he did try to fight it, really, he did. But in the end, it was too tempting. Just a few cuts at a time, at first. Somewhere where no one would notice. With the hoody, that wasn't even that hard, actually. He always put on gauze, too, to make sure it didn't get infected.

It got a bit more when he heard from Roman that Janus and Remus had broken up. Apparently Janus felt weird dating Remus. They suspected that it was because Remus wasn't his soulmate - because Janus was Virgil's, his, he was supposed to date him and he wanted to yell it at Janus already, telling him the truth, finally holding him and kissing him and filling this Janus's formed hole in his heart - and Remus fully understood it. Things were a bit awkward between the two of them, but they would keep being friends.

And it got even more worse when Patton was Patton and decided to use this opportunity to get Virgil to make up with the two of them. It was nice of him, but the thing was that Janus was still Virgil's soulmate and didn't know about it.

He and Janus didn't get along too well. He made up with Remus way faster. And Roman didn't like Janus too much either, but once again Patton insisted on adopting the man into their friend group and Roman was too clingy to avoid him. But Janus made it, in the end. Of course Janus made it. He was dazzling and charismatic like that.

Only Virgil couldn't help keeping his defences up. If he let them down, he would tell him the truth. And he couldn't do that, not now, not until he made everything okay again. But he couldn't do that, not without letting his defences down and that just killed him on the inside.

And then he had a bad day. But he wanted to see Janus, so he got up and met up with the others. It helped. Seeing Janus there helped. Hearing him and Patton talking about Kant, watching him smile at Logan and joke around with both Remus and Roman… It helped. And yet it made him so much more aware of what he was missing.

Remus and Roman drove home together. Logan was supposed to meet Remy, so he had excused himself earlier. Patton worked in the café they'd been in, and his shift started after their meeting. So that left Virgil and Janus to walk out together.

Janus smelled like coconut, and his lips were a little chapped. Early winter, he always got chapped lips this time of year. The light made his skin glow, and from this angle with the way the light hit them his left eye looked a lot more golden than brown, unlike the right one.

It hurt. He wanted to grab Janus's hand, he wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted to hug him and never let him go, he wanted to grab him and hold him close until the smell of coconut would transfer to himself as well. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted so bad.

But how was he supposed to do any of it? How was he supposed to tell him?

In the end, he decided to just get it over with. Like a bandaid, just ripping it off. Straight out with it. But just when he was about to, had already taken a breath and opened his mouth…

"I missed you." Janus's melodic voice sounded way too sad. Virgil didn't like it. "Why did you just leave us behind, Virge? I missed you, but… You were acting so strange. You still are. Are you mad because I never texted you?"

He didn't say anything. Couldn't, even though he wanted to.

"If that's it, then I'm sorry. But, Virge, I… I did miss you. And you acting so cold to me really sucks. You're getting along fine with Remus now, so why not me?" He stopped and looked Virgil in the eyes, looking like he was searching for something. What, Virgil didn't know. But he didn't find it, judging by the way he averted his eyes. And that hurt, too. Everything hurt. He just wanted to go now. "I thought we were friends."

"No. I don't think we ever were supposed to be friends." Virgil took a deep breath. Now. He had to tell him now. Bandaid, remember? Just tell him. Virgil opened his mouth, looking at Janus.

Right. Just out with it. "The truth is we're soulmates. I'm sorry I never told you, I was scared. But I love you, Janus." Right. That was all he had to say. Just three sentences. Go on, do it. Please, just get them out already. It's been years now. You've known since you were sixteen, you've known for four years now. He deserves to know, too.

In the end, he shook his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I…" couldn't say it again. He ignored the tears gathering in his eyes as he turned away from Janus's hurt look. "I'm not feeling that good."

And he ran. He ran away, like he always did. God, he was such a coward. And for what?

At home, he pulled out the letter from last year. Then, he screamed. He couldn't take it anymore, he just screamed and sobbed. And he knew that it wasn't fair, that he'd done this to himself, but he was in so much pain. He just couldn't take it.

But he'd done this to himself. By hesitating, by not giving the letter, by ruining what little relationship he had with his soulmate, by pushing him away, by lying, by not saying what he wanted to. And what for? A fleeting happiness, a failed relationship, a churning ball of fear in his stomach?

Virgil didn't mean for it to get that bad. He meant to stop earlier. He didn't mean for the wounds to be that deep either. But they did, and he didn't, and he only really realised when he got dizzy at standing up. Oh. Oh, that was a lot of blood. And he was still bleeding. Damnit, he needed help. But who would…? Who could…

He grabbed his phone and called the first number in his contacts. It was Remus's voice that picked up after the second ring. "Hey, Rem. It's me." He winced at how weak his voice sounded. "I, uh… I did something stupid. And I know I've been an asshole, but I really, really need your help."

"Janus said you didn't feel so good." Remus sounded genuinely worried. And was that Janus's voice in the background? It was, wasn't it? Tears sprung to his eyes again.

"Yeah. Hey, tell him I'm sorry for me? I wanted to say something, but I didn't again, and… yeah." He couldn't understand the response he got. Blinking, he tried to stay awake. Falling asleep was bad, right? Oh, right. Remus. "Listen, Remus, I… Did something stupid. There's a lot of blood. I think I need to go to the hospital."

"Blood? The hospital? Virgil what did you do?!"

He flinched at the panicked voice. That didn't suit Remus at all. Wait, wasn't that Janus? Had Remus put him on speaker? Well, it didn't matter, really. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He said instead. And then: "I'm scared."

"Okay. Okay, shit. We're almost there. It's alright, we're almost- Take a left, Re, that's faster. We're almost there, okay Virge?"

"Okay." He hesitated, lump in his throat. He thought he could feel tears running down his face, but he was a bit too out of it to be sure. "Thank you."

They kept their word. He could hear Janus's shocked cry and Remus's cussing before the darkness took over.

❖

When he woke up, he was in a white room. Around him, he could see a bunch of people. One with dirty blonde hair and freckles, holding hands with a brunette with glasses. Next to them sat a man with similar glasses and black hair. On the other side was a man much like the first, but with one strand dyed silver and the rest chestnut brown. And another man, who stole the breath right out of his lunges.

Long, golden hair, tied up to a bun, pale skin, warm eyes somewhere between gold and brown, and a snake tattoo on his left cheek. He wore black, with yellow and gold accessories, and he was absolutely stunning. Around him there were weird fireworks, almost like glitter. Did the others see that, too? It was blue, and something inside him told him that that was worry. The same part clenched around his heart, demanding to make the worry go away.

But… "Who are you?"

They all gasped, looking at him. "Virgil?! Oh my god, you're awake." That was the voice of the man with the dyed hair. What was his name? He couldn't quite remember.

"I don't… Who are you? Where am I? Do I know you? I think I know you, but…" He trailed off, regretting having said anything when hurt crossed the stunning man's face. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, you don't… I'm sorry. I should've noticed you were hurting." He sighed, putting on an obviously fake smile as he grabbed his - Virgil's? His name was Virgil, had the man said, right? - hand. "We are your friends, Virgil. That's Logan, Patton, Roman, and Remus. And I am Janus." Janus. Yeah, Virgil though, that fit him. But somehow, Janus looked like he was steeling himself for something. He took a deep breath, smiling more, tears in those wonderful eyes. "I'm you soulmate."

"My soulmate?"

Janus nodded, clutching a purple piece of paper in his hand. "Yes. It's a bit complicated, but, I am. We're soulmates."

Virgil nodded, looking around. There were a lot of people around him. And they all looked so happy to see him awake. His friends and his soulmate, huh? Virgil looked back to Janus. "There's a lot of people here."

"Do you want us to go, kiddo?" That was Patton who'd said that, right? He sounded sad at the idea, and Virgil didn't like it much either. So he shook his head.

"No. I was just thinking, there's a lot of people caring about me."

He got a few sad smiles in return. "Of course, Virge. We all love you very much. And don't you dare to forget that again, you hear?" Janus clenched Virgil's hand in his and put it to his forehead, almost desperately. "Don't you ever dare forget that I love you. You idiot."

General taglist🖤: @gattonero17 @alias290

44 notes · View notes

allmyspideys · 3 years

Text

Underneath the Tree

Summary: All you wanted was a loud Christmas, but after Tom’s flight gets canceled, you’ll be spending Christmas alone… or so you thought

A/N: this isn’t one of my blurbs bc i didn’t work on christmas eve, but this is an idea that has been running through my head a lot. Tom has a big family and I just want a big loud christmas… so invite me into the fam? Anyway, if i could invite literally everyone who has ever felt alone at the holidays to my house I would bc i don’t want anyone feeling like that, so know I love you, and enjoy! Also based on this song!

Warnings: fluff, cuss words, some angst but it won’t stay that way

Presents, what a beautiful sight. Don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight.

You had been so excited for Christmas this year. You and Tom had decorated the entire house with Christmas decorations, all over Zoom, because he was away filming, but you still decorated together, nonetheless. You had enlisted Sam to help get a tree into your house and had planned on surprising Tom with a fully decorated tree and house when he got home. All the presents were wrapped and there were recipes printed and ready for baking on the counter.

That’s when the bad weather hit. Tom had made it to New York before his flight to London was delayed.

Delayed, you told yourself, just delayed.

So you woke up, put on your fuzzy socks and began to bake all those Christmas cookies like you had planned. Eventually, Tom called you; it was unclear if you were keeping him company in the airport, or if he was keeping you company while you baked. It was so wonderful to hear his voice. Tom sounded kind of gravely, as if he was coming down with a cold, but it was still such a warming sound. Part of your heart broke to think about Tom’s only time at home with a cold, but then your thoughts quickly turned back to the idea of Tom being home.

Tom had been filming for a few months at that point, but after so long of having him beside you every morning when you woke up and every night when you went to sleep, him being away for even a week felt strange. To say you missed him would be an understatement. You missed the way he smelled like cedar and sandalwood. You missed the color of his curls in the morning light, and if you closed your eyes hard enough you could almost see the stark contrast between his shiny brown hair and the white pillows. You missed feeling his muscles under his shirt as he held you tight in a hug.

But then shit really hit the fan. You should have known in the way Tom’s voice was more apprehensive and tight than before. You could hear the bad news coming and yet you just didn’t expect it.

“My flight was canceled. I won’t be home for Christmas.”

You almost cried.

It just wasn’t the same. Alone on Christmas day.

It was like your entire world was crumbling before your eyes. All of the decorations were for nothing. The cookies baking were for nothing. You would be totally alone on Christmas. To keep Tom’s spirits up, you just told him that it would be okay.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” you told him, but really you were crushed. Tom told you that he’d ask Sam and Harry to come visit you on Christmas, but you knew they wouldn’t be able to. It was a two hour drive at least, without Christmas traffic (apparently brits think 2 hours is a long drive… not in america hun).

Tom could hear the sadness in your voice, as much as you tried to cover it up from the way your voice wavered, only for a second, but he heard it. He could tell that being alone on Christmas was really weighing on you. While you were dreaming of Tom’s eyes, he was dreaming of your hair. He couldn’t wait to be home to you either; it had only been a few months and you’d been separated for far longer before, but now he just couldn’t stand being away from you.

He hated not waking up before you everyday and pretending to be asleep, so you thought that you woke him up, just because he knew you enjoyed waking him up with kisses. He hated that he could only see your hair through a screen, instead of running his fingers through your silky and soft hair.

And oh god did he miss you. He missed holding you tight as you cooked dinner and racing to the kitchen to get the other a dessert because currently you had 3 points on him, and frankly, you were just getting too cocky about it. He missed the way you’d crack a joke and slowly your whole face would break out into a smile. He missed the way your eyes would light up, but your face was confused, whenever he’d bring you flowers from the back yard.

Oh no, Tom could not have you alone on Christmas, so he set out immediately to get home to you. All it took was taking a quick bus South and catching a red eye flight back to London. Tom also decided that this year they’d move Christmas, just two hours away from the normal place.

You awoke with a start, rather a wet, slobbery start… Tessa was on top of you licking your face incessantly. It was a very pleasant surprise and only slowly dawned on you that if Tessa was with you, then Harry and Sam had to be too. Quickly you checked for yourself, only to be surprised by not just Harry and Sam, but the whole family. It may not have been Tom, but his family showed up for you, and that was more than enough for you. It was so heartwarming knowing that his family had accepted you into theirs. As you began to hug everyone, you noticed that they were all standing in front of the Christmas tree and refusing to move, but Dom and Nikki parted, and your eyes connected with the warm brown eyes you had grown to love so much.

“Tom!” You ran over to him and he scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around. Part of you just couldn’t believe that he was actually with you. Your mind raced with questions as to how he actually got back across the pond, but the other part of your brain couldn’t care less how he got there. You were just happy that he was back with you.

As you settled into Tom’s side, face wide and eyes bright with a smile, you realized just how much you loved that boy and wanted to spend the rest of your life with. And as Tom looked around at his family laughing, teasing, and loving you, he confirmed his suspension that you were the one for him.

You’re all that I need, underneath the tree.

251 notes · View notes

ithehellisbucky · 3 years

Text

For You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: “I love you isn’t always enough.”

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Angst to end all angst. PTSD, depression, spiraling, fighting, break up, sad shit.

Author’s Note: I meant for this to be out on Sunday because I wrote it last Monday but I forgot. Anyways this is really sad, but I'm proud of myself because I wrote the ~spoiler alert~ "breaking up to protect the reader" but its the reader doing to breaking up.

When it takes a century to find happiness, you thought it would stick.

From the moment that Bucky walked into your life (literally, walked into your bookshop) you knew that you wouldn't leave him behind any time soon.

There was something about him that would float around in your heart forever until you saw him again, and then the process would repeat.

The first 6 months of your relationship was a honeymoon phase. Waking up to him staring at you in adoration every morning. He stayed at your apartment every day. Cuddling in the middle of the night when he had nightmares, holding him when he was scared to touch anything.

Showing him your love in any and every way you could. Making misshapen pancakes together, and him showing you his favorite movies and books from the 30s and 40s. Pure happiness.

But there was something about Bucky that couldn't sit still. He can't live your little happy life knowing that there is someone out there.

It had caused many fights, you never wanted him to go back to crime-fighting, and he wanted to prove himself. And as much as you tried to tell him that he was already a hero, he was persistent that he had to make up for things that the man that used to live in his brain did.

It drove you crazy.

You were laying on the couch reading a book and absent-mindedly watching a mediocre television show you've seen twice before. You hear each of your locks click twice and from the weight of his footsteps and settle back down into comfort.

"Hi, baby." Bucky walks over to you and presses a kiss onto your forehead.

"Hi honey, how was therapy." You ask as he snuggles into your embrace and you put your book down.

"Boring," he exclaims as you stroke his hair.

"Boring is better than bad, I'm proud of you," He smiled at you and pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

Instead of saying the 'I love you' that you wanted to say, you replaced it with: 'I'm proud of you', 'Stay safe', and 'honey' 'baby' 'sweetheart'.

It wasn't what you wanted, but it'd have to do until your love was ready to hear it.

"I'm making pasta, when do you wanna eat?" You exclaim, wrapping your legs around his torso, and realizing that you are fully entangled in a cuddlefest.

"Maybe an hour, I'm never hungry after Dr. Raynor."

You nod and can tell he understood your response.

You hold each other in blissful peace, eat your food, and go to bed. Bucky does things a certain way to sleep. He wraps his body around yours and sleeps closer to the door, so if someone tried to attack he could protect you in an instant. When he can't sleep he goes into the living room and lays down on the floor to watch tv. He's never slept comfortably before, so it's hard to sleep in safety.

Apparently, tonight was one of those nights. You woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed.

You reach over and notice that the bedsheets are sweaty and his shirt is on the ground near the door. Bucky was fine with his arm around you, it took some time to show him that he's worthy of love- prosthetic included.

You walk towards the door wearing only one of Bucky's shirts and underwear with little flowers all over it.

"Hey Bucky, are you okay..." Your voice trails off when you notice Bucky staring at the tv with hollow eyes and an unrelenting gaze. "Baby what's wrong?" You slowly walk closer to him and place your hand on his shoulder, even though all you want to do is run to him and hold him.

At first, you think that he doesn't notice until he turns around and shows tear-brimmed eyes. "He gave away the shield."

He can't seem to say anything other than that, so you reach over and hold his face to your neck. You help him get up and walk over to your room and your bed, not bother to pick up his bedding or turn off the tv. You lay gently down in bed, and hold him close to you and let him sob into your chest.

The next day Bucky's acting odd, to say the least. But you don't push it, he's been through enough in the past 24 hours. Finding out that the pretty much only constant in your life was in the hands of a stranger isn't something you can take lightly.

He left in the morning and he didn't come back until late at night. When you ask him where he was he shrugged and ate a single-serving pizza in a record three minutes then went straight to bed, leaving you eating leftovers by yourself in the dark. Not exactly the perfect day.

The same happens for the next 2 days, and then the next day he doesn't come home, and all you get is a text that he'll be home back Sunday. That leaves you with paralyzing fear for the days he's gone, and when he comes back to you at 3:30 in the morning he has a black eye and knuckle-shaped bruises all over the parts of his body you can see, which is no small feat considering the super-soldier serum pumping through his veins.

"Where the hell have you been Bucky?" You yell once he's sat down on the couch like nothing ever happened.

"I was doing stuff." He shrugs and clicks on the tv.

You snatch the remote off the table and turn it off. "You can't just disappear for days and act like nothing ever happened!"

He rolls his eyes and gets up, beginning to walk towards the bathroom "Don't walk away from me! You don't get to walk away from this!"

He turns around and glares at you with the gaze that you've seen him use plenty of time at guys who were checking out your ass at bars.

"Why the hell can't I?" He spits out and towers over you.

"Because this is a relationship and you can't walk away whenever you want to and expect everything to be fine!" His anger doesn't intimidate you. "What the fuck did you expect me to do? Bake you cookies and shampoo your hair when you got home?

I'm not your bitch and you're not a liar, so tell me what's going on." You exclaim, hoping that he'll tell you something other than what you know is really going on.

"I was out with Sam."

"Oh my god," you sigh, turning away from him.

"There's this group called the flag smashers, and they're trying to cause a revolution or something," you run your hand through your hair, "and the new Captain America was there, and he's not a good guy, so me and Sam were-"

"No. No Bucky no." He seems slightly taken aback, but what honestly was he thought was going to happen.

"I don't care if you run around beating up bank robbers or making amends for things you didn't do, I do care that you lied to me about something that could've killed you."

"I know it's just-" He says, scratching his head with his metal arm.

"It's just what? That you want to help people? There are plenty of things you can do to help people other than getting beaten up Bucky!"

You take a deep breath and think it through more, "you know what, I'm blowing it out of proportion, you were just trying to help Sam and you were scared, let's just talk to Dr. Raynor and figure something out tomorrow."

You turn to go to bed and notice that Bucky isn't following "what's wrong?"

Bucky takes a deep breath "I'm not seeing Dr. Raynor anymore."

You turn around, angrier at him than you've ever been, "what?"

"John, the new Captain America, wants me to be focused on the mission, and therapy is just a distraction."

You can practically feel anger boiling through your veins. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound crazy. I would be fine if you went on missions or teamed up with Sam, but you can't stop going to therapy Bucky."

"Yes I can; the whole point is that I can make my own decisions. It's my choice." Bucky exclaims, yelling at you louder than you thought he ever would.

"Okay. If you think that making decisions is about ruining your life because you can, go ahead." You look him straight in the eyes, all fear gone. "you can quit therapy and implode all the progress you've made" you take a deep breath "and get out of my house."

Bucky drops all of his anger and steps back in shock and fear. "What?"

"I'm not going to let you ruin your life Bucky. When I met you, you wouldn't even let me see your arm. I've realized, that you are dependent on me, and that's not okay Bucky, because you deserve better than only having one good thing."

You were holding back tears, but in this moment you needed to help Bucky, and the only way to do that was to make sure he would be okay. And he can't do that if you are the only thing in his life. "You had nothing for 70 years Bucky, and now that you have the whole world you can't keep holding on to one person. You lost Steve, and then you were desperate to find something else to hold onto. You need to find yourself Bucky."

"No, no please don't do this. I- I love you." He starts crying and it takes everything in you not to run to him and hold him.

"Love isn't always enough Bucky." You turn around to leave your apartment in the middle of the night, "I love you more than anything, but I can't let you ruin your life. Go back to therapy, Buck, I'll be here. I'll wait. Go live the life you finally have Bucky. I love you."

You walk out your door and the second you close it you start sobbing. You wander out into the street and wonder if you did the right thing.

You hoped and you begged and you pleaded that Bucky would discover the world that he deserved. You wouldn't abandon him, you would make sure he stayed alive, he just needed time to be free. This wasn't for you, you reminded yourself, it's for Bucky.

Always for Bucky.

Requests are open!

Prompt List

~Taglists are open~

Permanent Tags: @natasha-danvers

Marvel:

92 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 3 years

Photo

I know I’ve posted this one before, but what the hell. It’s Johnny and one of my favs :D

-o-o-o-

John Tracy was sick.

Which meant John Tracy wasn’t allowed to go home.

Sure, he could say that he was home, but it didn’t really feel like home. It was full of brothers and people he loved, but it didn’t feel like home.

Home was among the stars.

But apparently astronauts with the flu weren’t allowed to go home.

“It won’t be for long, John. It will be over before you know it.” Virgil was kind and reassuring, but it didn’t really help.

He wanted to go home.

He was determined to work, of course. Until Scott caught him and cut him off.

There were some loud words over that, but the medical department of IR (aka Virgil) sided with the command department (aka Scott) and yeah, he was grounded, cut off from his ‘bird, holed up in his room and miserable.

Of course, his brothers attempted to cheer him up. Alan dumped himself on his bed chattering away with his latest game, all eager enthusiasm. Gordon brought him a pet crab. Even cared for it for him. John was left wondering if it was a snarky metaphor as the crab sat under a rock all day and had a distinct grumpy appearance.

Virgil and Scott were more subtle, but no less caring. Scott ran ideas past him for communications improvements. Piano music and the occasional piece of art found its way into his rooms uninvited.

He appreciated it. Truly, he did.

He just wanted to go home.

The morning he woke up with a cat sleeping on his chest was the last straw.

“C’mon, guys. You know I’m allergic to cats. Are your trying to kill me?” He held the cat out at arm’s length just waiting for his nasal passages to swell up. Though at this point considering his condition, he wasn’t really sure he would notice.

The cat meowed pitifully at him.

Virgil frowned.

Scott arched an eyebrow.

Gordon looked guilty....but then he always looked guilty. John was sure it was an inbuilt survival strategy.

Alan was cooing at the cat and reaching out to scratch it under the chin.

It was an orange stripy thing with big whiskers and that ragdoll floppiness all cats sported.

“Gordon?” Scott’s arched eyebrow was now pointed at the aquanaut.

“What are you looking at me for? I got him the crab, why would I get him a cat? The cat will eat the crab.” Gordon frowned at John. “Don’t let the cat eat the crab.”

Not a sentence John had ever predicted hearing in his lifetime.

“Can someone please take this thing?” He held out the cat even further.

Virgil, still frowning, gently collected the cat from John’s hands and automatically curled it up in his arms. A finger scratched under its chin.

“Thank you. I’m going back to bed.”

And he did.

The next time he woke, a pair of green feline eyes were staring at him, the cat, once again, curled up on his chest.

What?

It meowed at him and poked his nose with a paw.

“Virgil!”

He must have yelled a little too much because next minute his big brother barrelled into the room, panic on his face. “John, what the-?!”

His eyes landed on the cat and his shoulders literally sagged. “Goddamnit, that’s where you are. I’ve been looking for you for hours.” Virgil reached to pick up the cat.

The cat turned from mild mannered bed companion to spitting and screeching demon within a blink. Virgil yelped and fell backwards, his feet slipping on the mat and his butt hitting the floor with a crash.

One of John’s telescopes teetered before tipping ever so slowly. Virgil saw it and struggled to catch it. “Shiiit!” He threw himself in its path and the four-foot metal cylinder landed in his lap.

There was an oomph and Virgil was flat on his back on the floor.

Demon cat kneaded John’s chest a little before settling once more.

It began to purr.

“Virgil? You okay?”

His brother grunted and John struggled out of bed, shoving the cat out of the way. “Virgil?”

“I’m good.” It was up an octave higher than normal. “Sorry about your telescope.”

John grabbed the telescope off his brother and righted it. It was his own fault for leaving it there in the first place. Stargazing from bed was a habit much more easily exercised on TB5.

Virgil waved off his offered hand and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet with another grunt. He eyed the cat with suspicion. “I thought we had an understanding, Bagel.”

The cat eyed Virgil with equal suspicion.

“Bagel?”

“Gordon claims it is your cat so needs a John name.”

“A John name?”

“Yeah, Bagel it is.”

“It’s not my cat! And where did it come from anyway?” John frowned at Virgil. “Another stowaway on Two.”

“No! You know we have sensors for that now. And besides, that was only once.”

“Twice.”

“Once. The polar bear doesn’t count.”

“The polar bear most assuredly does count. Alan still hasn’t forgiven you.”

“Really?”

“It was a polar bear, Virgil.”

“Yeah, well, that is your cat.”

“That is not my cat.”

“Apparently she has decided she is yours.” Virgil held up his hands. Several scratches decorated his skin. “I have enough of these already. She’s yours.”

“I’m allergic.”

Virgil peered up at him, brown eyes assessing. “You don’t appear to be suffering a reaction. She’s been gone for hours. If she has been here, on your chest all that time, you should be showing the affects. All I can see is the remains of your flu.” A frown. “Are you feeling any better?”

It was John’s turn to frown. He had almost forgotten he was ill, but now his attention returned to his body, the signs were clear.

But he was feeling a little better.

“A little.”

Virgil reached up and squeezed his arm. “Good. You hungry?”

A brief consultation with his stomach and he realised that yes, he was. “Yes, I think so.”

A smile spread over his brother’s face. “Great. You’re on the mend.” Another squeeze of his arm and Virgil turned towards the door. “Meet you in the kitchen. Scott went all out this morning and made pancakes. I stashed you some. Gotta grab them before Gordon discovers them.”

“FAB.” John couldn’t help but return his brother’s smile.

Virgil grinned and with a half-hearted groan rubbed his butt and staggered with some exaggeration out the door. “Don’t forget your cat.”

John turned back to stare at the ginger monstrosity still sitting on his bed, calmly grooming.

“Bagel, is it?”

The cat blinked and kept licking its fur.

John sighed and grabbed his clothes.

-o-o-o-

The cat followed him downstairs for the meal, which turned out to be dinner. He had managed to sleep the day away. Apparently, this was a good thing, because for the first time in days, he could move without creaking.

Virgil had indeed stashed pancakes and within minutes there was a short stack piled up in front of him complete with ice cream and maple syrup. Before he even bothered to acknowledge the envy emanating from Gordon across the other side of the table, the stack began to disappear.

Scott knew how to make pancakes. John considered his big brother’s purpose in life and came to the immediate conclusion that it should be IR, family and pancakes.

Of course, pancakes could be a subset of family if considered that way, but there was always the possibility of him opening a business as a pancake chef.

Blink.

Yes, the flu had obviously taken part of his brain with it.

A pair of blue eyes and two pairs of brown were staring at him.

“What?”

“Did you bother to breathe between bites, bro?” Gordon gestured with his head at the table.

John looked down and found his plate empty. “Guess I was hungry. Scott makes great pancakes.”

“Yes, he does.” Virgil plonked a glass of orange juice in front of him and took away his sticky plate. “Now drink your juice and we’ll set up for family movie.”

“Aren’t you guys going to eat?”

“Already eaten.” Scott was poking at his phone, holograms bouncing around above it. “Grandma made meatloaf surprise again.”

John choked on his juice. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Scott did look a little green around the gills.

Well, that explained the envy on Gordon’s face and why Alan was very absent.

“Anyone feed the youngest?”

“All under control.” Virgil chucked Gordon a celery crunch bar and the aquanaut grabbed it from the air.

It was devoured faster than John’s pancakes.

Virgil wandered back into the kitchen proper and soon there was the delicious smell of hot popcorn wafting through the room. The engineer walked past the table again and dumped a chocolate bar in front of Scott. Another one landed in front of John.

“Consider it a survivor’s reward.” Virgil grabbed Scott’s phone out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“Stop working, this is family time. Everything can wait a couple of hours.”

Scott glared at his brother, but grabbed the chocolate bar and capitulated anyway.

Probably because he knew Virgil was right. It was so easy to get absorbed with International Rescue business. John knew he was a fantastic example case of such a syndrome.

A sigh.

Scott glanced up at him. “How are you doing, John?” A smirk. “How’s Bagel?”

As if beckoned, the cat in question suddenly leapt up on to the table and stalked the length of it towards Scott. John’s eyes widened as his eldest brother was targeted by a feline glare of epic proportions.

Scott’s expression was quite an amusing mixture and defiance and terror. Bagel sat down in front of him and after a moment of intense eyeballing decided Scott was boring and started washing herself.

“That is one weird cat, John.”

Everyone jumped as Bagel shot to her feet and dashed across the table at Gordon. “Holy crap!” The aquanaut scrambled backwards as Bagel ran at him. He tangled his feet in the stool he was sitting on and with a crash, ended up on the floor.

“Ow.”

Reaching the edge of the table, Bagel stopped and peered down at the fallen Thunderbird and, apparently deciding Gordon was no more interesting than Scott, sat down and returned to grooming.

The remaining three vertical brothers stared at each other and the cat.

No one said a thing.

“Uh, can someone give me a hand up, here?” Gordon vaguely waved an arm about and Virgil edged around the table to help his brother up.

His eyes barely left Bagel.

“Has anyone fed the cat?” John threw the question in there as a bit of an icebreaker since said cat had frozen the room almost solid.

Bagel looked up and stared at John for a moment before jumping to her feet and ambling over. A simple step off the table and she was in his lap, circling for moment to find a comfortable spot, then curling up and purring.

Again, everyone was staring at the orange fluff ball, John included.

“You have a very strange cat.” Apparently, Gordon hadn’t learnt from his earlier experience, but fortunately, Bagel ignored him this time.

John stared down at the purring ball of fur.

Yes, it seems he did.

-o-o-o-

Despite the possessed cat, the rest of the night went very well. All five brothers plus Kayo threw down some pillows, curled up in front of the holoprojector and waded through a trashy b-grade movie that looked like they were using mannequins for actors and plastic models for set pieces. There was popcorn, laughter and loving family. John felt warm and relaxed and better than he had in days. Somewhere between action scenes, he drifted off to the tinny soundtrack and the sound of his brothers criticising the special effects.

“Johnny?” It was whispered “Johnny, you’ve got to move or you’ll end up with one hell of a neckache.”

A blink and he found himself looking at Virgil upside down. Wha-?

“C’mon, bro. Up you get.” And his brother was lifting him up. Another blink and he realised he was lying on one of the couches...almost upside down, his feet at an angle above his head with his head hanging off the seat cushion. He was far too long for the piece of furniture and, apparently, he had stretched in his sleep.

Virgil was shifting his shoulders into a more horizontal position. Beyond him, the holoprojector was listing all the languages the movie was available in, complete with appropriate copyright warnings. Idly he noted that the Hungarian translation had an error in the third line.

John let his feet drop to the end of the couch before folding up enough to force himself upright. Ugh, Virgil was right. His neck cricked and creaked along with his spine. God, gravity was a nasty piece of work. It had also apparently dribbled all the mucus in his body into his head. His skull protested at the pressure as he sat up and he groaned.

“John?”

Why did everyone think Scott was the worry wart of the family? Virgil with his medical radar was just as bad, if not worse. “I’m fine. Just a head full of snot.” Ugh. Right between his eyeballs, throbbing to the beat of his heart. “Just kill me now.”

Suddenly there was an orange cat in his face, staring.

“What? Bagel, not now.” He gently picked up the cat and put her on the couch beside him. Where the hell had she come from anyway?

A pitiful meow was her response and she edged nearer brushing her cheek against his arm.

Despite himself, he turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him with a combination of adoration and haughtiness. He had no idea what to make of that expression.

Of course, she was a cat. Who understood cats?

“Are you two having a moment?” His brother’s smiling baritone broke the silence and to John’s surprise, Bagel turned to Virgil and hissed angrily.

His big brother took a hurried step back.

“Bagel! Leave him alone! He will never hurt you. For goodness sake, Virgil wouldn’t hurt a fly. Give him some respect.”

To his complete surprise, Bagel stopped hissing immediately. She turned to him almost a question on her face before once again looking at Virgil. Her head dropped and stared at the floor.

“What the hell?” It was little more than breath and all his big brother. Virgil was staring at Bagel, his brow crumpling into a deep frown.

Bagel’s head shot up and once again she was staring at Virgil.

Virgil’s frown got even deeper.

“John where did you get this cat from?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Virgil continued his staring contest with the cat.

“What is it?” His brother’s expression was becoming unnerving, so suddenly determined, it was almost fierce.

“I don’t know.” A pause. “Keep her out of sensitive areas for me, will you?”

“Sure.”

Bagel continued to stare at Virgil.

Virgil continued to stare at Bagel.

A solid moment passed and then his brother was shaking his head, looking at his feet, looking at John. “You good to make it up to your rooms?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to go hunt down Scott. One of the TI directors in the States forgot the time zones. He’s been on the phone for half an hour already.” Virgil sighed.

“Need backup?”

“No.” A hand dropped to John’s shoulder. “You go to bed, you need it. I’ve got this.” The hand disappeared and Virgil climbed out of the lounge, heading towards the balcony.

Bagel was licking her paw.

John sighed. Perhaps some paracetamol would help. “C’mon, Bagel, apparently, you’re with me.” He picked her up and held her against his chest as he staggered to his feet. Cursed gravity. How he missed being able to make the smallest movements and coast across a room.

Bagel reached her head up and snuggled under his chin, her purr vibrating his sternum.

“Why me?” It was little more than an exhaled breath and he wasn’t sure it was a complaint or an actual question.

In either case, Bagel didn’t answer. She just purred into his chest.

So, it remained a mystery for another night.

-o-o-o-

“It just appeared. No trace on sensors, nothing. It’s as if it didn’t exist before the day before yesterday.”

Virgil’s puzzled voice echoed up the stairs as John approached the kitchen the next morning. He glanced at his watch. This was early for his brother; he usually wasn’t up for another hour at least.

“I’m telling you, Scott, there is something very strange about that cat.”

John paused at the top of the stairs, his hands curled around Bagel, gently scratching her under the chin. He had awoken again with her on his chest, but unlike the previous two incidents, he had found himself surprisingly comforted with her presence.

Her purring was strangely calming.

“I will admit she is quite volatile.” Scott’s voice was surprisingly reluctant. “She didn’t even take to Gordon. Every living creature takes to Gordon. Except lizards, I guess. Hell, she doesn’t even like you.”

“That’s just it. She doesn’t act like a cat.”

“What, just because she doesn’t like you?”

“I’m sorry, Scott. Something just doesn’t feel right. Why is she so attached to John? What if she is a plant after our technology?”

“A tech seeking cat? Really?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an animal has been used for espionage.”

Scott sighed and John shifted, attempting to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders.

“It’s just that John appears to have latched onto Bagel as much as the cat has to him. How often does John attach to anybody?”

“And that’s what scares me the most. What happens when he returns to TB5? He can’t take a cat with him. It wouldn’t be safe for either of them.”

“Then we look after Bagel for him.”

It was Virgil’s turn to sigh and it was a worried one.

John chose that moment to make his entrance. He stepped lightly down the stairs. “You two really do worry far too much.”

Both brothers started as he entered. The guilty expressions on their faces were quite amusing.

“Virgil, if you are worried about Bagel, scan her.” John held the cat out to his brother. “Take her up to the infirmary and run her through a thorough physical. In fact, I would prefer if you did since as you said, I have become somewhat attached to her. As to what we are going to do when I return to Five...” He shrugged. “I hope we can work something out.”

Virgil managed to look both apologetic and sad.

To John’s astonishment, Bagel wriggled out of his grip and jumped down to the floor. She ambled over to Virgil. His brother froze, obviously wary, but the cat gently brushed up against his leg and rubbed the length of her body across his boots.

The whole room stared.

“Good morning, Bagel.” Virgil’s voice was a little breathless.

“Good morning, Virgil.” The whole room jumped as Brains jogged down the stairs and passing them, bee-lined for the fridge.

“‘Morning, Brains, John.” Gordon wandered in from the pool rubbing a towel through his hair. “Yaargh! What the hell, Virgil. You gone to the cat side?” He took several steps back as he caught sight of Bagel.

Bagel, still wrapped around Virgil’s ankles, turned towards Gordon and spat at him.

“That damn cat is possessed.” The aquanaut made sure the table was between him and the feline.

Bagel glared at him, following with her eyes.

“Eos, I know G-Gordon can b-be a challenge, b-but really, h-he is a good man.” Brains was pouring milk into his cereal on the bench.

“Yes, but he is so annoying.” The AI’s voice bounced across the house’s comm system.

“He st-still deserves r-respect.”

The comm system grunted.

Every eye in the room stared at the engineer.

Gordon found his voice first. “Wow, Brains, thanks.”

John was staring at Bagel. “Eos what do you know about Bagel?”

“Oh, John, everything.” The little imp was so smug.

Two strides and John was beside Virgil. Reaching down, he snagged Bagel off the floor and held her up, his eyes raking over the cat. A moment of intense examination. Bagel stared back at him calmly.

“Okay, how did you do it?”

“Do what, John?”

“Do not mess with me, Eos. I want answers and I want them now.”

“Hiram helped me.”

“Helped you do what?” Scott’s voice was sharp. “Brains?”

“It was a v-very interesting challenge.”

“What did you do, Brains?” Commander Tracy stood up from the table, his height saying everything it needed to.

Brains didn’t notice.

“Oh, Eos had an e-excellent idea to equip Thunderbird F-Five with an internal m-mobile probe mechanism.

“Yes, something that could get into the spaces John cannot.” Still smug. Oh, there would be some serious talking at a later time.

“So, you built a cat.” Virgil’s eyes were wide.

Brains sipped his orange juice, still seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. “She didn’t think I could. So, I did.” He was definitely pleased with himself.

“You built a cat?” Gordon was an echo of his brother. “That cat?” He stabbed a finger in Bagel’s direction.

“Yes?” Finally, the man appeared to realise that something was amiss. “I’m v-very happy with the r-results. It performs v-very well.”

It certainly did. John had her under his arm and found himself scratching her under her chin despite everything.

He forced himself to stop.

“John?”

“Yes, Eos?”

“Do you like her?” Suddenly he was a parent faced with his child’s school science project and the need for approval.

Some science project.

“I like her, Eos.”

“Can we keep her?”

“That is yet to be decided.” It came out firm. It needed to be firm...even though he already knew the answer.

“But-“

“Eos, why didn’t you tell us Bagel wasn’t really a cat?”

“But she is...”

“Eos.”

“John...”

“Eos!”

“I missed you.”

He froze. “I’m right here.”

“But it’s not the same.” That was a definite whine. “You’re not with me. It gets lonely up here without you. So, I built a way to be down there with you.” Bagel rubbed her cheek against his hand.

“Eos is in the cat?” Gordon’s jaw may as well have been on the floor. “She hates me that much?!”

“I don’t hate you, Gordon. You are quite funny. Somewhat clumsy, but funny.”

“Eos.”

“Yes, John?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

No answer.

“Brains, why didn’t you tell us?” Commander Tracy was glaring at the engineer.

“T-Tell you what?”

“About Eos and the cat.”

“That would have r-ruined the experiment.”

“What?”

“Eos w-wanted to see if the f-feline programming was sufficient. The b-best way to do that was test it.”

“On us?” Gordon spouted outrage.

“Surprisingly only V-Virgil appears to have b-been concerned. I w-would be interested to hear your evaluation.”

“Sure.” Virgil appeared to still be processing. Probably attempting to work out exactly how Brains had pulled it off.

“Brains, you, Eos, John and I are going to have a serious conversation.” Scott’s voice was stern. “This is not happening again. This family is not an experimental lab.”

“It was not his fault, Commander.”

Scott arched an eyebrow up at the ceiling. “Really, Eos? I have no doubt that John has a few choice words to be said on this matter.” Oh, yes, choice and many. “In the meantime, please cease the experiment.”

“But-“

“Eos.”

“Very well.”

The cat in John’s arms went completely limp.

He couldn’t help it; a gasp passed his lips and he caught the sudden dead weight with both hands. “Eos!”

All life had left Bagel. She became nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Something inside him lurched horribly.

Every eye in the room was staring at him.

“John?” Virgil’s eyes flashed concern.

He gathered up the cat in his arms and gently placed her on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs.

So real. He shivered.

“You okay?” His big brother was suddenly beside him.

“That was unnerving.” Both of them stared at the immobile TB5 internal remote probe mechanism.

“Eos, can you please reactivate Bagel.”

“Virgil-“

“No, Scott. Too creepy, too real. Please, just...leave her be.”

To John’s surprise, Scott didn’t protest.

But Bagel didn’t move.

“Eos?” His own voice sounded hollow in his ears.

“Yes, John?”

“Please reactivate Bagel.”

“Why?”

“Eos, just please.”

“Very well.”

And Bagel uncurled herself, sat up and glared at Scott. Before Eos could exact any form of petulant revenge, he grabbed Bagel off the chair and held her in his arms.

“Thank you, Eos.”

“You are very welcome.” Impertinent little brat.

“Now, I’m going to have breakfast, then we are going to have that conversation.”

“Yes, John.”

Something in the room snapped and suddenly everyone went back to their morning routine with only the occasional stare at the cat in his arms.

“Would you like some cereal, John?” Virgil was heading towards the fridge.

“You don’t have to get me breakfast, Virgil.”

“You have your hands full and I’ve already had mine.”

“How early were you up this morning?”

“Early enough. Your cat weirded me out.”

Bagel was rubbing her cheek against his fingers again. He grabbed a chair and sat himself down, placing Bagel on the chair beside him. She started grooming herself quite content.

A bowl was placed in front of him, followed by a cereal box, milk and another glass of orange juice.

Bagel stared up at him

He shook his head slowly. “What am I going to do with you?”

The cat tilted her head and licked her whiskers.

And he knew that somewhere far above the planet his daughter was laughing.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #sorry

30 notes · View notes