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arvinsescape · 3 years

Note

Could you write something with tom being super clingy after not seeing reader for a while and not wanting to share her with anyone?

Tom’s clingy.

A/N: I loved this I hope you enjoy!! Thank you so much for sending it in and thank you for your patience 💕💕

Warnings: None that I’m aware of.

Tom had gotten back just over two hours ago, a month long stretch of filming had seemingly left him very touch starved. He was quite literally all over you, kissing all over your face, keeping you cuddled into his chest, holding your hand. You were currently led on the couch, cuddling and watching a film.

You’d held it long enough but you needed to pee, moving Tom’s arm that was slung across your waist, you suddenly felt resistance as he pulled you back into his chest, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Where are you going?” He asked as he kissed at the exposed skin of your neck.

“Tom, I need to empty my bladder.” You giggled as he huffed and reluctantly let you go. You moved from your comfortable spot on the couch, watching as Tom rolled onto his back, slight pout on his lips before making your way to the bathroom.

As soon as you were done you headed back to your doting boyfriend who instantly grabbed you and pulled you onto his chest, a slight ‘oomph’ leaving your lips as you collided with the toned area. Tom instantly wrapped his arms around you and you laughed.

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” You teased as he relaxed his grip slightly.

“Sorry, just missed you.” He said as he kissed the top of your head, you nuzzled in to his chest, leaving a kiss there.

“I was gone for like two minutes.” You pointed out and he groaned.

“No, I mean while I was away.” He clarified and you smiled, he never missed an opportunity to shower you in affection but this time when he’d gotten home it was like it had been dialled to a thousand.

This continued on for a solid two days, you went to make a brew? Tom’s arms would be around you. You went to load the washing machine? Tom was hovering. You found it endearing and slightly amusing, especially once Tess had gotten jealous of Tom having all your attention, last night had been amusing.

You were laying in bed, waiting for Tom to get out of the shower, he’d huffed when you declined his offer to shower with him. Tess jumping up onto the bed with you as she attempted to get under the duvet.

“Tess, it’s our secret that you sleep in here.” You laughed as you stroked her, tail instantly wagging at the affection as she licked at your cheek. It was strange that you and Tess had a mutual understanding, she only ever slept in yours and Tom’s bed when you were ill and in bed all day or when Tom was away filming.

It wasn’t that he hated her being in bed, he just preferred if she didn’t, but when he was away? You let her join you. However, tonight she was going to push her luck and get into bed with the two of you, you laughed as you caved and let her under the duvet with you.

Tom appeared and flopped into bed, wrapping his arm around your waist when he felt Tess shift closer to you. She was attached to your side as she always was when she was sleepy. Tom stroked her head a few times before nuzzling his head into your back.

“Since when does Tess sleep in bed?” He asked and you shrugged.

“She wants a cuddle too.”

“You’d let her get away with anything.” Tom said as he pulled you closer to his chest, interlocking your legs.

“I would not.” You would. You do. “Just, she’s settled now, let her stay.” You begged and Tom breathed out a laugh before kissing the back of your head.

“Okay, but it’s gonna get too hot in here.” He said and of course he was right.

Ten minutes later and you were kicking your feet out of the duvet, you were now sweating as you were wedged between the two. Neither of them left an inch of space between your body and theirs, Tess was in a deep sleep and Tom’s breathing had almost evened out, signalling he was almost asleep.

You wiggled around as you tried to create some space, trying to lift Tom’s arm that was weighing heavy on your sweating figure. His grasp tightening as he attempted to keep you still but the heat was becoming unbearable as you huffed.

“Stop moving.” Tom grumbled, half asleep.

“I’m too hot.” You huffed out and Tom laughed.

“Told you, move Tess.” He said with a half hearted laugh.

“Tom, just shift over.” You huffed as you attempted to move his arm again.

“I don’t think so darling.”

“Come on, she’s asleep and you’re not.” You tried to reason.

“Nope. I’m not moving.” Tom said stubbornly, you weren’t going to win this one.

“So you want me to move Tess? She’s asleep and she’s comfy, plus you’re more hot than she is.” You tried again.

“Nice try sweetheart but no, if anyone is moving it’s Tess.”

“You’ll still be next to me.”

“Not close enough love. Besides Tess has had you all month, I haven’t.”

“You move her.” You said, hoping to not have to move the sleeping dog from her spot. It suddenly dawned on you that you were all sharing your side of the bed, Tom’s almost untouched. “Wait, just move back.” You said and Tom complied, shifting the two of you backwards and onto his side, away from Tess who was sprawled on your side.

The sheets were cooler on his side and you couldn’t be more thankful as you felt your sweating stop. Tess huffed in her sleep when she felt you move, waking up almost instantly to see where you’d gone. You watched as she stood up and moved closer to you again.

“Tess, come on. Out now.” Tom said as he pulled you into his chest, impossibly closer. “No, come on. You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” He said as she looked at him before huffing and jumping off the bed, finding her dog bed on the floor.

“That was mean.” You yawned out. “You should share you know.” You teased and Tom huffed.

“Not you baby.” He mumbled out quietly, sleep lacing his voice as he drifted off to sleep, you not far behind.

You were making a brew when your phone pinged, your friend having texted you to see if you wanted to go out for lunch.

“Babe, I think I’m going out for lunch with (Y/F/N).” You said as you made your way into the living room where you’d managed to leave him this time.

“You’re going out?” He asked, almost deflated.

“Only for lunch. I’ll be like two hours.” You laughed.

“That’s so long.” He said as he grasped your hand, entwining your fingers as he rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand.

“It’s really not.” You snorted.

“I just wanna stay in and cuddle you though.” He said.

“What is with you?” You asked him amused. “You’ve literally not let me out of your sight for three days.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Tom, we’ve done this so many times. You’re never this needy.” You laughed as you poked his chest, he grasped your finger in his hand and held it to chest.

“I’m not allowed to miss you?” He asked and you snorted again.

“I know you too well. What’s up?” You asked and he huffed.

“I don’t know, I just missed you so much. Like more than usual, all I could think about was how cold the bed was in my trailer and how much I missed having you next to me. I don’t know I realised how much I just don’t ever want to let you go. I know we’ve been together two years but this just felt different, I hated every second of being away from you.” He said and your heart melted.

“I realised something while I was away this time and I don’t wanna scare you off by saying it but I realised how much I want to marry you. I’m not asking right now but I just want you to know how much I love and appreciate you. How much you mean to me.” He said and you were sat there in shock. Tom Holland had just told you that he didn’t want anyone else, that you were all he wanted in life.

“Sorry, I don’t wanna scare you or put pressure on you.” He said sheepishly, completely misreading your shock. You snapped back to reality as you looked at him, a grin spreading across your lips as you threw yourself at him, cuddling into him.

“I love you too Tommy. I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. I don’t see myself with anyone else.” You said as you peppered his face with kisses.

“Sorry I’ve been so clingy baby,” he said as he moved a stray piece of hair from your face. “I’ve just missed you so much and I don’t know when I saw you for the first time in a month after coming to the realisation I want you forever. It was like a truck of emotions hit me and I don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t apologise for loving me Tom.” You smiled as you sat in his lap. “But I do need to go and see (Y/F/N).” Tom grinning at you.

“Okay baby,” he said as he kissed your temple. “Go have fun, i’ll be here when you get back.”

#tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff

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belovabelova · 3 years

Text

Little Darling | Part One

Fanfic Summary: A young girl falls for her stepdad’s best friend, Steve Rogers.

Pairing: dad’s best friend! Steve Rogers x original female character

Word Count: 904 words

Fanfic Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex and various sexual acts, age gap relationship (16 years), mentions and descriptions of suicide and self-injurious behavior (eating disorders and self-harm), mental illness, death or dying, physical violence, and blood.

Chapter Warnings: Brief and vague mention of a suicide attempt.

Notes: I’m going to be posting this fanfic on Wattpad and Tumblr. Each chapter will be fairly short, but I’m anticipating writing many of them. I hope you enjoy!

Staring out the front window, I watch as a strike of lightning jumps through the gloomy sky, lighting up the clouds and turning them a dull shade of purple.

A few moments later, thunder cracks and shakes the house.

Callie starts barking at the front door, probably thinking that the loud noise is someone knocking. It's enough to induce a headache, but I don't say anything.

As Bucky walks downstairs with a large suitcase, he whistles to get the puppy's attention. When she looks back at him, he tells her to go lay down, but she ignores him and goes back to barking.

He just rolls his eyes and sets the suitcase down in the foyer.

My mother follows behind him with a much smaller duffel bag. After dropping it on the floor, she gets down on her knees and starts playing with the excited dog.

Bucky smiles at my mom, then walks into the living room and stops in front of me. "While we're away, I asked Steve to stop over to check in on you a few times," he says, adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down shirt.

I lower my eyebrows. "Steve?"

"You met him at the wedding. He was my best man."

"Oh, right. Your district attorney friend," I say, nodding.

Despite the fact that I barely spoke to him, Steve definitely made an impression. He's handsome, and intelligent, and uncommonly kind. Considering he puts people in prison for a living, it was a pleasant surprise to discover that he's such a decent human being.

"Doesn't he live in the city?" I ask, remembering him mention something about Manhattan.

Bucky glances up at me with a pointed stare and tucks his hands into his front pockets. "He does," he says. "But he's going to make the drive up here to Beacon."

There's another loud crack of thunder, and I frown.

"That's completely pointless, Bucky. Please don't make him do that," I beg, worried I'm only being a burden. "I'm eighteen. I really don't need a babysitter."

"He's not babysitting you."

"That's what it sounds like," I mutter, weaving my fingers through the holes of a white crochet blanket.

Bucky sighs. "He's just going to stop by to make sure you're not getting into any trouble. Alright? Your mother doesn't want a repeat of what happened last time she was gone," he tells me, and heat rushes to my face.

My mom practically made it an unspoken rule in the house that we weren't allowed to talk about my mental break, so the fact that Bucky brings it up makes my stomach turn.

Staring up at my stepfather, I swallow and say, "I don't plan on doing anything like that ever again. I promised my mom, and now I'm promising you."

"And I trust you, Emma. But you know how your mother can be."

"Are you talking about me?" my mom interrupts, stepping into the room. Callie is walking on her heels, wagging her tail and panting from the amount of energy she exerted while playing.

Bucky turns to her and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. "I was just telling Emma about Steve checking in on her."

"Oh, good. Did you tell her about tomorrow?" she asks.

"No, not yet," he says.

My mom pulls her phone out of her back pocket and starts tapping on the screen. "Steve should be stopping by tomorrow to work on Bucky's truck. He'll probably be here sometime in the afternoon." She looks up from her screen. "I know you're working, but he might be here when you get back, so I figured I'd warn you."

"Alright," I mumble. "That's fine."

Stepping forward, my mom puts her phone away and stands over me. "We've got to get going," she says, speaking over the thunder that rattles the house. "Our plane should be leaving soon and we can't miss it." She presses a forceful kiss to my forehead. "Be good, bug."

"Yeah. I will," I tell her, though I doubt she believes me.

As she heads back into the foyer, Bucky ruffles my strawberry hair. I try to lean away from him, but he pulls back on his own. "No trouble," he warns, pointing his finger at me.

I offer him a nod of my head.

He stares at me. "We'll see you in a few weeks. Your mom will probably call every couple of days. Just answer the phone to ease her conscious. And don't forget to feed the dog. Okay?"

When I nod again, he smirks and walks away. I watch them both pick up their bags and shuffle out the front door, trying to keep Callie inside while doing so.

Once they're gone, I pull my phone out and start scrolling through social media. Though Callie is laying in her bed right beside me, the house is already starting to feel lonely. I put on some music to fill the silence and decide to make myself some dinner. Considering we haven't been living in Bucky's house for very long, it takes me a moment to find everything I need, but eventually I have a toasted sandwich sitting in front of me.

After a while, the thunder and lightning stop, so I light a few candles and scour my shelf for a book that sounds interesting.

The rest of my night is spent with my nose buried in the pages.

(Part Two)

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janekfan · 3 years

Text

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #season one #jon sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #insecurity #lack of communication #sickfic #sick jon #fever #chronic illness #ehlers danlos syndrome #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #EDS #Pots #undiagnosed chronic illness

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justmeandmysickies · 3 years

Text

@angstyaches this is probably not exactly what you had in mind but I hope you still like it!

Bonding

characters: Nick and Joe

warnings: emeto

„Please come over, I’m sick.“ That was all Nick had said, before the line clicked, indicating that the call had ended.

Now usually Joe would have called him right back to give him a piece of his mind – he wasn’t Nick’s mother after all – but it was different this time.

Nick was always whiny when sick. His usually so stoic and smug self would be replaced by the attitude of a needy 7-year-old as soon as he had the sniffles. And that was never a reason to worry. He’d be back to behaving like himself after a few days of resting, so Joe usually wouldn’t bother going over there to take care of him. Since Nick would be either sleeping or harassing him 24/7 it was simply not worth it.

But something about Nick’s call had Joe in his car and on the road in a matter of seconds. Something was wrong. Nick hadn’t sounded whiny. He had sounded like he was in pain. Genuine pain. And Joe didn’t like the idea of that one bit.

He arrived at Nick’s building several minutes later, grocery bag filled with sick-day-supplies in hand.

Joe briefly wondered if his boyfriend had been smart enough to leave the apartment unlocked for him but fortunately the door swung open with ease.

Upon entering the small but cozy living room, he was immediately greeted by Fork, the red cat Nick had adopted just a few months prior to the beginning of their relationship. Joe had never understood that decision – he wasn’t particularly fond of the general concept of having pets, especially not the ones that could kill you in your sleep if they wanted to.

Nick however seemed to love his miniature tiger, so Joe had to live with that. Still, he couldn’t help the face of disgust as Fork rubbed up against his leg, leaving behind a trail of red hair on his black jeans.

Despite his obvious dislike for the cat, Joe stepped into the kitchen to check if his ill-stricken boyfriend had remembered to feed his pet. The food-bowl seemed reasonably full, so he started putting away the few groceries he had bought, ignoring Fork who was looking up at him expectantly as he opened up the cabinet that contained the cat treats.

Satisfied with himself, he closed the cabinets and grabbed some Gatorade for Nick to drink. Now came the hard stuff.

Joe had no idea how to care for other people. His entire life he had been taking care of himself but when it came to others he was at a loss. Maybe it was his lack of empathy. Or maybe it was his fear of things that aren’t in his control. Or he was simply scared that people would see that he actually cared. Whatever the reason, he usually avoided having to take care of someone at all costs. But this was his boyfriend, and he needed his help, so Joe had to suck it up.

And that’s why he braced himself with a deep breath and took off down the hallway to Nick’s bedroom, Fork right on his heels.

Joe opened the door in one swift motion, letting the two of them into the room. It was dark; Nick had pulled all the curtains closed. The sick man himself was only a lump buried in pillows and blankets.

Joe stood still for a few seconds, trying to figure out if his boyfriend was asleep, momentarily forgetting about the cat that had followed him into the room. And before he could stop him, Fork had already jumped up the bed, immediately cuddling close to his owner’s face.

Nick groaned and Joe could have slapped himself. He had probably been asleep before Fork decided to get in his face. “Fork, how the hell did you open the door?” The blonde asked, voice heavy with sleep as he gave his cat a little shove.

“He didn’t.” Joe answered as he stepped closer to the bed.

Nick looked up in confusion. He obviously hadn’t noticed Joe standing there. “Josh? What are you doing here?”

Joe frowned. That was alarming to say the least. “You called me.” He put a careful hand on his boyfriend’s forehead, fearing the worst. Nick just hummed, leaning into Joe’s cool palm, who clicked his tongue in concern. “You’re burning up. Have you taken your temperature?” He drew his hand back and Nick whined at the loss of contact.

“I didn’t feel like it.” He mumbled quietly, burying himself deeper in his pillow.

“What do you mean you didn’t feel like taking your temperature? Have you at least taken some medicine?” Joe couldn’t decide if he was very irritated or very concerned.

“No, didn’t feel like doing that either.”

Irritated. He was definitely very irritated. And it took him every ounce of willpower to not yell at the sick man in front of him.

Joe took a deep breath. He could do this. “I’ll get you some medication in a second. First, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything.” Came the reply from deep within the covers. It was clear Nick didn’t feel like talking but in order to help him, Joe had to know what was going on.

“Babe.” Joe sighed impatiently, waiting for a useful answer.

Nick groaned but stuck his head out from under the covers anyway. He was quiet for a moment, before he answered. “Everything. I’m not kidding. But mainly my ear. It hurts so bad, when I first woke up this morning I actually cried for a while.”

He laughed nervously after the last part, trying to play it off as a joke but Joe knew it was true. Nick was honest when he wasn’t feeling well.

His concern only grew when Nick winced visibly, closed his eyes, and started taking deep breaths.

Joe thought for a moment and then it hit him.

“Are you dizzy?” Nick hummed affirmatively. “Feel sick?” Another hum. “Does it feel like there is pressure in your ear or your head in general?” Nick stilled for a second, seemingly thinking about his answer before nodding.

“You have an ear infection.” Joe stated matter-of-factly. Unfortunately, he was all too familiar with the concept. He used to get ear infections all the time as a kid and even as an adult he still dealt with them every other year. The pain could be excruciating, at times having you unable to move. No wonder Nick was feeling so awful.

The latter only groaned, too exhausted to form words or even sentences.

“Alright, here is the deal.” In a way Joe was glad it was an ear infection – that was at least something he would be able to deal with. “I’ll get you some fever reducers and something to drink. You’ll take a bath and then you’ll go back to resting. If this isn’t better by tomorrow, I’ll take you to a doctor.”

“Why do I need to take a bath?” Nick whined, once again burying his face under his blanket.

Rolling his eyes at his boyfriend’s childish behavior, Joe pulled the blanket lower to expose Nick’s face. “Because you stink. And it might make you feel better.”

Nick wanted to argue but Joe had already left the room to grab some medicine so there really was no point. He returned seconds later with some pills.

The next step was the bath. Nick reached his arms out and Joe pulled him upwards with seemingly no effort. In hindsight, that was a horrible idea. A wave of dizziness hit Nick like a truck as soon as he was upright. If it hadn’t been for Joe, he would have crumpled to the floor right then and there.

Joe held his partner close, encouraging him to take some deep breaths when suddenly Nick’s entire body convulsed with a dangerously wet sounding retch. He was trying to decide whether to get a bucket or get his boyfriend to the bathroom, but Nick made that decision for him as he bolted towards the door, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

He was so dizzy he could barely see where he was going – it was like his body was moving on autopilot. It’s a miracle he didn’t run face first into a wall.

He crashed to the floor in front of the toilet, just seconds before last nights meager dinner made a reappearance, along with the medicine he’d just taken.

Joe went after him hesitantly, wanting to help but not knowing how. He ultimately settled on keeping Nick’s hair out of his face. It wasn’t much but it was appreciated.

The entire ordeal seemed to be a one-and-done thing. The blonde was left panting and spitting excess saliva into the toilet for a while, but his stomach seemed to have calmed down for the time being.

“Why the fuck do you puke, when your ear is infected?” Nick asked breathlessly while wiping some sweat from his brow.

“I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure it’s cause of the pain.” Joe answered, getting up to turn on the water for the bathtub.

At that moment Fork casually strolled into the bathroom and right onto Nick’s lap where he immediately settled down, purring lovingly. The blonde couldn’t help but smile a bit as he scratched his cat behind his ear.

The three of them sat there in silence for a while, Nick being too exhausted to talk and Joe not knowing what to say anyway.

Joe once again helped his boyfriend to his feet, when the bath was ready, although a lot slower this time. He even helped the sick man undress before he turned to leave the bathroom. “Wash up, I’m gonna change your bedsheets.”

“But I’m too tired to bathe by myself.” Nick whined as he struggled to step into the tub.

Joe turned around slowly, not quite believing what his boyfriend had just said. “Are you telling me that you need my help bathing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Please?” Nick pouted, which was a rather bizarre image, considering that he was muscular, over 6 feet tall and covered in tattoos.

The younger man sighed in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not getting in with you. I literally just showered two hours ago.”

“Deal.”

Turns out, it was a good decision not to leave Nick alone. He was sleepy and if it hadn’t been for Joe, he would’ve probably drowned in his own bathtub. Right now Joe was carefully massaging shampoo into his boyfriend’s scalp who was about to drift off to sleep. He had been fighting to keep his eyes open for the last ten minutes, but it was a losing battle. It was impossible to stay awake with the heavenly feeling of Joe’s fingers in his hair.

And the latter didn’t mind. Any other day he’d yell at Nick for sleeping in the bathtub but not today. He could use the rest and Joe was there to watch him, make sure he was alright. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt him. So Joe started rinsing out the shampoo as Nick fell asleep.

Fork, who had been forced to get up from his owners lap several minutes ago, now decided to settle into the brunette’s side. He still wasn’t a fan of pets but maybe he could get used to this one, Joe thought, unable to hide the fond smile that had snuck up on him.

#em writes #nick #joe #my ocs #emeto

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds

Dukeceit Week Day 3: Snakes/Bugs

Remus and Janus break up. But literally everyone knows that's not what they want. Everyone, including their plants.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 4337

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

Unknown Number

hey so i kno i said i wouldnt text u but rupert isnt doin good. can i bring him back? he misses u

Janus stared at the text for several minutes. Rupert was, of course, the Monstera Variegata that he and Remus had raised together all the way from propagation. It had been one of the pride and joys of their plant collection. Losing Rupert in the split had hurt almost as much as losing Remus.

...Almost.

Janus

Is it getting enough light? Remember it needed the grow light even next to the window.

Janus texted back against his better judgement. He and Remus were broken up. They’d agreed not to text for a while. They’d agreed to give each other space, get used to being apart.

It sucked, though. The apartment felt empty without Remus and half their plant collection.

Unknown Number

ya i kno. but i don’t have any south facign windows here. our place is better

Unknown Number

i mean ur place

Janus sighed morosely. Well, if it was for Rupert…

Janus

Fine. Rupert can come back.

Unknown Number

yay! ill be in town this weekend. ill bring him ok?

Janus

Ok.

And then Janus promptly threw his phone across the room.

Because here’s the thing. Janus and Remus were broken up. Remus had moved eight hours away and everything. He’d been accepted into the Nuclear Engineering graduate program a state away, and they had both heard too many horror stories about long-distance relationships to brother trying. So they’d had a very civil and mutual split. Janus kept the apartment. Remus took the TV. And they’d divided their plant family between them: they each kept their favorites, and Remus had taken the hardier plants, while Janus kept the ones that were likely not to survive an interstate move.

And then… Remus left.

And Janus had not immediately wanted him back. Not at all.

(And, of course, Janus was lying to himself.)

Remus texted him Saturday morning that he was on his way, and Janus spent the first few hours of the wait stress-cleaning. He then checked on every single plant in the apartment. Watered the ones that needed it. Rotated some of the more vivacious growers so that they wouldn’t lean full-body toward their light source. Moved his small army of Sansevierias out to the apartment balcony for some extra sun.

Then, when all that still failed to fill up the entire eight hours of waiting, he started stress-cooking. So by the time Remus texted that he’d just gotten off the highway, Janus had himself a pot of minestrone soup simmering on the stove, a tray of made-from-scratch lasagna in the oven, and was mixing up a batch of double chocolate chip cookies.

There was no way he was going to eat all this food himself, he realized. He was so used to booking big meals like this, because Remus ate like he was three people. And lasagna was his favorite.

“Oh, Jake, what am I doing?” he groaned to the N’Joy Pothos that cascaded down the side of the refrigerator. And then his doorbell rang.

Janus opened the door to find Remus, dancing awkwardly from foot to foot, with his face half-hidden behind the green-and-white leaves of Rupert.

“...Hey,” Remus said, sounding sheepish. Janus’ heart clenched.

“Hi,” he said. They stood there in the doorway for a full minute before Janus stepped back and motioned for Remus to follow. Remus hesitated, but obeyed.

“Uh… I’ll just…” Remus looked around. Janus hated how uncomfortable he looked. Until about two weeks ago, this had been Remus’ apartment, too. “Can I put him in his old spot?”

“Sure,” Janus replied with a nod. Rupert’s old spot had been in the bedroom, where the big, beautiful south-facing window let in a ton of light. He’d moved Venus de Milos, his Marble Queen Pothos, and La Hoya Jackson, the finicky Hoya Carnosa that Remus had wanted but didn’t expect to make the 8-hour drive without going into shock, to free up Rupert’s spot. Remus hesitated again, before he nodded awkwardly and wandered off to the bedroom, all three feet of plant and two gallons of soil in tow. Janus went to the oven and took out the lasagna.

“Howl looks good,” Remus said when he came back into the kitchen. Janus glanced up from where he was laying balls of cookie dough out onto baking sheets.

“Thank you,” he replied. Howl was their dramatic fiddle leaf fig tree, which had decided to throw a fit just before Remus left. “I switched it to a terracotta pot with peat moss and pearlite, and doubled its water intake. It seems to be tolerating it well.”

“Good.” There was a long pause. Then,” How are you?”

Janus looked back to the cookies. “I’m doing well,” he lied. “And you? Do you start class soon?”

“Next week,” Remus answered. “And, uh. Yeah, I’m doin’ good.” Another long pause. “Uh… I’ll just. Head out, I guess.”

“You could stay,” Janus blurted out. Shit. “For dinner, I mean.” He gestured to the tray of lasagna, fresh from the oven. “If you want.”

Remus gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile, then nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything, though, so Janus just gestured for him to take a seat at the table. And then he joined him, a plate of lasagna for each of them.

“So tell me, how’s living with Roman again?” Janus asked, a few bites into the meal, because he could not take the awkward silence a moment longer.

“It’s ok,” Remus answered. He shoveled another forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good, Jan.”

Janus smiled softly. “Thank you.” A pause. “Roman doesn’t mind all the plants?”

“Nah, he’s dating this guy Patton who apparently loves plants, so the apartment being full of houseplants is a huge plus to him now.”

“Good for him.” The oven timer went off, startling him slightly. He started to get up, but Remus waved him off.

“I got ‘em, you did all the cooking.”

Janus didn’t protest. Remus got up and took the cookies out of the oven. And he even moved them to a cooling rack like Janus had taught him to do. He came back to the table.

“How’s work?”

Janus sighed. “Oh, terrible as always,” he answered. “I really must start looking for a new job.”

“Finally getting fed up?” Remus teased. Janus rolled his eyes. More seriously, Remus continued, “You deserve better, Jan. You gotta find some place that treats you right and pays you what you’re worth.”

“Thank you, Remus.”

“And hey, just sayin’, I still think you’d make an excellent stripper.”

Janus snorted at that. “I haven’t fully ruled out that particular career change.”

They fell easily back into their usual banter, lingering late into the night over a dessert of milk and cookies. It was pushing 10pm when Remus glanced at his phone and cursed softly. Janus glanced at his phone as well.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late,” he said. Remus shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cool. Thanks for dinner, Jan. It was real good, as always.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh… well, the plan was to stay with Logan, but I guess he had some kind of family emergency, so I don’t wanna trouble him. I’ll probably see if I can find a hotel room.”

Janus’ brow furrowed at that. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t wanna trouble you. I kinda feel like I already overstayed my welcome a bit?”

“Nonsense. A hotel room will cost you at least $100 for the night, and that’s simply ridiculous,” Janus insisted. “You should just stay here.”

Remus worried at his lip, which Janus knew meant he was mulling over his options. Then, he nodded. “If it’s not a bother?”

“Of course not. You’re not a bother, Remus.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and he smiled. “Ok. Thank you. Oh… lemmie go get my overnight back outta my truck.”

When Remus came back inside, Janus had just about finished making up the couch.

“Hey, you don’t gotta get all fancy,” Remus teased. “You know I can sleep basically anywhere.”

“This is for me,” Janus replied. He fluffed up one of the pillows a bit more. “You take the bed.”

An odd look flashed across Remus’ face. “No way, Jan. I’m good on the couch.”

“Remus, you just drove eight hours, and you’re doing it again tomorrow. I am not letting you fuck up your back.”

‘I don’t-”

“Yes you do, no matter how often you say you can sleep anywhere,” Janus scoffed. “You can’t lie to me.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and after a moment, he sighed. “Ok, Jan. But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You hate sleeping on couches.”

“It’s only one night-”

“And don’t you work tomorrow?”

“Yes, but-”

“You’re going to be so grumpy at work without a proper night’s sleep.”

“I’m usually grumpy at work anyway,” Janus pointed out. Remus snorted.

“Ok, that’s true. But I don’t want you to be even grumpier,” he said. “Let’s just share the bed.”

Janus eyed him for a moment. This was a terrible idea. They should not do this.

“Ok,” Janus said anyway.

They got ready for bed in awkward silence, which just made Janus miss Remus’ long, rambling chatter that much more. When Janus finished in the bathroom, he found Remus sitting gingerly on what used to be his side of the bed. Janus came over and sat down on the other side.

“Hey, uh… thanks,” Remus said. “For lettin’ me stay.”

“Of course,” Janus answered. “I… I still think of you as a friend, Remus.”

At that. Remus grimaced slightly. He didn’t say anything, seeming unable to find the right words. Before he could, Janus pulled back the top blankets on the bed and laid down. After a moment, Remus did the same.

“Good night, Remus,” Janus said quietly.

“...Good night, Janus,” Remus answered. Then he reached over and shut off the light.

Remus played that night over and over in his head in the days after he got home, and each and every time, he was just as stumped.

He knew, in his brain, why he and Janus had broken up. It had been the only thing that made sense at the time, when the facts were just that Remus was moving away to pursue a lifelong dream, and Janus would never ever try to stop him from doing so. So they broke up. It made sense… right?

But… That morning, he’d woken up to Janus curled up in his arms, face smushed against Remus’ neck, and… Remus had completely forgotten why they had even broken up in the first place.

Remus was back at Roman’s apartment, now. Eight hours away in his own cold bed, arms empty of the man he loved, just staring at the ceiling. A sharp knock on his door snapped him out of his daze.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Roman called. “Don’t you have class in like an hour?”

“Fuck!” Remus scrambled to get up, but succeeded only in rolling out of the bed.

“Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave,” Roman added. Clearly he was unconcerned by the loud “thump” of a body hitting the floor.

“Yup, got it,” Remus groaned in reply. He staggered, successfully this time, to his feet.

Getting dressed was a rushed affair of ‘grab whatever’s closest,’ and soon he emerged from the bedroom with one shoe on, the other in his hand, and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He rushed into the kitchen to grab the travel mug of coffee Janus always set out for him in the mornings. And then the realization hit: Janus didn’t live here.

Remus dropped his shoe.

The rest of the day went about as well as it could have gone without any coffee- that is to say, terribly. He got lost trying to get to campus, then he got lost again trying to get to class. Then he got stuck in traffic on the way back to Roman’s apartment. And then, to top it all off, the grocery store had been out of his favorite chips.

So here he was, mopey and chip-less, and fucking exhausted. He dumped his backpack and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Roman, who happened to be sitting on said couch, made a noise of protest.

“Move, I need to sulk,” Remus mumbled, though his voice was thoroughly muffled by Roman’s thigh, since that was where his face had landed.

“What on earth do you need to sulk for?” Roman asked incredulously. He moved to shove Remus off of him, but Remus went full ragdoll, and Roman couldn’t do a damn thing. “You are a grown man, you know.”

Remus turned his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Roman. Roman stuck his tongue out back.

“I had a terrible day, I earned a good sulk.”

“Didn’t like your classes?”

“Nah, they were great.”

“Professors?”

“Great.”

“Classmates?”

“Great.”

“Then Zeus Almighty, what are you so mopey-dopey about?” Roman remanded.

Remus squirmed around so he was laying on his back, head still in Roman’s lap, to look up at his brother. “So… uh… you promise not to get all, like. I told you so and shit?”

“You miss Janus!”

“No! I-”

“You do!” Roman crowed triumphantly. Remus rolled onto his side so he didn’t have to look at his brother’s dumb gloaty face.

“...Maybe,” he groaned. Abruptly, he clamored to his feet and started for the stairs. “I gotta go build a chair.”

“Carpentry won’t solve your relationship problems,” Roman called after him.

“I know,” Remus called back. “Wrong type of wood.” If Roman had a response to that, Remus was already out the door and didn’t have to hear it.

Patton found him out in front of the apartment building some time later, a jigsaw in hand, and a pile of cut wooden dowels at his feet.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you up to?”

Remus looked up from where he was balancing a plank of wood precariously across a milk crate, because his work table was one of the things he’d had to leave behind at Janus’ place.

“Oh, hey. Ro-bro’s upstairs.”

Patton gave him the sort of smile teachers gave to the kid they caught eating glue for the fourth time. “That doesn’t look super safe. Do you want any help?”

Remus took in Patton’s soft blue sweater and the dad-jeans from the nicer end of his closet, as well as the reusable grocery store bag that smelled suspiciously like some kind of lovely home-cooked meal; he shook his head. “You look dressed for a date night,” he said. “I don’t wanna fuck up two relationships this week.”

Patton’s eyes, impossibly, got even bigger and softer than they normally were, which honestly was quite the feat. He walked over to the stairs but, instead of making his way up to Roman’s apartment, he plopped down on the third step, facing Remus. Remus stared, bewildered.

“Uh, what’chu doin’ there, pops?”

“Well, it just sounded like you needed to talk,” Patton replied cheerfully. “So here I am.”

Remus stared a moment longer, somehow even more bewildered than before. “Uh…”

“I know I haven’t known you very long,” Patton continued. “But something tells me you’re the type of person who busts out the power tools when you’re upset.”

“How the hell can you tell that?”

Patton glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward slightly. “Because,” he said, voice lowered conspiratorially. “I’m like that too.”

Remus blinked. “You?”

“Yup! I replaced all the tables and chairs in my house with ones I made myself after my last breakup,” Patton giggled. “Only two of them collapsed when I sat in them, too!”

Remus glanced down at the jigsaw in his hands, and then he sighed. He set it down, and went to sit next to Patton on the steps.

“Ok, well. Yeah, maybe I’m kinda upset.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah? No? Maybe?”

“Yup, those are your three options!” Patton teased. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ok, fine. You win, daddy-o. I’m upset because I miss my boyfriend. Or, well, my ex-boyfriend. I want him to be my boyfriend again.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not,” Remus whined.

“Why not?”

“Because… I mean. It wouldn’t change anything. I still moved away. And I don’t even know if he’d want to be my boyfriend again either. Maybe he’s happier now.”

“You don’t know that,” Patton said gently. “Sure, maybe the circumstances aren’t the best right now, but if you both want it, things have a funny way of working out. But you have to talk to him.”

“I…” Remus paused. And then he sighed deeply. “I guess you’re right. Hey thanks, that did actually sorta help.”

Patton offered him a gentle smile. “Of course, Remus! Any time!”

“Hey!”

They both turned to see Roman standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.

“My own brother, hogging my boyfriend like this! The betrayal-”

“Relax, Ro, he’s not my type,” Remus shot back. “I prefer sarcastic little menaces.”

Patton giggled at that. He stood up and patted Remus on the shoulder. “I hope things work out,” he said. Remus smiled back.

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

Really, he just wanted Janus to be happy. Ideally with him, but if Janus was happier without him, well… so be it.

- - -

Janus was miserable.

“Dude, c’mon,” Virgil grumbled, immediately upon seeing the state of the apartment. “You’ve been watering your plants and filling the humidifiers, but you can’t be bothered to throw out your gross pizza boxes?” A pause. “Wait, you don’t even like pizza, what the hell.”

Janus just shrugged. After letting Virgil and Logan into the apartment, he’d gone straight back into blanket-burrito-on-the-couch mode. And really, he’d only bothered to get up and let them inside in the first place because Virgil had threatened to axe down the door- and Janus knew for a fact that Virgil owned multiple axes.

“I believe he is engaging in what is described as ‘emotional eating,’ or using food as a coping mechanism in a time of stress and emotional turmoil,” Logan said helpfully. Virgil just huffed.

“That’s fine and all, but Jesus Christ, dude.” He gestured around the livingroom where… ok, yeah, it was a mess.

“Did you two come here just to insult me?” Janus grumbled. His face was half-mashed into a pillow, though, so who knows how much of that was actually discernible.

“We came to make sure you were still alive,” Virgil snapped, indicating that at least most of what Janus had said was discernible. “You weren’t answering any texts.”

“Yes, and you called out of work three days in a row,” Logan added. “We are concerned for you, Janus.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Janus lied from the comfort of his depression blanket burrito. He was not particularly surprised when neither Virgil or Logan looked even remotely convinced.

“Alright, drastic measure time,” Virgil growled. He walked over to the window, and picked up the young Burgundy Rubber Tree Janus had yet to name. Janus sat bolt upright.

“Virgil? Don’t you dare-”

Virgil walked past him and vanished down the hall. When he came back, his hands were empty, and he had a smirk on his face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Janus hissed. He dragged himself up off the couch to go rescue the poor thing, finding it stashed in the dark, windowless bathroom. When he came back to the livingroom, Virgil and Logan were sprawled across the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Janus set the rubber tree back on the windowsill alongside the Snake Plant Army. “Ok, I’m up. Are you heathens happy now?”

“I take offense to that,” Logan muttered, while Virgil just crossed his arms and said, curtly, “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset-”

“Falsehood,” Logan interrupted. “I have known you since high school, Janus, and I have never seen you like this before. It is highly alarming.”

“Is this about Remus?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Janus said immediately. “Of course not.”

Virgil and Logan exchanged a Look. Janus groaned.

“Fuck. Ok, fine. Maybe it is.”

“Was that so hard?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.”

“You-”

“Janus,” Logan interrupted Virgil’s retort. “It is my understanding that emotional distress is often alleviated through, as they say, ‘talking it out.’ It is clear you are not handling the break-up as well as you initially believed-”

“Of course I’m not!” Janus snapped. He took a deep breath, and turned back to the plants on his windowsill. Kaa, the Sansevieria Moonshine Remus had gotten for Janus as an anniversary present last year, was already leaning slightly toward the window again. He rotated it, and a few of the other snake plants on the sill. And then he realized the others had been quiet for far too long. He turned to find them both watching him with sympathetic expressions. “What?”

“Keep going,” Virgil prompted. Janus sighed. He felt exhausted.

“Of course I’m not,” he said again. “Because I love Remus.”

“And?” Virgil prompted.

“...And I didn’t want us to break up,” he finished, feeling glum. Wordlessly, Virgil stood up, and approached Janus, arms out. Janus stepped into the embrace. Nobody said anything; Janus didn’t cry, but he stood there for a long time. Then, he stepped back.

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. Virgil gave him a small smile. Logan cocked his head, seeming confused.

“I don’t understand. You just… needed a hug?”

“Hugs are great, Logan,” Virgil replied. “You should try them sometime- hey, where are you going?”

Janus strode past them both, beelining for his bedroom to find his laptop. Over his shoulder, he answered, “To fill out some job applications.”

- - -

Remus was outside building a new bookshelf- because Patton was moving in, and Roman's teenie-tiny sad little excuse for a bookshelf, which held only Disney DVDs and no actual books, wouldn’t suffice for all of Patton’s cookbooks- when his phone rang. Which was weird, because nobody ever called him, because he never fucking answered.

“Not interested, Mr. Spam Man,” he crooned over the sound of the generic iPhone ringtone. He was learning how to do kerf bending for this bookcase, and goddamn it he wasn’t going to be distracted by-

His phone started ringing again. He swore and ripped off his gloves to silence his phone. But as he did so, he realized the number flashing across his screen was a familiar one.

“Janus? Are you ok?” he answered the call, half panicked, because Janus hated phone calls almost as much as he did.

“Hi. Yes, everything’s fine.” Janus sounded slightly hysterical, which made Remus feel even more frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Roman’s. Are you sure you’re ok-”

“Great, don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”

“What does that mean-” Remus demanded, but the line was already dead. Remus swore again. He briefly considered calling him back, because what the actual fuck was that all about, but he was only about 30 seconds into that brief consideration before a familiar car tearing through the apartment complex parking lot caught his attention. He quickly brushed as much of the sawdust off his clothes as he could because holy shit Janus had just parked right there in front of Roman’s apartment.

Remus watched, dumbfounded, as Janus scrambled out of his car- dressed in his very nice black suit and pale yellow button-up- and came running across the lawn toward where Remus was working. He had a tiny plant clutched to his chest.

“Uh, Jan, you good?” Remus asked. Janus stopped in front of him and doubled over, breathless, for a few moments. Then, he straightened up, and fixed Remus with a look of sheer determination.

“Remus. I want to get back together.”

Remus’ heart, the traitorous bastard, leaped up into his throat and blocked all his words from coming out.

“It’s… it’s ok if you don’t want that,” Janus continued. His look of determination faltered slightly. “It’s ok. But I needed to tell you. Because I love you, so much. And I… I didn’t want you to think I didn’t, even if you don't-”

Remus found his words abruptly. “Jan, fuck! I do! I do love you. I never stopped loving you. All I want is to be with you.”

Janus’ eyes softened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Good, because I’ve just been offered a job here.”

Remus choked. Janus was eyeing him smugly. “You. Just like that, you got a job here?”

“Just like that,” Janus grinned. “I just came from the interview. They offered me a position on the spot.”

Remus couldn't help himself any longer. He lurched forward and pulled Janus tightly into his arms.

“Hey, be careful,” Janus said, though he made absolutely no effort to get out of Remus’ embrace. “You’ll crush our new son.”

Remus pulled back just enough to look at the small plant Janus held in his hands, and only then did his brain register what it was.

“Is! Is that-”

“Yes,” Janus replied, holding up the tiny Drosera Capensis seedling. Remus had wanted one of these for ages.

“For me?”

“Well, for us, ideally,” Janus answered, with a shy smile. “But, mostly for you, yes.”

Remus gently plucked the baby octopus plant- their new son!- from Janus’ hands, and placed it carefully on top of the milk crate that was serving as his carpentry workbench. Then, he hoisted Janus up off the ground and spun him around.

“Oh- Re-” Janus exclaimed, though he was laughing. “Put me down!”

“No!” Remus trilled. He spun Janus around once more. Then he just stood there, holding Janus, gazing up at him. Janus’ eyes grew soft. Slowly, he carded his fingers through Remus’ hair.

“Hey,” Janus said.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Remus set Janus down, but kept his arms still wrapped tightly around him. His heart felt warm.

“Hey.”

Janus looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #kye writes

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mongoosecroft-alt · 3 years

Text

Song lyrics as writing prompts Wintersberg edition

Prompt: "I'm always tired, it's just a habit."

Song: I'm Always Tired by Weathers

Rules: meh, some lyrics maybe?

Theme: exhaustion

my response:

It's a quarter to three, Ethan is still rolling in bed. He's been staring at the digital clock on the nightstand on and off since he lay down. Rose is on the other bed, surrounded by pillows in a makeshift crib. Ethan would prefer to keep her within arms reach. But he knows she wouldn't be able to sleep next to him in this state, she’s barely out now, shifting and fussing every few minutes in her sleep. It may have something to do with the traumatic events of the past few days, but he knows it's at least partially because he's so tense. Kids are intuitive like that, and Rose has been ill at ease every since Miranda came into their lives masquerading as Mia. Ethan feels guilty that his inability to calm down and rest is keeping Rose from doing the same, and that's probably only making it worse.

Ethan sits up on the bed, he sets his booted feet down on the floor and leans forward on his knees. He still has his jacket and jeans on. The bed creaks but Rose doesn't seem to notice. He takes a moment to review his surroundings, the door is locked with a chair propped under the handle, a lot of good that will do if the bsaa shows up with a battering ram. He's positioned himself between Rose and the door, his gun is in the top drawer of the nightstand, safety's on. His knife is in it's holster tucked under his pillow. And now he's sitting in the dark, staring at the closed door, waiting for something to come crashing through. There's not much more he can do than that.

He rubs the back of his neck and takes as deep a breath as he can. Holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out in a heavy sigh. For a moment the room feels dead silent, all he can hear is Rose's shaking breaths, she's clearly having a bad dream. Ethan contemplates picking her up, but decides it would probably just upset her further. His body seems to grow heavier at the thought, he hangs his head listening closely to Roses breathing in the quiet of the motel room, until he hears a sound that nearly makes him jump out of his skin

It sounded like someone knocking on the door, but who could be looking for them at this time of night? or at all for that matter? Ethan instinctively pulls his knife from under the pillow and looks around the darkened room, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, until . . .

*knock knock knock*

The sound repeats, it's just a soft thudding, like it was barely meant to be heard. Ethan’s eyes land on the sliver of light coming from under the door and he realizes that the sound isn't coming from the front door, it's the door to the adjoining room. Ethan takes another deep breath and tries to settle his nerves, he had almost forgotten that the door was there. it hadn't even occurred to him to worry about it as he surveyed all the potential threats and points of entry a few moments ago. he stares at the sliver of light under the door, he can see the shadow of the man on the other side, he's not moving and he's already knocked twice, so it seems unlikely that he's just going to go away. But what could he possibly want at this hour?

Ethan stands up slowly in an attempt to minimize mattress creaking and pads quietly to the door, he considers for a moment before clicking on the lamp on the far side of the room, Rose has never had trouble sleeping with the lights on before. he gently unlatches the door and opens it slowly.

Karl Heisenberg stands on the opposite side leaning casually on the doorframe as he waits, like Ethan he only has the clothes he was wearing when he left the village, though he's looking far more put together now. The smell of overly scented hotel soaps and shampoo along with the errant air dried curls and waves of his hair give away the fact that he's freshly showered. Ethan was caught a little off guard by the sight, Heisenberg's hat and trenchcoat were conspicuously absent, his unkempt hair and relaxed stance seemed so humanizing, almost endearing.

Ethan was so taken aback by the sight that for a second he failed to notice that the Lord was looking at him over the rim of his glasses with a raised brow.

"Are you trying to outmaneuver a lycan or a small child? because I'm pretty sure her hearing isn't nearly as sensitive as mine"

Heisenberg spoke with an expressive yet soft voice.

If Ethan hadn't been paying attention, he wouldn't have even known he was being insulted. Still, he looked over to where Rose was to check on her, but she didn't seem bothered by the other mans voice at all. He sighed inwardly and decided not to press the issue.

"it's late Heisenberg, what do you want?"

Ethan's words lack venom and betray his exhaustion as he speaks.

"I'm here to offer some respite"

the Lord states matter of factly.

"what?"

"The past three nights you've been awake, either pacing the room or tossing back and forth on the bed, not to mention the kid starts screaming every few hours, so, I know you're exhausted. Because you're making be exhausted."

Ethan scoffed.

"Well, if my daughter and I are so disruptive them maybe you should ask for a different room so you won't have to listen to the lasting effects of an infants psychological trauma."

Ethan knew his response was overly harsh as soon as it came out of his mouth. Heisenberg was paying for their current lodgings with the small fortunes worth of crystals he'd had in his truck when they'd made their escape, and now Ethan was lashing out at him for pointing out that he wasn't sleeping. Ethan shook his head and opened his mouth to apologize but Heisenberg spoke before he got the chance.

"I didn't come here to complain, I came to offer my help, it's been over a week since the crash and the most you've slept since was when you passed out from bloodloss. You must be tired."

"I'm always tired, it's just a habit at this point."

Ethan’s shoulders hung heavy

"But, I can't sleep, not with everything I know now. Besides, who knows if I even need sleep to function anymore anyways."

"You do, I can tell by how bitchy you are without it."

Ethan looked back up from the ground to meet Heisenberg's eyes, he smiled and Ethan had to fight the urge to either laugh or cry, he didn't know which.

"This is your idea of 'helping'?"

"No, my idea was for you to let me watch the kid for a few hours while you get some shut eye, then hopefully you'll be in a better mood when you wake up."

Ethan shakes his head again, he's feeling more exhausted by the second since the start of this conversation

"I get that you want to help, but I can't just leave my daughter alone with someone I barely know."

Heisenberg mulls the fathers words over for a moment before he speaks.

"fine."

he shrugs and pushes past him into the room without another word.

Ethan is swung aside as easily as a door on its hinge and for a moment he isn't quite sure what just happened.

"What are you doing?"

Heisenberg walks past the beds and over to the table. He pulls out one of the chairs and spins it around.

"If you need to watch me while I watch her then fine"

He sits down backwards on the chair at the foot of Rose's bed with his arms folded on the backrest.

"I can keep an eye on her from right here."

Ethan stands in the middle of the room, he tries to find his words but nothing is coming out.

Heisenberg leans forward a little more

"Get some rest papa, who knows, tomorrow might be the day that everything goes to shit all over again, and when that happens you won't be much good to any of us in the state you're in now. So, just let me stand guard for a while."

Ethan can feel his fatigue gripping his bones now, yet there's still that screaming in his head that keeps telling him not to let his guard down. Words come toppling out of his mouth before he’s even stopped to think about them.

"Every time I close my eyes I see all the things that have already tried to come and take her from me, and just as may more that haven't tried yet."

"Do you even know how eyes lie?"

Ethan perked up immediately at the sound of the other mans voice, he hadn't been expecting a response to his musings.

"I spent my entire life surrounded by monsters that most sane people couldn't even fathom, and yet every night when I tried to sleep I'd be convinced that something far worse was coming for me."

Ethan’s not sure how long he stared at Heisenberg after he spoke, but it seemed to be long enough to make him regret sharing.

The Lord rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist with a dismissive showmanship

"Which is to say that you're not special, you just have the luxury of knowing you're not completely paranoid. Since people and creatures like that are in fact out to get you."

Ethan smiles and a soft laugh escapes him. As the sound reverberates through him he starts to realize just how deep this full body ache has sunk in. He takes a seat on the foot of his bed, too tired to stand anymore. He leans forward on his knees again weighing his options.

"Okay."

He finally speaks

"But no smoking around Rose, if you want to light up then go outside."

Heisenberg nods.

"Noted. But I'm not going anywhere"

Ethan falls back onto the bed as quietly as he can muster and doesn't bother trying to move from that spot.

"Night Heisenberg"

He mumbles as he quickly drifts off.

"Good night Winters"

Ethan wakes a few hours later to the sound of Rose fussing, it's still dark with the single dim lamp in the corner serving as the only light source. It's a slow process to dredge his consciousness out of the deep dreamless slumber he'd fallen into. He sees movement as he starts to crack his eyes open, for a man his size, Heisenberg can move in complete silence when he wants to.

Ethan watches through heavily lidded eyes, lying perfectly still as the man moves from his chair to Rosemary's bedside and sits down beside her.

He looks at her pensively and starts to reach with both hands like he's going to pick her up, but seems to think better of it. He sits and watches Rose as she starts to sniffle and wine louder. He starts to rub his hands together slowly, his gloves make a muffled scrubbing noise. They speed up as he leans down over Rose's fortress of pillows.

He reaches out again slowly and presses the palm of his gloved hand down gently on her chest. He waits a moment for her to react and then starts to rub slow circles on her chest. He begins to hum softly and Rose's fussing seems to taper off slowly back into silence

Ethan wonders to himself how Heisenberg could have known or guessed that this gesture would work. But as the soft rumble of Heisenberg's voice drifts into his thoughts he drifts off again.

Ethan doesn't wake again until a streak of sunlight from the crack between the curtains reaches his eyes. He stretches out on the bed and feels the soreness in his muscles, it's still there, but a little less now. He looks at the clock and sees its past noon. He can't remember the last time he slept this long, let alone without being woken by nightmares, either his or his daughters.

Wait, where's Rose then?

Ethan pushed himself up on the bed and looks around the room, he feels an unexpected rush of relief wash over him at the sight of the scruffy rough and tumble Lord stationed at his daughter's bedside.

Heisenberg was asleep, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the bed, his glasses hung on the neck of his shirt. Apparently at some point in the night he'd moved his seat to position himself between where Rose slept and the door.

Ethan was surprised to see that Heisenberg was still here after at least nine and a half hours, it certainly wasn't the kind of timetable they'd agreed to last night, and who knows how much of that the Lord had actually stayed awake for. Ethan certainly wasn't expecting to sleep for this long, though it wasn't uncommon for Rose, in fact she might sleep another couple of hours if she can.

Which was also surprising, even before the events of their recent history, Rose normally only slept this soundly when someone was holding her. As Ethan turns to face them and his eyes adjust to the modicum of light in the room he realizes why.

Heisenberg's arm is rested on the mattress, one of his leather clad fingers gripped tightly in Rose's little hand.

Ethan feels the corner or his mouth twitch at the sight. The two seemed content the lie. He looks back at the clock, Heisenberg usually slept half the day away anyway. Ethan gets up and walks around to the far side of the bed, he pulls his gun out of the nightstand and checks one more time that its loaded and that the safety is still on. He walks back down to the foot of the bed and sits with himself between the two of them and the door.

He can keep watch until they're ready to get up, he can thank Heisenberg when he wakes. For now he'll wait, he'll make sure their both safe.

#Wintersberg writing prompts #ethan x heisenberg #ethan winters x karl heisenberg #HeisenWinters #wintersberg #why does everything I write end up so long?#edited for typos #molded fam

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dannypuro · 3 years

Note

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?”

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters.

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves.

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words.

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa.

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!”

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders.

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this.

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin.

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive.

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course.

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat.

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-)

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly-

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly.

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered.

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

They watch a documentary.

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he-

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so.

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not.

Damn it.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching.

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again.

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return.

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question.

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.”

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close.

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

#something telling #exr #les miserables #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #les mis #exr fanfiction #enjoltaire fanfiction #writing #les miserables fanfiction #Anonymous

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dumbasscorn · 3 years

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Exothermic - chapter eleven

Amalthea vs Sam Uley

"Ah fuck, Mal! Why'd you do that? I'm suffering from a deadly illness!"

Previous chapter

1,016 words

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School was surprisingly quite bland without the oversized teddy bear. It was quiet. Well, that is other than Jackson pestering her over when Trevor would be better and how he can not get sick because the game is in two weeks.

"Jesus Jackson, text your friend to complain." Amalthea referred to the boy by his first name, knowing he'll start his spiel of her not having to say his royal title every time she spoke to him.

"I did text him, Amalthea. He texted me back saying to bother you for him. Hence, me making it my life goal to pester you!"

"That bitch. He's getting his ass kicked when I see him later, I swear to god."

Jackson faltered in his speed walking, tilting his head toward the girl. "Why're you going over there, silly goose? You'll get sick!"

"Mr. Huber has a paper that Uley needs. That, and dumb-dumb asked me to yesterday. If I do him a solid, he'll just have to repay me." She winked at the blonde.

Jackson sighed, "Fine then. Wear a mask, though! Or you can't be around me, darlin'!" He ruffled her hair, dodging the hand she threw to slap him.

"Yes, because that would be so terrible." The girl mumbled, pushing Jackson away from her and going to the old truck Bella sat in. Jackson, of course, yelled that he'd see her tomorrow and to give Trevor a distanced hug for him. Amalthea replied with an indecent gesture that would make Charlie proud.

The two teenage girls rode back to Charlie's house in silence, the only noise being Thea fiddling with the zipper of her jacket.

"Bella, can we go to Uley's house first? I gotta give him homework and a punch for being a bitch. Kinda don't need Uncle Charlie seeing me deck a boy a week and a half into my stay."

Bella side eyed her and nodded, asking for directions that lead to the boys house.

Pulling up the stand alone house surrounded by trees, Thea pulled the papers out of her shabby bag and slammed the trucks door shut.

Feeling her feet sink into the wet grass, Amalthea walked toward the dark mahogany door that hid a teen boy and his mother behind it.

Laying three solid knocks onto the hard wood, Thea rubbed the pads of her thumb and fore finger together. She really hoped it was the idiot who answered the door and not his mother-- that would be uncomfortable.

Surely enough, Trevor Uley swung the front door open, grinning at the black haired girl standing on his porch. He opened his arms to take her in, not expecting the punch she gave his bicep.

"Ah fuck, Mal! Why'd you do that? I'm suffering from a deadly illness!" Trevor pouted, caressing the arm that fell victim to the assault.

"No touching me, Uley. You're sick and annoying." Amalthea stared blankly.

His jaw sank, arms crossing in an argumentative manner, "Mal you just touched me when you abused me! Which was totally uncalled for, by the way!"

"Well I had to do that, it was retribution for telling Jackson to annoy me since you're not there. So, yes-- very called for."

Trevor frowned, forgetting he told his friend to do such a thing.

Amalthea handed Uley the papers assigned as homework, immediately stepping back to keep a distance between the two. She was not a very nice person when sick, her dad would very much vouch for that.

"Mal, you're the bestest best friend in the world!" He smiled exaggeratedly, hugging the homework to his body, "I'm gonna love have death by calculus on my tomb stone!"

Amalthea rolled her eyes at the boy, turning on her heels to walk back to the truck. Trevor called out for Thea, causing for her to stop mid twist, eyebrow raised in question.

"We've got two weeks till the game, pretty please with a cherry on top go! What if I'm still sick and dying by then?" He gave her puppy dog eyes, silently pleading for her to cave in.

Thea scoffed at the look he was giving her.

"If you're not dead and leave me alone, I'll think about it." She yielded.

Trevor jumped from his spot, moving to bombard her with a giant hug. Thea tutted, pushing him away again with all her strength.

As the two were having a conversation with one another about who-knows-what, Isabella Swan drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, wishing for her cousin to hurry up. Staring at the trees, searching for something that will give at least a little entertain, Bella noticed a rustling in the trees that couldn't have been made from the wind blowing. Seeing a flash of color speed through the trees, Bella gave into her antsy feeling and laid a small beep on the horn, signaling for her cousin to wrap it up.

Amalthea and Trevor saw Bella oddly anxious, spotting a certain stalker-ish brother walking up the drive way soon after.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me dude." Trevor grunted under his breath, turning to Thea. Her gave her a look that said, 'see!'

As much as she wanted to stay and laugh at the weird conversation Uley would have with his brother, Bella honked her horn once again.

Toeing her way down the stairs and away from Trevor, Thea looked the oldest Uley in the eye as she passed by.

Sam Uley glared at Amalthea as she walked backwards to the truck, watching as she struggled to hold in a snort. She made eye contact with Trevor, who mouthed 'See, I told you! Stalker!' to her. Smirking, she twirled on her toes and leapt over a puddle to the passenger door.

Dramatically making a show of settling into the seat and buckling herself in, Thea blew a kiss to Sam and gave a sarcastic smile to Trevor, who's face started going pink from holding in a chuckle. It didn't go unnoticed how quickly Bella left from the boys house-- turning back once, only to see Sam eyeing her moodily.

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y'all i had such a scare after finishing writing this. i went to copy it to save on another document so i didn't lose it and accidentally deleted it all. by heart fell to my ass but i thank god clicked off before it saved and didn't delete it all lols

sorry for the three week break, i was depressed and wanted to die LOLLLL, how're y'all tho

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scribbles-spills-the-ink · 3 years

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Alright, so Tumblr is the safest place I can put this and ask for advice, so here we go!

How to you deal with being so many minorities at once? Because sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in all the hate and expectations of the world that I don't fit in! I'm gay, I'm female presenting, I'm disabled, I'm nurodivergent, and mentally ill, and I'm biracial.

It literally feels like I can never do anything right, or no matter what I can never truly be myself.

It always feels like I'm "too much" of something for someone. I'm either "too black," or "too gay," or "too weird." I'm never just enough. I'm never enough.

My grandma invalidated my sexuality for years, and when she came to live with us, she did it more then ever. She constantly told me that, "you're not gay, you're just confused." "You're a girl, stop trying to act like a boy." Or, "You're too young to know that, you'll grow out of it soon."

Then, one day she got pissy at my mom and I for not immediately doing something she wanted, (because my grandma likes to act like a toddler!) and she told me, "You'll never be able to drive, you're just being delusional," and when I tried to explain that I would try and get accomodations for my truck my dad gave me before he passed away, she scoffed and said, "Yeah, keep dreaming."

But that wasn't even the worst part, I started getting angry and said, "Nobody gets to tell me what I can and can't do but me!"

Then she said, "You shouldn't even have that -n-word-'s truck."

My dad was black, she's an old white women, and my dad is gone.

I had never wanted to punch someone so bad in my life, I had never wanted to swear and call someone a bitch so much, I had never wanted to tell someone to go fuck themselves so much, but instead I said. "I hate you," and went in my room and cried.

It was like everything was falling on me, like she attacked everything she could. I could barley breath that day. My mom stood up for me, and I could hear them yelling in the living room, but I could also here my grandma calling my dad the n-word, and calling my mom a n-word lover. Then she stomped out of the living room and comes into mine.

At the time, her dog was hiding under my bed because it was too loud out there. (I didn't blame her, if I was small enough, I would've hid with her.) She started yelling about how I "stole" her dog, and that she wants her back right now, and how her dog is never allowed in my room again.

Now I'm still upset, but it's clear her dog is scared because she's still yelling and being a bitch so I say, "All right fine, I'll get your dog for you, but please get out of my room."

Then she does the whole, "You're 16! You're just a child! You need to respect me! I can do whatever I want!"

I think I told her, "I don't care how old you are, you don't get to treat me like garbage, and you don't get to say the things you did, so get out of my room, and I'll bring Lola (her dog) to you."

Then she said, "You know what, I wish you were never born," and slammed my bedroom door.

I'm disabled, my mom and I almost died when she gave birth to me. I have anxiety, and PTSD, and autism, and in 7th grade, I wanted to kill myself.

While I was okay at first, heck I even laughed before she left and said "I know you do, unfortunately for both of us, I'm still here." I'm almost 17 now, I was like 11 when I was suicidal, but I stayed because I wanted to see what happened next.

Not long after, my mom came in my room to check on me, and I told her what my grandma said with a smile. My mom did not smile. She was furious and went into my grandma's guest room and said, "Did you tell my daughter you wished she was never born?"

My grandma proudly said, "Yes! Because she told me to get out of her room! So I told her I wished she wasn't born."

Then my mom basically said, "Pack your shit, you're leaving tomorrow, you don't get to say that about my daughter."

I'm very lucky to have her as my mom.

But I think she and I both knew, my grandma wasn't leaving the next day, because as angry as we were, we wouldn't just throw her out on the street, so she stayed.

My mom went to work, and I spent most of the day ignoring my grandma, even though she tried to act like the other day didn't happen. Until she got angry with me not talking to her and said, "You're such a spoiled brat, I'm trying to talk to you, and you're being rude!"

I took the bait and said, "After all the shit you said about me? After you being racist and calling my dead father the n-word? After you being homophobic toward me, I think I have a right to be a little upset."

But as she continued to yell at me, I started to get overwhelmed. I wasn't in the safety of my room, it was super bright in the kitchen, and not only was she screaming at the top of her lungs, but I could also here the dishwasher running, the toaster burning, and everything else. I told her to stop because it was too much, and I was going to have a meltdown, and she laughed and said, "Well, you brought that on yourself."

She was such a monster the whole time she was here. I was happy when she finally left, not because she was finally better (thanks to my mom), but because I wouldn't have to deal with her racist, homophobic, ableist, sexist ass anymore.

That was...until yesterday, when she came to pick up all of her jewelry from our house, and I kid you not, this women wasn't even in the house for 3 minutes before she started an argument, "over what?" You ask. A fricking dog brush!

She got our dog a dog brush, and asked me if I had brushed the dogs yet. I told her no, because I'd been busy. She scoffed and asked my mom (who was taking care of our fish at the time and had her hands in the water) to go get the dog brush. My mom said, "wait, I'm doing something."

And I kid you not! This grown ass women, threw her cane down on the floor, and started yelling at my mom. "Why do you have to be such a bitch? I wish you weren't my daughter! Don't call me or talk to me anymore!" And left our house, with our aunt still here which she drove here with, and drove down the block so we would think she left! When she came back my mom brought her jewelry out to her, and she said sarcastically, "Since you seem to love that your daughter is gay so much, why don't you paint your nails gay for her again!? Since you don't care that your daughter is a lesbian!" Because during pride month my mom got rainbows painted on her nails to show her support for me and my cousins who were queer.

Then because my mom was like, "Maybe I will, thanks." My grandma said, "While you're at it you should get that -n-word-'s truck out of your driveway."

And mom slammed the door on her and I just- why??

Why?

Does she not realize that my father is gone? Does she not realize that whenever she calls him the n-word, she's basically calling me it, and being openly racist? Does she not realize her being openly homophobic toward me and invalidating my feelings hurts? Does she not realize that I've gone my whole life having people tell me that, "you can't do this," "you'll never do that!" And I'm tired?

And her words keep ringing in my head, "I wish you were never born," who says that to a child? And it's worse because, for me at least, I've thought that a million times, but there's a safety net when you know that it's just your anxiety and depression talking. But when someone else says it to you? When someone else validates all those hurtful things you say to yourself, you can't help but wonder, "What if they're right?"

I can handle racist people, I can handle homophobic people, I can even handle ableist people, but when it's all in one person; it's just too much. It feels like being attacked on all angles, like you're completely surrounded and all you can do is curl up and cry.

Add on top of it that it's a family member, someone who's supposed to love and cherish you, and it makes you feel like you're in the wrong. Like you're the one who messed up, you're the one who's unloveable. I'm just tired, man. Im still a kid, I don't know how to do this. I need help, but I dont know where to get it.

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lynettethemadscientist · 3 years

Text

Concept: An Alternate Universe(?) Saeran x Reader fic based on the 50s sci-fi movie The Alligator People.

I’m standing on a train station platform in Louisiana swamp country. Alone.

Nearby me sits a box labeled radioactive. It’s been hours but surely someone will come for their mail. So I wait.

An old pickup arrives. A mint-haired man wearing dark shades steps out of the truck to pick up the package.

I ask him if he knows of the place I’m looking for and if he’ll take me there.

“They don’t usually have visitors.” His voice is low and cool. “Are they expecting you?”

“No. Not exactly. But they will know who I am.”

The bluenet smiles before telling me to hop in and loading the crate onto the truck.

The drive through the swamp is rough. The man introduces himself as V and gives me a kind smile. Perhaps in an effort to ease my apprehension. But my unease does not come from him.

When V stops to remove a large branch from the roadway, I see two men attempting to wrangle an alligator.

“Have you ever been in bayou country before?” V asks as he returns to the truck.

I shake my head, still staring at the gator thrashing and hissing in the grasp of the men. “It’s so wild and primitive.”

“And deadly. You ought to be careful around here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The rest of the drive is no more smooth and no less tense than it began.

We soon reach a plantation house. V drops me off and drives away.

I knock on the door.

The door opens and I’m greeted by a stunningly beautiful white-haired man with scarlet eyes dressed in butler attire. He flashes a charming smile but before he can speak, I hear a cheery male voice from within the house.

“Who is it, Zen?~” The voice chimes.

“It’s a fine lady.” Zen answers as he effortlessly tosses me a wink.

“Well don’t be rude, let her in!~”

I step inside and see a man with racecar-red hair dressed like a Southern belle. His face looks strangely familiar.

“Is this your place?” I ask.

“Of course!” He flourishes an ornate fan. “Welcome to my lovely manor!”

I catch a glimpse of the butler rolling his eyes before I respond. “Well...maybe you can help me. For a long time I’ve been looking for my husband. He disappeared the night we were married. I’ve searched everywhere. I’ve tried everything. And this is my last hope.”

The vermillion-haired belle’s face is still plastered with a silly grin but his eyes show no mirth. “But, why here? Surely you can’t expect to find anything in a swamp but alligators~ And snakes~ Hisssss~”

I hesitate, trying to process the unorthodox demeanor of this man. “I received a mysterious message stating that my husband lived at this address.”

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Saeran Choi.”

His expression falters for a moment. “Well, there’s no one by that name here~ Some charlatan must have been playing a cruel prank on you.” He touches a hand to his cheek. “But no matter~ There’ll be another train tomorrow~ May we offer you the hospitality of the manor for the night?”

“I suppose…” This man is so absurd, I cannot determine if he is mocking me or just ill-mannered.

“Terrific!” He claps his hands together. “Yoosung!”

A door opens to reveal a blond man with violet eyes wearing a maid outfit. He exits what appears to be a kitchen. “Yes, Master Luciel?”

“Show Mrs- what was your name again?”

“Mrs. Saeran Choi.”

“Show Mrs. Choi to the guest room please~”

Luciel whispers something into Yoosung’s ear before I follow him upstairs.

I distractedly unpack in my room amidst thoughts concerning the strange owner of this house. I’m tempted to dismiss his behavior as merely the eccentricities of a man who’s lived in the swamp too long. But I cannot help but feel that his odd behavior is merely a ruse.

I hear gunshots outside.

I rush to the window and see a blonde woman in a black dress cackling and firing a pistol wildly at gators. I run to the door but find it locked.

I retreat to the bed. I’m trapped here. If I were really a guest they wouldn’t have locked me in.

The gunshots stop.

The maid enters carrying a tea tray.

“Yoosung,” I plead. “Those gunshots. What were they about?”

“Oh...” He throws a mildly contemptuous glance at the window. “That’s the swamp witch. She hates gators.” He sets down the tray and stares at me for a tense moment. “I have to go.”

“Wait please!” I tug at Yoosung’s arm. “Somebody has to help me. Is it true what he told me? Have I come to the wrong place?”

“I can’t- I ought not to say anything, ma’am.”

“Can’t you tell me anything?”

I see pity surfacing in his lavender eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s not my secret to tell.”

He slips a key into my hands and leaves the room.

I hear a door slam and look out another window to see Luciel leaving in a car that looks ill-fitted for the terrain.

I wake up to the sound of a piano playing a sorrowful tune. I feel as though I’ve heard this theme before. I unlock my door and walk softly down the stairs. I can hear the music coming from behind a door to my right.

I open the door and the piano stops playing. In the dark I can barely see a male figure turning to see me before he flees out a side door and into the swamp. I turn on a lamp and see muddy footprints on the floor. Upon approaching the piano I find the keys are wet.

In the morning I stand outside the front door. A man drives up in a fancy boat with wheels. He introduces himself as Jumin Han, the local doctor.

“Is Luciel inside?” He inquires.

“He hasn’t come down yet. Has he been ill, doctor?”

“No. I have some other business with him.”

I pause for a moment before introducing myself. “I’m Mrs. Choi. Mrs. Saeran Choi.” I examine his face as I enunciate my words. “That name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“I don’t know. Let me explain, doctor. Since my husband disappeared I’ve done nothing but search for him. And I’m going to keep on asking questions.”

“What brings you here?”

“A mysterious message.”

“You came all the way down here. Traveled thousands of miles. On nothing more tangible than that.”

“I’ve traveled much farther, on even less.”

“I see.” The flash of conflict in his eyes is brief but unmistakable. “You found no other evidence?”

“Why? Is there other evidence?”

“Of course not.”

“You did know Saeran didn’t you? I can tell. What is it, doctor? Why won’t any of you tell me about him? What are you all trying to hide?”

“You are obviously overwrought. But that’s understandable given the circumstances. I wish I could help. Please tell Luciel I couldn’t wait, but I’ll stop by later.”

Even as he walks away I’m sure that man did not come here to see Luciel at all but instead to interrogate me.

When Zen brings a car around to bring me to the train station I refuse to leave.

Luciel returns home to find me rifling through the paperwork in his desk.

“What are you doing??” He hikes up his dress and rushes towards me.

“Looking for answers.”

“Get out of there. You’ve no right to look through my things. You were supposed to leave on the train.”

“I’m not leaving here until I get the answers to the questions that brought me here.”

“I told you yesterday you were mistaken.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Get out of my house.”

“I will not. Who was playing the piano in the dark last night? Someone who left wet footprints on the carpet.”

“You’re imagining things-”

“No I’m not. Anymore than I’m imagining that you want to get rid of me. That you’ve got something to hide.”

His expression hardens. “Just leave it alone. It’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t! What have you done with my husband?”

“Your curiosity will get you nothing but trouble. You need to leave. Now.”

“Saeran is my husband. I’m not leaving until you tell me whatever terrible thing you’ve done to him.”

“I don’t give a damn if he’s your husband! He’s-” His breathing is frantic.

“He’s what?”

Luciel heaves a weary sigh. “He’s my brother.” His eyes glisten. “I have to protect him. No matter what.”

I am halted at this revelation. My confrontational demeanor is whisked away.

As night falls, I wait for Saeran in the piano room. I sit concealed in a large cushioned chair. Behind me I hear the door open and a gravelly voice speak.

“Saeyoung, is she gone?”

“No Saeran, she isn’t.” I stand from the chair and face him.

He covers his face in an instant and flees. I call out to him, but he disappears into the dark, rainy swamp. I take off after him, pleading for him to come back.

“Saeran! Saeran!” I wail. The mud is above my ankles. My arms and legs are bruised from the logs and branches. I have to find him. I call out for him over and over, desperately trying to scream above the storm. But I can’t see him. I can hardly see anything.

I stumble upon a snake that strikes at me and I shriek in fear. The blonde woman I saw earlier appears from the foliage and uses a stick to push away the snake.

“You ought to have better sense, dear.” She coos into my ear. “Nobody goes out into the swamp on a night like this.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leads me into a cabin.

“I don’t understand. Why did you bring me here?” I shiver.

“Well, dear, I thought you’d appreciate me saving you from that snake.” She smiles. It is not a kind smile.

She offers me a drink. It doesn’t look like any alcohol I’ve seen. It’s bright blue. I try to decline, but she insists I take a sip. It’s very bitter. I cough and she chuckles.

I’m sniffling. More from the renewed loss of my husband than from the cold.

“You poor dear. You’re so cold. Here, have another sip.” She says cloyingly as she attempts to push the flask into my hands.

I utter a brief response amidst my tears. “I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

“Alright dear.” She sets down the flask and lifts up a blanket. “Here. We’ll wrap you in this then. So you don’t catch a cold.”

I stand up and she wraps the blanket around my body. She doesn’t let go. Her arms curl tightly around me. She presses her cheek against mine.

“Please let go.”

“Oh now, don’t say that. We’re only just getting to know each other.”

I struggle against her embrace. “Let go!”

She chuckles and tightens her grip.

I start struggling more frantically as she restrains me. But I can feel my movements becoming more sluggish. I hear her cackle through my screams.

The door slams open but I can hardly react to see who it is before I’m thrown onto the bed.

I can hear a struggle. I try to roll over and see who stopped the witch, but I can barely move now.

I feel cold, rough hands lift me into their arms and carry me back out into the rain. But for some reason I am not afraid. Before my vision goes completely dark I try to look at my rescuer’s face. He has white hair, but his skin is olive green and leathery.

The last thing I hear before I lose consciousness is a woman screeching: “I’ll kill you alligator man! Just like I would any four-legged gator! You hear me? I’ll kill you!”

In the morning, I am told that Dr. Han wishes to see me and I’m escorted to his laboratory in the swamp.

As I enter the building, a shapely brunette leading two cloaked figures approaches me.

“You’re Mrs. Choi?”

“Yes,” I responded, watching the two figures as they walk away. They’re completely concealed. Even their hands and faces. “Dr. Han is expecting me.”

“Please follow me. You may wait in his office.”

From his office I can see Dr. Han overseeing several men carry a gator from a gurney onto a table underneath a large, strange apparatus. They strap the gator down as Dr. Han turns to leave.

I watch silently as he enters the office and begins to operate the apparatus. A high-pitched noise fills the room as Dr. Han stares at his watch.

After a few seconds, the sound is stopped and Dr. Han speaks through a comm.

“Take him out. Put him in a cage alone. We’ll run the test series on him in an hour. And bring in another specimen.”

He turns to me before speaking again.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Choi, for the wait. This experiment is very urgent.” He pauses for a moment to adjust his tie. “Remarkable creatures aren’t they?” He gestures to the alligator being carried away from the table.

“I suppose.”

“I’ve been conducting experiments for years, exploring the possibility of accelerating the healing process of humans using extracts from these creatures. And about two years ago, I thought I’d found the answer. I conducted an experimental treatment on those who had been badly mangled in accidents. The results were miraculous. Bones, tendons, muscles, even nerves and skin mended completely in a matter of weeks.”

“That’s very interesting, doctor, but what does that have to do with my husband?”

“I’m afraid it has everything to do with your husband. I’m sure you’re aware of the plane crash that nearly killed him?”

I slowly nod.

“Your husband was the worst of the lot. He was on the brink of death. Completely broken. And horribly disfigured.”

I vaguely remembered telling my husband before he vanished that he hardly looked like he’d been in a crash at all.

“Sadly, several months after his recovery I became aware of some unintended effects-“

The brunette assistant entered the room.

“Doctor, come quickly. It’s #6 again.”

“I see. Mrs. Choi please follow me.”

As I followed the pair down the hallway I could hear growls. Upon entering the room I see a snarling man on a bed, writhing underneath the grip of three men. The left half of his face is covered with green leathery scales.

Dr. Han performed a brief examination.

“Another sedative, doctor?”

“No. It seems the brain tissue has been affected. Use the ice pack and monitor him.”

The assistant left the room and returned with a large heavy blanket which was draped over the struggling man. Shortly after, his muscles relaxed and he became calm.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“One of my patients.”

“Then this is…” Horror crept into my heart.

“The aftereffects.”

“I don’t understand- how-“ My voice trembled.

“I do not know. I have been trying to find out for the past several months.”

“And the ice blanket?”

“Reptiles cannot internally regulate their temperature, so cold has a depressant effect on them.”

“Reptiles? But these aren’t-“

And then I understood. Or rather I was forced to accept it. As much as I didn’t want to. Dr. Jumin Han’s patients were turning into alligators as a result of his treatment. And my husband was one of those patients.

I should’ve been distraught. Or maybe angry. But all I could think of was how Saeran felt he needed to carry this burden himself. I couldn’t imagine how scared and alone he had been these past several months. I needed to see him.

As the doctor walked me out I asked him whether there was any hope of reversing these effects.

“There is a slight chance. But my testing is far from complete. Against my advice, your husband insists upon taking that chance tonight. The risk is extremely great, Mrs. Choi. This treatment could worsen his condition or kill him.”

“I will talk to him.”

“Please do.”

As night fell, I waited for Saeran to arrive at the doctor’s office.

When he saw me he once again tried to conceal his face and flee. I grasped his arm.

“Saeran! Please don’t run away! Not again. Dr. Han explained everything. Including why you’re here tonight.” I tugged at his arm, trying to get him to face me. “Please, Saeran. It doesn’t make any difference. I’m your wife and I love you.”

Saeran still wouldn’t look at me. “You know about tonight?”

“Yes. Please don’t do this, Saeran. The risk is too great. Please just wait. Wait for Dr. Han to complete the tests. Please I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” His voice was gravelly but choked with emotion. “I’d rather have died.”

“Please don’t say that, Saeran. I love you. No matter what. You know that, right?”

“…yes.”

“Then please trust me. I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve missed you so much. Look at me please.”

Saeran turned to face me at last. Revealing his crocodilian face. His eyes shone with tears.

I cradled his face in my palms.

“I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Even if it means being married to an alligator man. Please don’t do this.”

He muttered my name in a half-sob and I embraced him. He felt so cold to the touch. And his soft skin was replaced with scales. But none of it mattered. He was still Saeran, so he was perfect. He sank into my embrace as if he had existed for an eternity without being held. His hard hands clung desperately to my back. His ridged face buried itself in my neck.

“Are you sure?” His breath shuddered against my skin. “You can love an alligator man?”

“As long as the alligator man is my Saeran.”

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“Careful You” Part 1 of 2 - Shane x F!Reader, Daryl x F!Reader

PART II

Request from anonymous: A Shane x reader x Daryl where reader and Shane we’re together since the beginning but reader realized he’s becoming an ass and Daryl (who the reader secretly likes) says “I know you ain’t in love with him” pretty please??? Thank you!!!!

Word Count: 5063

Warning: Cursing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Careful You” by TV On The Radio

Note: So yes! This will be a two-part request story. I got hella carried away with this one and I didn’t wanna post the whole thing so part 1 today and part 2 tomorrow! I’m sorry if ya like Shane but hes an asshole in this at times. It jumps around a bit from the quarry to the cdc to the highway to the greene farm. The real emotional stuff is in part two so I hope yall like this. reminder: I may not fill every request, ill only pick the ones I know I can make somethin good, but still send them!

------

You began to notice a change in Shane when Rick Grimes was reunited with his family.

Before the world turned, you, Shane, Rick, and Lori were the best of friends. It was always double dates after work and the four of you planning Carl’s birthday parties. It was Rick and Lori and Shane and you, no matter what. Shane Walsh wasn’t an easy man to love, but love him, you did.

The first time you saw him it was at a bar in downtown Atlanta. Rick and Shane were out in the city for a weekend to celebrate some kind of achievement they got from the Academy. You had noticed his dark hair and dashing smile from across the room and as soon as your eyes met, you were done. Shane Walsh became your person and you never thought anything would get in between the two of you. And nothing did...until the end of the world.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew about Shane and Lori. Hell, you probably knew about his attraction to her before she did. You ignored it the best you could before the world ended, but now it was hard to ignore the fact that your boyfriend, the man you loved, was in love with another woman.

A married woman.

Then when Rick stepped out of that truck and Carl ran from Lori’s arms, the ground rocked beneath your feet. When you had hugged him once his family had let go, it was more than relief that cascaded over you, it was gratitude. With Rick back, there wouldn’t be time for Shane to gawk at his best friend’s girl, let alone sneak off into the woods with her. Hopefully, things would start to go back to normal.

However, whenever Lori was alone, Shane was still there. He would be watching her, looking out for Carl, and he’d do it right in front of Rick. Rick didn’t seem to notice and if he did, he ignored it and acted as if everything was the way it once was. It pissed you off to see him act so naive, but you figured he didn’t want to start anything. The last thing any of you needed was in-fighting within the group.

However, it didn’t take long for said in-fighting to start. Especially once Daryl Dixon came back from his hunt. You had met both of the Dixon brothers the day they arrived at the camp. Merle was an asshole and immediately began hitting on you. Shane had shut that down within a few seconds, making sure the older Dixon knew that you were his girl and to keep his paws and his mouth to himself. It was one of the only times Shane had claimed you in front of the group.

As for Daryl, you weren’t sure about where his head was at. He followed his brother closely and you figured he had been doing so his entire life. Daryl was his brother’s opposite. While he still had a mouth on him when he did happen to speak up, he didn’t purposefully inject himself into conversations or make lewd remarks at the women in the camp. He kept his head down and his crossbow up when it was warranted. He was also great at hunting and had taken the job of getting food for the group.

Carl had once told you that he thought Daryl was “cool”, but that he kind of scared him. You had laughed and assured the kid, whom you considered a nephew, not to worry. Dixon may be a bit rough around the edges, but he was harmless. Though you made sure to tell him to steer clear of Merle and Carl didn’t argue about that.

The other thing you noticed about Daryl was that he always seemed to know where you were. You had noticed him watching you in the camp. At first, it was simple glances here and there and then his eyes started to linger more and more. You considered telling him not to due to how Shane normally reacted whenever another man looked at you, but whenever you turned to look at your boyfriend, his eyes would be on Lori and you would give up and go talk to Andrea or Amy to pass the time.

You had only spoken to Daryl a couple of times. Once when you had run into him as he walked back to camp carrying rabbits on a line. You heard a rustle in the trees and pulled your weapon, a police-issued pistol Shane had given you after the Turn. Daryl froze as the barrel became trained on him. You dropped it immediately. “Shit, sorry,” you had said.

“Careful where ya point that thing, girl,” Daryl had scoffed. “Don’t need my damn head blown off cause ya trigger happy.” You had rolled your eyes and holstered your gun.

“Such a charmer, Dixon,” you told him and left him with his fresh kill. That night after your run-in in the woods was when he first started watching you. The other times you had spoken to him were just in passing and it was always when both Merle and Shane weren’t there. It seemed like your friendship, if you could call it that, was only acknowledged when the alpha males in both of your lives took a hike. And while it bothered you, you accepted it. It’s just the way the world was now.

On the day that Rick told you all that they had left Merle in Atlanta, you knew Daryl was going to be pissed and he definitely was. You watched from the doorway to the RV as Daryl yelled at Rick. The emotion was clear on his face as he thought about his brother being chained to the roof like an animal as he waited to be eaten by Walkers.

When Daryl had thrown a punch and Shane placed him in the chokehold, that is when you stepped in. You shoved Rick back and knocked Shane’s feet from under him. Daryl and Shane went down hard on the ground and Daryl shoved out of Walsh’s arms. “Stop it!” you yelled, getting between the men. “None of this alpha-male bullshit is helping anyone. Rick,” you said, looking at him, “you screwed up. Merle screwed up. It was bound to happen at some point! So instead of acting like idiots, do something.” You then turned and offered your hand to Daryl who took it and you helped him to his feet.

You watched as Daryl stormed off and without thinking, you followed him, ignoring Shane’s calls. You found him as he exited his tent on the edge of the camp. He was throwing things into a backpack and gathering up his bolts for his bow. “Daryl,” you said. He looked up at you and scoffed.

“Don’t need yer sympathy, girl,” he shot at you. “Don’t need ya fightin’ my battles either. I can handle yer damn boyfriend.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” you said. “Shane is a hothead and yeah, Rick can be an asshole, but they mean well.”

“Yer friend Rick left my brother to die!” he yelled, pointing over your shoulder.

“I know,” you said, trying to calm him down, but Daryl marched up to you, getting in your face and looking you over.

“You know nothin’,” he snarled in a low voice before pushing past you, knocking into your shoulder. You pushed your hands into your hair as you took a deep breath.

“(Y/N)!” you turned to see Shane walking towards you.

“What now?” you asked, not wanting to start another argument.

“You need to stay away from Dixon,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Excuse me?” you asked, mirroring his stance. “I don’t need to do anything, Walsh,” you said. “He’s pissed about Merle. What if it was me or Rick that was left on that rooftop? You’d be pretty pissed too.”

“Don’t loop me in with him,” Shane said with a touch of disgust. You rolled your eyes. “What?”

“I’m just sick of people acting like there aren’t worse problems out there than a few petty arguments or having to be with people you don’t like.” You relaxed your arms and reached for his hands and he let you. You squeezed Shane’s hands tight in your own, looking into his eyes. “Shane, there are monsters walking around and we need to start thinking about how to protect our people from them. How to protect the kids like Carl and Sophia.”

“What do you think I’ve been doin’?” he asked, his voice softer. “That’s all I’ve been tryin’ to do, (Y/N).”

“I know, but sometimes you try to take on too much by yourself. Let others take some of the weight, okay? I’m here and now so is Rick. You have Dale and Glenn who are always willin’ to help. Lori, too. Stop trying to be Superman.” Shane looked at you for a moment before he nodded. He then tugged you forward and kissed you firmly. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead on yours.

“Rick is gonna take Daryl back, go look for Merle,” Shane said quietly.

“Are you goin’ with?” you asked.

“No, I’m stayin’ here to protect the camp,” he then leaned back and looked at you with a fierce look in his eyes. “And so are you.” You knew there was no point in arguing so with a sigh you nodded. He pressed another kiss to your lips before leaving you alone. As Shane walked away, you caught Daryl watching you from where he stood next to Glenn. You couldn’t read his expression, but there was an intensity to it that had you turning away from him.

However, there was a feeling that his eyes remained fixed on you even as you headed into the tent you shared with Shane.

-------

Of course, it wasn’t long until things got worse.

While Daryl, Glenn, Rick, and the others were out looking for Merle, Shane was following Lori around like a lost dog while you distracted Carl, trying to keep his mind off his father leaving again. When you had first met the smallest Grimes, he took to you immediately. You weren’t just Uncle Shane’s girlfriend, Carl considered you family as well.

It was Carl who you were sitting with when the Walkers entered the camp. You heard the screams of panic first and you moved. Grabbing Carl by his collar, you pushed him behind you as you watched Andrea’s sister, Amy, get taken down by a Walker. Carl clutched the back of your jacket as you pulled your own weapon, taking aim at the monsters that converged on the quarry.

Shane was there in a second and he took out all the Walkers that surrounded the RV. He then pushed all the kids towards the vehicle, locking them inside as the rest of you aimed at the Dead. Only a moment later, shots were coming from another direction. Rick and the others came through the woods, their guns blazing. Their sudden appearance caused you to miss the Walker stumbling towards you. You raised your gun as it grabbed your shoulder, but a bolt flew past your ear and struck the Walker that clung to you. Daryl ran past you, giving you a once over before taking aim again.

Snapping out of your shock, you finished off the rest of the Walkers that feasted on your new comrades. A cry pulled your attention as you saw Carol staring at her now-dead husband. You had no remorse for Ed, he wasn’t a good man at all, but the heartbreak on both Carol and Sophia’s faces made you pause.

Once the Walkers were down and people had calmed down, you searched for Shane. You found him by the RV, moving the kids out and away from the body that lay before it. You didn’t need to look closer to know it was Amy. You turned away, looking for Carl and felt relief when you saw him with his parents as the three of them embraced. Looking back over your shoulder you saw Shane and how he watched the Grimes family. The envy in his eyes made you uneasy. He looked at the man he considered his brother as a rival now even though Lori was never his, to begin with. Again, you shoved down your feelings and went to help move the bodies out of the camp.

It was morning by the time everyone had sorted between the Dead. Two piles. One for friends to be buried and the other full of Walkers that were to be burned. You didn’t see the point in either practice. You knew that if you walked down the hill and onto the roads, bodies were strewn everywhere. It had simply become the new normal. However, you knew it was their way of trying to find some normalcy in the new screwed up world, but you couldn’t see it the way they could.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Andrea as she knelt over Amy’s body. You knew that she would turn any time now. It was already happening and it made you sick to think about someone you knew becoming one of those things. It was all just a bit too much at that moment.

You excused yourself and headed to the far side of the camp, settling down on a log, leaning your forearms on your knees. You took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the memory of the screams of people being torn apart. The log shifted as someone took a spot next to you. You figured it was Shane so you ignored him. However, when you spotted the crossbow on the ground between their feet, you relaxed and turned to look at Daryl.

“Thanks for last night,” you said, breaking the silence. He grunted a response that you had become accustomed to. “What happened?” you asked, not needing to elaborate further. Everyone noticed that only one Dixon brother came back.

“He’s gone,” Daryl muttered, “cut his own damn hand off to get out of the cuffs.” Your brows shot up at that, but you weren’t that surprised. It sounded like something Merle Dixon would do.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, turning your face back towards the camp as Glenn dragged more bodies through the camp.

“What she waitin’ for?” Daryl asked as he looked at Andrea.

“People cope differently,” you said. “Maybe she just needs to see it for herself.”

“Don’t make sense,” he mumbled.

“I don’t get it either,” you sighed, “Dead is dead. Whatever this is…” you waved your hand vaguely at the Walker corpses, “They just need to be put down. Amy doesn’t deserve to become a monster.”

“I could probably hit her from here,” Daryl said, toeing his bow, but you shook your head.

“She nearly ripped Rick’s head off when he mentioned putting her down. We don’t need any more damn fighting,” you said with a warning tone. Daryl nodded and then was silent for a bit.

“I agree with ya, ya know?” Daryl said after a minute.

“About what?” you asked.

“Nobody deserves to be a Walker,” he clarified. “I wouldn’t want someone to wait, ya know?”

“I do,” you said, understanding. “Make me a deal, Dixon. If I get bit, you shoot me right away. Don’t let me turn,” you said, offering your hand. Daryl looked at you and then took your hand in his, gripping it tightly.

“Only if ya return the favor,” he said and you nodded. You shook hands and then let go, feeling Shane’s eyes on you. “Yer boy keeps starin’,” Daryl said.

“Yeah,” you said before you stood up, brushing off your jeans. “I’m holdin’ you to that promise.” He nodded to you again and you left him alone to his thoughts.

------

When Rick and Shane decided to go to the CDC, you were less than thrilled.

The last thing you wanted was to go back into the city. Considering the things you saw there the last time you were there, it wasn’t the most desirable plan. However, you knew that you were outnumbered, and with Jim trying to fight the infection, you went along with it.

Everyone knew that Jim wasn’t long for the world. The fever took him fast and you knew there wasn’t a cure. If there was one, every street in Atlanta wouldn’t be crawling with Walkers and littered with half-eaten bodies. Again, you also knew that it was all about optimism and Rick felt that this was the right choice.

Sitting in the RV, you leaned against Shane. He kept his arm wrapped around you and rubbed your arm and down the side of your thigh. It was nice to just sit with him for once instead of feeling the distance that had began to deepen between the two of you. Shane rested his head on your shoulder, kissing the place your neck met your shoulder and you sighed, resting your head against his chest. Carl was making kissing faces at the both of you and you stuck your tongue at him causing him to laugh.

“You trying to steal my girl, Grimes?” Shane teased the kid.

“(Y/N) likes me better!” Carl joked causing Shane to chuckle. He gripped you tighter, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Easy gentlemen,” you said with a smile. “I think we both know that Lori and I are the true soulmates.” Lori laughed at that.

“I’ll take that,” she laughed.

It was an easy ride from there on until Jim got worse. You all went from laughing and joking to feeling somber as Daryl, Rick, and Shane helped Jim off the road and under a tree. When they tried to hand him a weapon, Jim shook his head. Rick and Shane left him, giving him a final goodbye, but Daryl stalled, looking down at his bow and the dying man. He then turned and started to walk back to the truck. You stepped in his path, a pleading look in your eyes. He shook his head.

“It’s his choice, (Y/N),” Daryl said, knowing what you wanted to say. Daryl pushed past you as Jim closed his eyes. You fought the urge to yell as you made your way back into the RV. Instead of sitting back down with Shane, you went to the back and laid down, trying to drown out everything around you. You fell asleep as the RV rumbled beneath you, getting some decent rest for the first time in weeks.

Shane lightly shook you awake when the caravan finally came to a stop. The look on his face made you sit up quickly. “What is it?” you asked.

“Just...prepare yourself,” he said and offered his hand. You took it and he led you out of the RV. The smell was what hit you first and then you saw the source. Bodies were everywhere. Lori and Carol kept their arms around their children as your group moved through the rotting corpses. Daryl and Rick headed up the group while you and Shane took the rear, all of your weapons ready to fire if needed.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered to Shane as you stepped over another body.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya safe, (Y/L/N),” he joked, poking you in the ribs.

“It’s not funny, Shane,” you chastised. “I don’t like being out in the open like this. We’re vulnerable, especially with the kids.”

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Shane assured you. He winked at you and you pushed ahead of him as you started to hear groans and shuffling of the Dead as they noticed you moving towards the shuttered building. Daryl began taking them out while Rick yelled at the cameras. Lori urged her husband to leave it. Rick continued to yell, begging that whoever was inside to open the doors because they had children and they were desperate. You wanted to yell at him to shut up as more Walkers kept coming out of the shadows.

You stumble over a corpse, nearly going down when Carol caught your arm and pulled you back up. Daryl stepped in front of you then, covering you, Carol, and Sophia. Rick was still yelling and that was when Shane started too. He called to Rick, trying to get him to retreat, but before any of you could make your way back to the cars, the metal shudders slid open with blinding lights. You gawked at the sight and then you felt hands tugging you along as Shane gripped your wrist and pulled you through the mess of dead bodies and into the safety of the CDC.

------

Doctor Jenner was an odd one and you didn’t trust him.

Glenn, however, was thrilled at the promise of hot water, and then when the wine was cracked open, everybody loved Jenner. Even Daryl had a smile on his face as he drank wine and laughed with the others, his Georgian accent getting thicker with every sip. Shane drank deeply as he sat at the table next to you, his hand gripping your leg under the table. Your glass remained full as you occasionally swirled it in your hand. You figured someone had to be sober when eventually everything went to shit.

Daryl filled up Glenn’s glass again as T-Dog went for thirds. And while you were worried about things and just trying to stay calm, it was nice to see your friends and family laughing for the first time in weeks. You offered Shane the rest of your wine and he drank greedily. “Thanks, babe,” he said, kissing you. You could taste the alcohol on his lips as he kissed you and leaned his head against yours. He downed the rest of the wine and you caught Daryl looking at you. When your eyes met his, he quickly looked away and took a long pull from the bottle in his hands. The whole back and forth was starting to get tiring.

Eventually, it was time for some much-needed sleep. It would be the next morning when Jenner started explaining everything so you all headed to your new beds for the night. You and Shane pushed into a vacant room, pulling off your boots. Laying in bed, you stretched out, enjoying the feel of a proper mattress under you for the first time since the world ended. Shane stumbled over to the bed, dropping down beside you. He rolled over and braced his elbowd on either side of you. He leaned down to kiss you as his hands ran up your sides, but you pushed him back.

“You’re drunk, Shane,” you said, pushing against his chest. He looked down at you with a frown.

“(Y/N)...,” he whined, kissing down your neck.

“Shane, stop,” you said, taking his shoulders and pushing him again. This time he relented and flipped back over. He sighed as his eyes pressed closed. His hand found yours, playing with your fingers.

“I love you…” he said, looking over at you with heavy eyes.

“I love you, too, idiot,” you said. Shane huffed and sat up. “Where are you going?” you asked as you watched him stagger towards the door.

“Gonna walk it off,” Shane mumbled. “See if Rick is still up.” Shane stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. You flopped back down to the mattress and then eyed the bathroom on the other side of the room. You figured you wouldn’t get another chance to have hot water in a while so you headed for a much-needed shower.

As soon as the hot water hit your body, you felt as if you were transported back in time. You stayed under the spray as long as possible, relishing in the feel of finally being clean after living in the woods for so long. You scrubbed your hair until it slipped through your fingers, free of tangles. Once you had your fill of the luxury the CDC had to offer, you shut the water off and grabbed a fluffy towel, wrapping it around your body.

After getting dressed and combing your fingers through your hair, you figured you should go find your boyfriend before he passed out in some lab or something. The halls of the residences were quiet as you moved through them, peeking around corners as you searched for Shane. When you turned again, you nearly ran into someone. They steadied you with their hands, grabbing onto your shoulders. Looking up, you saw that it was Daryl.

“Ya showered,” he said. You nodded slowly, trying not to laugh at his surprised expression. You then noticed the fine layer of dirty still adorning his skin.

“Yeah, you should try it, mountain man,” you teased, flicking a piece of dirt off his shirt. He scoffed at your words. He then realized he was still holding onto you and awkwardly let go. “Hey, have you seen Shane? He’s not exactly lucid right now and I don’t wanna find him passed out in a supply closet.” Daryl’s jaw went rigid at your words.

“Ya, saw him followin’ Grimes,” he said, looking away from you.

“Rick?”

“Nah,” Daryl grunted, moving past you, “Lori.”

-----

You didn’t bother to look for Shane after your run-in with Daryl. You went back to your room and tried to get some sleep. This time you did feel like an idiot. As if Shane would really leave her alone just because Rick was back. You stared at the ceiling, trying to stop your mind from creating scenarios about Lori and Shane in your head.

An hour or so later and the door opened. Shane glided into the room, clearly not as drunk as he had been. He pulled off his shoes and sank onto the mattress beside you. He rolled into your side, throwing an arm across your waist, his fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt. “I’m sorry about before,” he said, “you know I’m an ass when I drink.” You did know that which is why you had remained sober.

“It’s fine,” you said, which is what you always said when he apologized when he was being an asshole. His hand stilled on your stomach as his breathing slowed and he slowly fell asleep. A small amount of light entered the room from a crack in the door and as you looked down at your boyfriend you could see fresh scratch marks on his neck. You didn’t have to think too hard about whose nails had made them.

Your hand came up and carded through Shane’s hair. In his sleep, he nuzzled you closer and you had to fight the tears that welled up. You could do this, you could be there for him when he needed it because that is what you had always done for him. The end of the world didn’t need to change that. Right?

——-

The next day everything went from bad to worse.

Watching the MRI on the large monitor was horrifying. Even Shane was disturbed. As you all watched the patient reanimate, Shane had reached over and gripped your hand. The two of you hadn’t said anything about the previous night. At breakfast, he had played off the scratches as a drunken accident, but you noted the look in Lori’s face and you noticed that Daryl and even Carol were looking at her and Shane with accusatory glances.

When Jenner invited you all into the main theater for the explanation, hope was upon everyone’s faces as they urged the doctor to tell them about a cure. However, just as you suspected, there wasn’t one. Jenner explained that he was the only one left. He worked as hard as he could, but eventually there was no point.

Then, as soon as everybody started to realize what was happening, it was nearly too late.

The blaring red countdown clock was staring you all in the face as the CDC went into full lockdown. Sophia and Carl were stressed and Daryl was pissed. Rick and the others had to restrain the archer as he nearly decapitated Jenner with a fire ax. You, yourself, wanted to attack the man as well. You also wanted to beat Rick to a pulp for getting you into this mess in the first place.

Eventually, Rick convinced Jenner to let you out, but Andrea, Dale, and Jacqui were staying behind to succumb to the implosion. You rushed after the others towards the lobby. Shane pulled you along, nearly carrying you as you sped through the halls. With the metal shudders lifted, you could see the bodies of the dead even clearer in the sunlight now through the large windows. While you weren’t thrilled about going back into the world of the Dead, it was better than being incinerated.

You knew you were in trouble when the glass wouldn’t break. When Carol had produced the grenade, you could have kissed her. Rick set the charge and you all hit the deck. When the blast went off, you felt a body cover you and you knew immediately that it wasn’t Shane.

You didn’t say a word as Daryl used his body to keep you close to the ground. You just waited for the ground to stop moving before getting your bearings. Daryl hauled you up and took off towards the blown-out window without saying a word.

You helped with the kids as they climbed down to the ground, keeping them from the shattered glass. Then, following the others, you took off across the courtyard. Aiming your gun, you and some of the others took out Walkers that were drawn by the grenade. You all ran for the cars going as fast as you could. Entering the RV, you all hunkered down. You could see Daryl dive into his truck and Rick shouted at everyone to cover their ears.

But then Dale and Andrea came running out of the building. You crouched down again unable to see if they made it or not and this time it was Shane that held onto you. You covered your ears as a blast echoed throughout the city. The RV shook around you and when the smoke cleared and you stood up to look out the window, the CDC was gone.

#walking dead #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead imagines #walkerwords #shane walsh x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #shane walsh #rick grimes #season 1 twd #twd #twd imagines

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 4 years

Text

What We Have (4)

Viktor Drago x reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and coming along on this messy journey, I hope you enjoyed!

Word Count: 2,206

********

Amara sat on your lap and rubbed her chubby little hands over your belly. She giggled as the babies kicked against her hands. Whenever she babbled to them, they kicked in response.

Adonis came out of the bedroom and sat across from you. Bianca grabbed your niece and went into the other room, so the two of you could have some privacy. Although he seemed to be okay with the thought of you and Viktor after the match, he'd been actively avoiding you.

You gave him his space, but it was almost time for you to give birth and you needed your big brother.

"Hey," you said awkwardly.

"What's up?" He greeted.

"I'm due soon, so I was just wondering if you were going to be there."

"I don't know. It depends on if I have anything scheduled," he shrugged.

"Really, Adonis?"

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"I want you to be there for me the way I've always been there for you. I need you and Viktor to put your differences aside for the sake of these kids."

He was silent. Of course he was being stubborn, it was in his nature.

"You know what? I'm scheduled to deliver in two weeks. You'd better be there or the second they release me, I'm coming for you." You stood to leave.

You weren't gonna argue with him. It wasn't his place to run your life. These two families were now connected whether he liked it or not. You said your goodbyes to Bianca and the baby and left.

"I can't see anything, Viktor. What are they doing?" You asked.

You were on the table and numb from the meds they’d given you for your c-section.

"You want me to look? I can't look." He said.

"Relax momma, everything is fine." You heard your doctor say.

Viktor kissed your forehead and held on to your hand.

"Baby boy is here," you heard her announce.

You could hear his tiny cries. A nurse set him on your chest and you kissed your baby boy's tiny little cheek. She took him away to get cleaned up.

"Alright, momma, we've got number two on her way."

You couldn't keep the tears from falling when you saw your daughter. She didn't cry, but her eyes were wide open.

"She's tough. Like you," Viktor lightly ran his finger over her hand.

They took her away to get cleaned up while the others worked on getting you stitched up. You were already drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Rest, printsessa, we will be here when you wake up," he said to you as your eyes slid closed.

When you opened your eyes Viktor was right by your side. It took you awhile to come to, but when you finally did, he kissed you.

Your nurse wheeled you to your room and brought in the babies shortly after. He helped you hold your hungry fussy baby girl. After you fed her your son was ready for his turn.

Soon after both babies were settled and fed, your mother came walking in with balloons. She gave you a hug and said congratulations to both you and Viktor.

You were smiling, but every few seconds your eyes would cut over to the door to see if your brother would make an appearance.

"Look at you two," your mother cooed down at the twins. "Hi, Anya. Hi, Creed. I'm your grandma."

You decided to enjoy your time with your mother and not stress about it. You'd be in the hospital for at least a week and this was about celebrating the life of your kids. Who just happened to be born on your father's birthday.

Viktor kept his distance. He watched as your mom snapped pics of you while you weren’t looking and listened to the way she spoke to you. It made him wish that he had the opportunity to share this moment with his own mother, but Ivan was flying in tomorrow and he’d share it with him. Just as he had every other special moment in his life.

"Viktor, come over here, so I can get one of all of you," your mother waved him over.

He was hesitant at first, but he walked over and picked up Creed while you held Anya.

"I don't really think that I should be taking photos right now, but do I look okay?" You asked him.

"You look beautiful," he said and kissed you at your temple.

Mary Anne snapped a photo. A perfect unplanned moment of the four of you. She may not be very fond of the thought of you and Viktor, but he made you happy and that's what was most important.

After taking the pics, Viktor went down to the cafeteria for food.

"He's not coming is he?" You asked your mother once you were sure he was out of earshot.

"I don't know, sweetheart," she said honestly. "But don't worry about your brother. He'll come to his senses and then he'll feel ridiculous for missing such a wonderful moment."

"Damn, I'm a little late and y'all talking about me."

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Adonis walked in with Bianca and Amara right behind him.

You smiled, but the tears that were in your eyes still fell. You quickly swept them away.

"Wow, you look a mess."

"D!" Bianca pinched him.

"I'm just playing," he grumbled as he rubbed the sore spot.

You were all talking and laughing when Viktor walked back into the room. Everyone looked over at him.

"Oh, um, I will come back later," he quickly turned on his heels.

He knew how much you wanted your brother there, so he was willing to stay out of the way until they left. He just wanted you to be happy.

You nudged Adonis. "I can't walk, so you have to go get him."

"Why me?" He scrunched up his face.

"Mommy..."

"Adonis," she gave him that look.

He didn't argue. He left the room and jogged a little to catch up with Viktor.

"Aye, man, hold up," he stopped beside him. "I know we have our problems, but today we're celebrating. Let's agree to leave our issues in the ring."

Adonis put his hand out for a handshake. Viktor looked down at it and then back at him.

"Look, I can't go back in there without you. I am literally afraid of what they will do to me," he laughed.

Viktor couldn't help but chuckle. He reached out and took his hand. The two men brought one another in for a hug.

"Your mother is pretty scary. I didn't want to take picture today, but I was too scared to say no."

They both laughed as they headed back to the room.

"How do I look?" You asked Adonis.

"Terrible." He told you without hesitation.

"Donnie," you whined.

"I'm just playing," he laughed. "You look beautiful and I really wish dad was here to see it."

"Me too," you inhaled and exhaled.

"You ready?" He held his arm up.

"Ready," you grabbed on.

The two of you left the room and walked to the double doors and waited for them to open. Two weeks after giving birth, Viktor proposed to you. Of course you said yes, you loved him and didn't want to spend your life with anyone else.

Now, 8 months later, you were getting ready to walk down the aisle with your brother at your side. You made sure the photo of your father along with the charms on your bouquet faced outward. He wasn't able to be there physically, but you found a way to have him with you.

The doors opened and everyone stood. You walked down the aisle and smiled. Once you finally reached the altar, Adonis took his place beside you instead of sitting after giving you away. Your brother was your first best friend, so he was your man of honor.

You were so excited. Being surrounded by your closest family and friends as you married the one man in the world that you probably should've stayed away from. Although your relationship had caused a little friction between you and your family, you'd do it all over again for the end result.

"Maybe we should just bring the kids with us?" You said to Viktor as he held the car door open.

You were heading to a hotel that you'd be staying at for your honeymoon. You looked behind you at your mother and best friend holding the twins.

"No, we haven't had alone time since the kids were born," he said firmly.

He had agreed to go on just a weekend getaway since the thought of being too far away from them for too long made you physically ill. You thought you'd be okay, but the separation anxiety was getting the best of you again.

"They're gonna miss me."

"Look at them, they are fine," he lifted you up and put you in the passenger seat of the truck. "Seat belt," he instructed before closing the door.

When he came around to the other side and got in, he could see the tears in your eyes. He sighed loudly.

"Hey, the kids will be fine. If they need us we will be close, but you need a break."

You nodded in agreement. You did need a break and you wanted to spend time with your husband. You took a few deep breaths and calmed down.

Once you got to the hotel, you were feeling a little better. You couldn't wait to get out of your dress and relax a little.

"Babe, can you unzip me, please?" You turned your back to him.

Viktor slowly undid the zipper and kissed your shoulder after pulling it down. He trailed the kisses up your neck.

"Stop," you forced yourself to say. "I bought something for you. Sit down and get comfortable. I'll be right back." You ran into the bathroom and started the shower.

After 15 minutes, he was knocking on the door.

"Do I need to come in there?" He yelled through the door.

He was disappointed when he twisted the knob and the door was locked.

"I'm almost ready," you yelled back.

A few minutes later, you peeked out of a crack in the door. You saw Viktor stand up when he heard it open. You walked out with your robe closed tight.

He looked at the black strappy heels you wore and then up at the robe. He tugged on the belt just a little and watched the soft fabric come undone.

His jaw dropped and he got an instant hard on when he saw the lace yellow baby doll set. He circled you as he took it all in. Like a hunter ready to pounce on his prey.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He kissed your neck.

Your eyes shut. He hadn't kissed you like that in two whole months. You'd both agreed to no sex the last two months before the wedding. You'd read in a relationship column that it makes the wedding night even more special.

Viktor argued in the beginning, but you were adamant, so he agreed. And tonight he fully intended to make up for all the lost time.

He pushed your thong aside and dipped his thick fingers inside of your slick core. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your back.

He turned you to face him, “Fuck, printsessa, I don’t think I can wait,” he picked you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed, laid you down and stood over you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, suddenly feeling self conscious under his stare.

“Nothing. You look beautiful. Perfect.”

He slowly pushed inside of you. You gasped loudly as your body adjusted to him.

Damn, I’ve missed this. You thought to yourself as he rocked in and out of you.

He lifted your leg and put one foot on the bed. You grabbed at the sheets as he drilled into you without mercy.

"Fuck, baby, yessss!!" You screamed as that familiar pull started in your belly.

He put his hand around your throat and watched as you bit into your bottom lip.

"Aahh, fuck!" He growled. He was close to his own climax.

Your eyes rolled as your walls contracted around him. He choked you harder as he coated them with his seed.

You dug your nails into his wrist as you started cumming again. Nobody else but Viktor has ever been able to make your body do that.

He gently put your leg down and leaned over you, so he could kiss you. You tried to wiggle from beneath him, but he held you in place.

"Come on, we need to get cleaned up," you giggled as you tried to push him away.

"For what? You will just get dirty again," he planted sweet kisses on your neck.

You felt him growing hard inside of you.

"So soon?" You questioned.

"We've waited 2 months for this night. I hope you're ready." He said, before he turned you over onto your stomach and entered you from behind.

END

********

@titty-teetee

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@marvelmaree

@literaturefeen

@fandomfavesss

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#Viktor Drago #viktor x reader #viktor drago x reader #creed 2 #Smut #Lotusss Writes

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softfeelingsandangstywriting · 3 years

Text

Whumptober: Coughing Up A Lung

Leonardo, out of all of them, was always known to have the worst anxiety

Of course it was there, as the oldest and their leader in the middle of a war. Issues that followed anxiety popped up here and there, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t deal with. Sometimes, though, those issues were more difficult to deal with than usual.

%%%

Several incidents over the past week, and Leonardo wanted to scream.

It was a good thing he didn't have hair, because he would've pulled it all out by then. Seriously, was there something wrong with the month? It was just one incident with him and his brothers after the other, every October. Really, it was a wonder that they weren't all superstitious at that point.

Maybe some sleep would help him. He was feeling off, anyway, he could use some rest.

%%%

It started with breathing issues, towards the beginning of the day.

Nothing to bother Donatello about, but still a shortness of breath, a little more trouble with training, some lack of stamina, but nothing too serious. Towards noon, he started having chest pain. While it was inconvenient, it wasn’t unheard of. Leonardo ended up deciding to meditate to help himself calm down.

By evening, before patrol, the chest pain worsened. Deep breaths hurt, and coughing only made it worse. There was a slight wheeze when he breathed, it felt like something was in his lungs, and it didn’t take long to realize that, maybe, he was sick. With what though? He made sure to be extra careful with his health, because they couldn’t take one of them falling sick at the moment. The temperatures were lowering, but they had been bundling up to avoid getting cold enough for sickness. He was sure he was fine.

And what would they think if he tapped out a couple minutes before patrol over something that probably wasn’t even that serious? It wasn’t like they hadn’t performed with worse illnesses or injuries. Standing and brushing himself off, he decided to ignore it for the time being, and ask about it tomorrow.

Leonardo put a hand on one of his knees and stood up before heading to the turnstiles, pleased to find that Donatello was already there and waiting, doing something on his phone. The two waited in comfortable silence, and if Donatello noticed the slight wheeze, he said nothing about it.

A little while later Raphael joined them, and Michelangelo followed shortly after, almost late.

When they were all prepared, they took off. The walk was mostly uneventful, besides Michelangelo messing with Raphael and ending up invoking the hothead's wrath, requiring some interference to keep him from antagonizing Raphael with his youngest privileges.

They were on the roof almost immediately after getting outside, and continued on with their normal patrol route, sticking to routine.

He was still struggling not to heave for air, Leo realized with a frown. Already, he was tired and out of breath. Maybe he should've stayed back after all.

"Hey, Leo," Raphael nudged him and crouched, everyone else following suit. "Look there, some shady Kraang deal."

Leonardo glanced over and, sure enough, a group of Kraang were loading up a truck. Was that mutagen? ...Of course it was, it was Kraang, what was he thinking? He signaled to his brothers, and slowly, they crept along to surround the truck from above.

One, two, three.. NOW! he signaled, jumping down as soon as the countdown was over and landing on the top of one of the droids.

The pain in his chest sharpened as he landed, spreading into his shoulders and back. His already ragged breathing hitched, and for a moment, his mind fogged in panic. He couldn't have stayed home, though. If he stayed, his brothers would have stayed, and they would've missed this. Leonardo steeled himself in his resolve and struck harder at the enemies, clearing them out fast and efficiently.

Ragged breathing turned into desperate gasps, the pain growing unbearable, lungs fighting for air. Fighting was getting hard, fatigue pulling at his limbs, screaming for him to stop, he should have been moving faster but he wasn't-

A boot slammed into his bad knee and splintering pain shot through his whole leg from it, causing him to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He dropped down on one knee, gripping it tightly, what was he doing, he needed to get up!

And he was still gasping, wheezing, unable to get the air into his lungs.

There was a gun to his head, and distantly, he heard his brothers scream. He was worrying them, he needed to get up-

Gritting his teeth and tightening the grip he still had on one of his katanas, Leonardo lunged forward and stabbed the Kraang droid in the abdomen, uncaring about the magenta spray that followed, and finished the battle alongside his family.

But of course, Donatello was immediately trying to smother him, looking him over and trying to figure out what was wrong. Behind him, Michelangelo tried to stay out of the way, and Raphael twirled his sai, tense and angry.

"Leo!" Donatello started, "What in the name of science-"

"Can this wait until we're home, Donnie?" Leonardo interrupted, "We need to get rid of this stuff, then we can talk."

Donatello opened his mouth to argue, but a glare and gentle shake forced him to leave it alone, even though he was against Leonardo carrying some of the mutagen and definitely against waiting to ask some medical questions.

Leonardo's breathing evened out a little on the way home, but not by much. There was still a wheeze, something louder and more audible than before.

He hated it, he decided. The entire day sucked.

"You good?" Raphael questioned, looking him over with almost the same expression as Donatello.

"Maybe we should stop," Donatello quickly jumped on the opportunity and slowed down some.

"No," Leonardo started, then realized it was more forceful than he wanted it to be. "No. I'll be fine, just keep moving for now."

There were a few looks of concern, but the matter was dropped until they were home. There, the mutagen dropped off in Donatello's lab, and the eldest was pushed to a spot where he could sit and have Donatello look him over.

A stethoscope was pushed against his plastron, and when the genius told him to take deep breaths in, Leonardo didn't question him, even though he felt the ache throughout his torso afterwards.

"How long has this been going on?"

The question wasn't unexpected, yet it still managed to startle Leonardo. "Since this morning."

"This morning?" Donatello nearly shrieked, pulling away.

"What's up?" Raphael asked, popping into the lab only a few seconds after being forced to leave.

"I think one of his lungs collapsed, and it has been collapsed since this morning."

"I'm sorry, what?!"

"It can happen randomly, and there are a few causes. Leo, have you maybe been more stressed than usual?" Donatello turned to the oldest.

"Yeah?"

"Okay, because stress can cause it, so that’s probably why."

"Is it bad?" Raphael pushed for an answer, coming closer.

"Only if left alone, there’s something I can do, it's called Needle Aspiration-"

"Okay." At that point, Leonardo couldn't care less about what happened.

"What?"

"I said okay. I think it'll be alright."

"...Oh."

Donatello blinked a few times, as though he was expecting more of a fight. He moved around busily, injecting something into one of his sides after wiping it down to clean it. Shortly after, Leonardo was numbed, and didn't feel the needle when it was pushed into his side. The relief that followed was certainly something, though.

It was over fairly quickly, a bandage placed over the area where the needle had been.

"How long is it going to take to heal?" Leonardo asked, kicking his legs.

"Only about a week or two," Donatello responded automatically, "That's at most. No training or patrols until then though, and I don't want to hear a word about it from you."

Leonardo hummed, understanding why, but knowing that he would definitely become frustrated with that restraint in only two or three days.

"In the meantime…" Michelangelo began in a drawl.

"Oh no." The other three groaned, even though none of them meant it.

"It's movie time! If he needs the rest then a long marathon will work, right?" The youngest bounced backwards, out to the living room, and the rest followed, making Leonardo move slower as he was still numb. It wasn't that they were really against a movie marathon, anyway, since they hadn't gotten together to do it in quite some time.

The four settled on the couch, snuggled up close as Michelangelo set up the first movie of multiple. Raphael gave Leonardo's hand a light squeeze, reassuring himself that his big brother was still there, before leaning back and relaxing further.

The sound of movies faded deep into the night, accompanied by the soft sounds of snores from two or three brothers.

#whumptober2021 #no.8 #tmnt 2012 #altno.15 #needles #needle tw

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klariwitch · 3 years

Text

All You Ever Were was One’s and Zero’s

There was some sort of light above them. It casted long shadows among their noses, their bodies that pressed tightly against one another’s and even the little lilies scattered by the pond nearby. Was it the sun? Sure. Could be, if you were to look past the science fiction side of it. So, maybe it was a laser, or not, either way he found himself completely distracted from all the possible ill intent it held. He didn’t care. No, not when he had all this.

Conner was with him. Right there. Holding him oh so tightly. It was the way they were always supposed to be. His do-over.

The grass scratched at their legs below. It was nice at first, but now just annoying and itchy. He’d most certainly puff right up tomorrow but what did he care? Hell, he’d choose to sniffle and sneeze all week if he had to.

They probably should have gotten up earlier, time passed so much quicker on the screen. Almost like, a movie you really like? One you’d never wish to end. Well, the credits were well past rolling. It was the kryptonian that kept him there. Tied him down like an anchor. It was okay, though. All is well in pure bliss.

Kon huffed. He nudged his side slightly. “Hey,” he chuckled. What a fucking angel, “I know that look,” he nodded, brain doing small turns and twists. “Care to share what’s gotcha so stuck in that big brain of yours, wonder boy?” His voice. Oh god his voice. It rasped so heavenly and choked him into lust. Tim slid into his lap. They sat against the old barn, the rusty red paint properly poisonous, chipped and splintered from wear.

They were indeed where they belonged. Not, in the city. Sure, that’s where they hung out most often and where they were to reside, but really they could only truly thrive out in the country. There, it would be quiet, peaceful, and…happy?

read the rest on ao3

Tim rolled his eyes in a playful manner. He tilted his head to stare at Kon, he could so easily lose himself in the depths of his eyes. Like some sort of romantic maze of one's and zero's.

He tangled his fingers in the inky curls. “Just that, I like this,” the boy shrugged, lips pursed. His voice kept quiet, almost like a hushed whisper with his mind preoccupied.

“You like this?” Kon chuckled, raising his eyebrow. Tim hummed a soft agreement as he felt large hands slip up his waist. “Care to be more specific?”

The robin tilted his head back, giving a soft sigh and hopefully the sudden sort of ability to quickly hide a blush. When he turned back, he held on to Kon’s face, fingers balancing below his jaw. Leaning slightly, he craned his head to dip in for a kiss. One, that would only last a split second before he pulled back away.

“Well, lets see,” Tim started, resting one hand on Kon’s chest and the other still gripping the black locks. “I missed that,” he gave his lips a glance, “I missed this, I missed you. I missed your touch, I missed your laugh, I missed your dumb jokes and your little rants and your cockiness and your smile and god, I missed your charm,” Tim groaned, looking away now.

Kon rested his head against the old boards of the barn. His fingers inched up his lover’s hip, and the other caressed the small muscles in his arm. He brought his palm in for a kiss, then set it down on his heart. His beating heart. “Fuck, Tim,” he bit his lip. “You didn’t lose me. You didn’t lose any of that,” Tim could hear the sigh escape his lips. If he were to sink any closer he could feel the hot breath on his neck.

The only problem was, he did lose him. Very much so. The Superboy died nearly a year ago and he hasn’t came back till now. Maybe that’s why it felt off. Why was he here again? Come to think of it, none of this was right. The blue sky tended to glitch around them, and he was pretty sure the original spot they had settled in was in the field. They had held hands and kissed in the dirt whilst flooded in nothing other than wheat. He remembered thinking that the sun didn’t hurt his eyes no more. No, not as it did before, not while Kon was huddled over him, kissing his-

No. He wasn’t to look far enough into it. He held on to Kon, in the now instead. This was better. This would be safer.

“Can you just kiss me?” He muttered, voice shaky and eyes tired.

Kon groaned. He'd never looked at him with such sad eyes before.“Tim, look-"

He kissed him. Kissed him because he didn’t want to fucking talk he just wanted to be held. With Conner, he felt completed. Obviously this was something he wouldn’t so easily let go of. The clone played along too, giving into the simulation in every way possible.

Then, a single tear came between them, and when Kon jolted away Tim watched his own tear stream down Kon’s cheek. How lovely was that? Anyway, the water flooded his eyes now and would have flowed over if it wasn’t for the thankful barriers.

Yet, they broke. Harshly, too. Like a dam ready to burst. Hot tears flooded down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Besides all that, the boy managed to remain almost completely emotionless and dull. What a scary look.

“Jesus,” Kon swore. “Tim? Love, you didn’t lose me. I'm right here. I promise,” he pleaded, holding his darling oh so very close. He lifted his chin, turning him face to face.

Tim held his expressionless disarray.

“What can I do to help? Whatever it may be,” Kon asked, too sweet for his own good.

His muscles stiffened. Any sort of way that could keep him from touching him, really. Why did he feel so nauseous?

It was all fake. All artificial and false and any other sort of synonym to describe the true alarm of the situation

A sob developed in his throat. “Can you just talk? I don’t care about what I just…” Tim looked him in the eye, “my head is so loud.” His request was obviously simple enough, because he heard a small ‘of course’ in return.

Kon pondered for a moment, it wasn’t everyday someone was to encourage him to talk. “Y’know, now that you ask me to its like my mind is just drawing blanks?” That earned a soft laugh. When Tim opened his eyes, it was just as before only this time, he was looking directly up at blue skies. He was laying on his back, not one cloud in sight.

“Lets see, well, one time I sunk a tractor?” Kon offered. His story continued on too, but to Tim it all sounded like babbles, getting drowned out by inaudible sound.

He realized then his full surroundings—some sort of strawberry field, with everything around them so overgrown and the light dimming that suggested evening. His head still was placed on Kon’s lap, of course he’d only notice that when he felt familiar fingers twirling his hair.

Something about this was nostalgic, like some sort of odd case of deja vu.

“We moved,” Tim stated duly. His doll eyes stared up at Kon with such curiosity, and his arm reached to caress the side of his cheek. Solid. Real. Even when all he really was-

“Hm. Yeah, I guess we did, didn’t we?” The meta glanced around. He picked one little white flower from the strawberry bush, tucking it neatly into Tim's hair. What an angel. His ttk seemed to be present as well, Tim found himself shuddering as the imaginary compression of hands snaked down his body and scrapped against his collarbones. “Malfunction?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Tim nodded, swallowing his gasp.

“C’mon, let's get out of here,” Kon finally announced. He stood then, bringing his lover up with him.

“What?” The Robin asked shockingly. On his feet now, he could feel the soft flower buds tickling up the ends of his jeans as he was lead out of the small field.

“I want to show you something,” Kon insisted, bringing him further along.

“Kon,” Tim halted. The air between them felt almost toxic and unwelcoming.

“What it is?”

“We uh,” the boy started, looking around for some help. “I mean, I don’t think we can..” Why couldn’t he finish? This was all so wrong, so incorrect and not to mention horrible for his health. The world quite literally felt like it was going to crash, how were they to surpass this? Who were they to decide to keep going? The system had already been running for so long…well he wasn’t quite sure how much longer it could go.

“Why do you only ever care when it's getting good?” Kon asked him harshly. That was sure to break his trance.

“What?” Tim shot back in shock. He was still holding his hand, only now Tim could feel his grip getting tighter. Bone crushing.

“Kon,” he gasped, eyes wide, “you’re hurting me,”

“Oh,” was all the superboy said in return. He loosened his grip and smiled, “shall we continue on?”

Tim just nodded. What else was he supposed to do? His hand throbbed, heart matching the same. He wanted again to ask where they would even go, but who knew what the computer would throw at him this time. Or, maybe it was his subconscious begging him to stay.

****

It didn’t take long for the pair to reach the car. It was of course the Kent’s old truck, parked in the midst of the driveway. The one that seemed to go on for miles. Maybe it did.

****

He’d never seen so many trees in his life. It was like, being in a forest when really they were just driving down a dirt road. The trees seemed to change colors as they drove on, from darker greens to lightened ones and then fading into dead yellows and…reds? Fall.

The system was crashing, time speeding up far faster than could be contained. He’d have to leave this soon.

Somewhere along the way, Kon’s hand found his thigh. Tim looked up when he noticed, only to see his lover smiling at their surroundings. He placed his hand to overlap Kon’s.

He wanted to ask, ‘are we there yet?’ Like some sort of impatient child, but before he even had the chance to, the engine roared to a stop.

“Well?” Kon turned for his reaction.

All around them sat more trees, which didn’t appear to be much till he spotted the red fruit. An apple orchard.

In the center was nothing but a red checkered blanket and a bottle of white wine, accompanied by two tall glasses.

“You, Conner Kent, have truly outdone yourself,” Tim smiled, looking over his shoulder from the landscape, to his loving boyfriend.

It wasn’t so sad anymore, all the glitches. After all, he was sure the system could hold on just a tad longer, right?

“There it is,” Kon sighed a bit of joking relief, “there’s that famous Timothy Drake smile,”

He rolled his eyes at the tease, of course the never could have a sweet moment with the reminder of being best friends.

“Zip it,” Tim hissed, pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss. It was all too familiar, lips pressed together softly with some sort of rhythm going. Maybe he was just that lucky, too, because suddenly the car had no middle compartment he remembered, making it easier to slip into his lap.

Just like magic, he had Kon’s hands holding him steady at the hips and his own bringing him closer with his fingers intertwined with untamed curls.

They smiled, heads tilting and breaths quickening. If they were to have done this back at Gotham they’d have the paparazzi all over, the media would annoyingly wonder, “who is Gotham’s youngest bachelor dating?” But, without all that they could give less than one fuck.

It was only, when he felt strong hands slip up his shirt did it get interesting. Then feeling of warm fingertips against his cold back was something ethereal, like something could just possess him and ask for Kon to never stop.

Within enough time there was something new to drive him crazy—that being the trailing of kisses down his own jaw and down to his neck. This time, Tim allowed a few soft sounds to escape his lips, ones that bounced their way around the small roof of the old truck.

He thought, maybe he’d tell him he loved him, that he never wanted to leave this place and that he would promise to make it happen.

His knuckles went white when he gripped the seat, he could feel all sorts of emotions flooding his brain, all as kon slipped his way up-

The soft cushion of his lap turned to concrete. The fastest it ever had before.

It was numbing, really, the way his elbow hit the ground.

Tim cried out.

“Kon?” He called, sitting up in almost an instant.

He wasn’t there, though. He wouldn’t be there to lift him up off the ground.

“I wasn’t finished..” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Above him, he stared. The blackened lens of the projector stared back at him, evilly.

“I said,” Tim spat, standing up to get a better look at the mindless machine. “I wasn’t finished!” He yelled at it. “I wasn’t ready yet!” The robin screamed at the projector, he’d probably hit it down if he was close enough.

It was times like this, where he couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath or speak. All he was left with was the ability to scream. To cry. To throw himself against the hard walls and punch the stone till the skin over his knuckles turned raw and sensitive.

He would look at the controls. Begging and praying to no god to bring his beloved superboy back.

Screaming and crying doesn’t help, though. Even with voice control. The audio constantly insisted on being fried whilst the robin barked back for it to all start up.

“System overload,” the robotic voice reported.

The creator sat slumped over in the corner. His eyes were bright red and puffy, cheeks flushed and hands torn to shreds. “Please..” He would beg the system, the one that didn’t understand that sort of command. “I love him, you know that?”

Still, the computer didn’t budge.

His chest felt heavy, hot and overemotional. It was fake but it still hurt. He lost Kon. Again. He wasn’t able to decide when he wanted to leave before the system shut down itself. But, who could blame it, really? That was sure to happen when you stay in for an almost forty-eight hour period. It was fried. Overworked, just as Tim was. Now he had no choice but to let the system to rest.

How had he almost forgotten he was there? Like some sort of magic wooed him into confusing tech and reality. Almost like some sort of alluring way of putting him to shame.

From then, he’d get to work. The next week or so he would simply spend his time hunched over a small computer screen, eyes wearing from overloading amounts of one’s and zero’s.

In no time, he spotted the hundred of bugs, that and the needed storage.

“That explains the teleportation and seasonal jumps,” he’d talk to himself aloud, anything to reassure the idea of losing his love.

He got to work immediately.

#timkon #Tim Drake #Kon-El #I know I already posted this I deleted it on accident #Red Robin #Superboy #timkon ao3 #tim drake x conner kent

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