#it's the wheel of fucking fortune out here and waiting for it to spin your way feels so disingenuous a way for me to live
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trying to articulate that while i do want to be more mentally healthy and more stable, i am not a woo woo uwu humanity is basically good <3 i love living life and romanticizing every little thing <3 if depressed people would only try to see beauty in a plastic bag they would no longer be depressed <3 kind of person and i don't see why i should have to be in order to Not Be Depressed. this is literally high school all over again
#i'm starting to feel like my personality is being pathologized again and it's like. i don't want to be different!#i don't hate people i just don't feel any one way about them or another! i dont want strong fluffy feelings about them all the time!#feelings are fragile and temporary and should not be the basis for my mental fucking health!#i shouldn't have to force myself to feel cherry-blossoms-and-carley-rae-jepsen feelings#to forcey-worcey myself into being healthier#all this 'teaching yourself to be happier' bullshit is so. pointless to me. i'm not always going to be able to be happy#and being like 'but you'll be happy again <3<3<3' is so devaluing of the current state of unhappiness or discomfort or misery#it's the wheel of fucking fortune out here and waiting for it to spin your way feels so disingenuous a way for me to live#i feel like the witch in into the woods oh my god like you're not good youre not bad youre just nice.#i dont want to be Nice i want to be myself and okay with that#and i hope/want myself to have kindness in them but i'm not defining myself on how much Positivity i have in me#i'm a puddleglum okay. why should i have to transition into a lucy to be deemed healthy.#eaugh i just. i'm having An Time w/ therapy#aster chat
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a bit jealous and angry pierre fwb smut propt (marking each other after being jealous)
Sorry anon, this has been in the works for a while and we'll, it got out of hand. Hope you like this veeeeryyy verrrry late reply <333
You run into each other at a street race— one organized by your friend, Kiyo.
“You better bring everything you have tonight,” she tells you. “We have some real talent tonight.”
You put out your cigarette on the stone bench, quickly formulating a response. “So you’re saying I don’t have talent?” You cock an eyebrow.
“Not the way he does," Kiyo shrugs. "He’s from France.”
Her nails clack against the windows of your modded car. You clench your teeth: You’d spent a lot of time, effort and money on it.
Not it, but her, you correct yourself. She was a real beauty.
“So what?” You clasp the steering wheel. “I’m from Japan.”
“Just be careful. Lots of bets on him. Let’s prove them wrong, yeah?” she mutters. “I’ll pay you double if you beat him.”
“I can handle anyone. Especially when money is involved.” You wink at her, pulling down your shades.
She nods, and gestures for all the other cars to join you at the start line.
“Ladies and Gentleman!” Kiyo's voice echoes out of a megaphone. “Who’s ready for the Wheel of Fortune?”
You groan.
Wheel of fortune was the most unpredictable of street circuit events. With a newcomer? It was not bound to end well. But you thrive on chaos, you remind yourself.
A man you fondly recognize as Luke brings out the damned Wheel of Fortune from the side, and Kiyo selects a random person from the crowd to spin it.
“As hard as you can!” She reminds them, and the boy yanks on the wheel. The lights hypnotize you as the wheel spins around, but you quickly snap out of it. The pointer lands on 47, and Kiyo pulls the corresponding envelope from a box.
The evil smile on her face tells you everything you need to know. The event was going to be one hundred percent embarrassing.
“Drivers!” she announces. “Pick a partner!”
Oh, you think. A co-driver assignment shouldn’t be that hard. Luke would be a great pick, because he mostly let you do your own thing. All he cared about was going fast.
You pop your head out of the window and wave at Luke. He smiles at you, his dark skin glistening with sweat.
“Should be fun, yeah?” you offer him a fist bump. He obliges, and gets in the car.
“Very,” Luke laughs. You get the feeling he knows something you don’t, and the intensity of his gaze sends prickles down your spine.
You adjust the settings of your car to your liking and then wait for everyone to settle down.
“Drivers!” Kiyo’s voice booms through the large speakers. “Today’s challenge is all about handling distractions.”
She peels off her red leather jacket, showing off her collarbone and incredibly fit torso.“Can you keep your eyes-” she holds it out, ready to drop it. “On the prize?” She cocks an eyebrow at the crowd. You think you hear someone faint. To be fair, she was stunning.
“Your co-drivers are allowed to use everything on you. In fact, they’re encouraged to go above and beyond to distract you.”
You hear the faint hum of a vibrator on your left, and slightly panic.
“Luke?” you whimper. “Are you serious?”
“Come on,” he smirks. “You and I both liked last week.”
It wasn’t a lie. Luke was exceptionally hot and very skilled with a stick. But distracting you while driving, it would be impossible.
Suddenly, a man in a Ferrari jacket jogs up to Kiyo, whispering something in her ear.
“Ah yes, of course!” she claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention. “I’d like you all to welcome Pierre Gasly!”
Your heart skips a beat. Pierre? Here? This was the frenchman tonight?
“You know him?” Luke asks you.
“Well, I used to be a professional. We raced together a few times,” you supply the short version. The longer answer was that you fucked him. More than once. You’d just started your European career and well, he was pretty and nice and sweet and so fucking hot. He looked at you like no one else ever had. But he didn’t want a girlfriend.
“Just once every week,” he told you. “I don’t want to get attached.”
You agreed. The sex was that good. But well, offers didn’t come as easy to you as they did Pierre. He moved on to bigger things, and you moved back home, choosing to finish a degree.
Your day job was accounting, and your parents were okay with it. You’d take over the family business one day. Your night activities though, that was the real you.
Like tonight. You rubbed your palms together. Tonight would be a great time for revenge.
The man in the Ferrari jacket slips into the car beside you. You roll down your window and call out Pierre’s name.
He looks at you like he saw a ghost. You smile, coyly.
"Want to put on a show?" Luke asks you. You nod, and you take off your shirt, leaving you in a flimsy, lacy bra. You shiver, but you don't know if it's the cold or something else. Kiyo would probably say someone else.
“Like what you see?” you wink at Pierre, trying to get back in the zone. Sometimes, you have to play dirty to win. “Not gonna be yours tonight.”
He ignores you and instead tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
“On your marks!” Kiyo screaches into the megaphone.
You hollow your cheeks, feeling just a bit conscious about using your body to get what you wanted.
"Get set!"
You place your hand on the gear stick, steadying yourself. Luke pats your back.
"Relax baby," he soothes you. "You got this."
When she says go, you floor it.
—
Luke's pretty chill with the distractions. There's a camera in your car that shows everything that happens inside, so every 5 minutes or so his hand would creep up on your thighs and feel you in between.
You were okay with that, Luke was a pretty good lay and if it weren't for the driving aspect you would've made out with him then and there.
He doesn't use the vibrator yet and you don't really give him reason to. You knew how to play the audience.
That is, until a Honda Acura pulls up beside you. Pierre fucking Gasly. You just know.
In a moment of weakness, you look right. The man in Pierre's passenger seat meets your eyes, and mock salutes you. Then, he undoes his belt buckle, pulling it off of his waist and holding it up to you.
You turn your eyes back to the road, there's a drift turn coming up and you had to be cautious, but based on Luke's reactions, whatever's happening in the Acura isn't good.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Luke mumbles. "A blowjob? Seriously?"
Your mind goes blank. What?
"If you wanna win we have to up our game baby," Luke mumbles.
You had faith in yourself. You weren't a professional driver for nothing. You can handle distractions. Even if they come from hot men.
"Okay," you nod curtly, giving consent.
Luke kisses your neck and whispers into your ear.
"If you can do some acting, it'll look like our distraction is much much more effective."
Acting on top of driving? They should hire you for the next Fast and Furious movie.
You kiss him back in way of answer, never taking your eyes off the road.
The Acura and your car are neck to neck, could be anyone's race at this point.
The faint buzz of the vibrator fills the car Luke edges it towards you, slowly bringing it your thigh. The pace at which he was going was slower than a snail, and had it been any other time you would've taken things into your hands and shoved the damn thing inside of you. But tonight was all about distraction. All about the show. If the people wanted a show, they were gonna get it.
"You have full access to my body Luke," you tell him. "Do whatever's necessary."
"This is going to be fun," he licks his lips, and takes your panties to the side, making way for the vibrator.
The second it hits you, you almost drive into a pole. Fuck. It had been a few days, and you were feeling a little sensitive. The fact that your old fuckbuddy was here made things even worse.
You were on the drift tower now, nearing the end of the course. It was a straight grind up- something you could do in your sleep by now. But you couldn't underestimate Pierre. There was also the fact that Luke was getting kinda handsy now.
"I can go down on you," he switches the vibrator off, but keeps pistoning it between your legs. A familiar pressure slowly builds inside you. "The crowd would like that-"
Your thighs clench involuntarily. "Fuck, Pierre, yes whatever you say I'll -" you babble incomprehensibly.
"Just like that baby," Luke coaxes moan after moan from you, with the vibrator turned on to the highest setting. His fingers brush over your clit, sending you into a hot wet convulsing mess.
"Merde! Je ne peux pas, I fucking can't Pierre, I-"
Your release hits you hard and fast but the assault on your senses doesn't stop there.
"Do you have something you want to get off your chest?" Luke smiles, knowingly.
"For fuck's sake you have to- What? No?" You deny. You realized your mistake. You were royally screwed. You start panicking.
Thankfully, you reach the top of the tower without a scratch, and stop your car in front of the Buzzer. Whoever hits it first, wins. That was the rule.
"You didn't say my name out there," Luke teases. "Are you sure you're good?"
Pierre and his boytoy follow you, not that far behind. It could've been anyone's race. But it was yours.
Kiyo hands you a bottle of champagne, and places a crown on your head.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, your new Drift King!" She announces your name and helps you on the top step of the podium.
When Pierre climbs to take number two, your eyes meet, and for the briefest moment, you sense anger in him. But his expression quickly goes neutral and he smiles at you calmly. The calm before a storm, you think.
The champagne bottle is big, and when you finish spraying it on Luke and dumping more than half of it on Kiyo, you put the drink to your lips, savoring its bubbly flavor. It'd been a long night, and you sat on the side of the track, quite a bit away from the celebrations on the start line.
"Hard to forget the taste of victory, no?" Pierre's smooth voice comes up behind you.
"Why do you think I'd forget?" You put a hand on your hips, eyeing him accusingly.
"Considering you had to settle for the consolation prize," he shrugs, stealing a swig from your bottle.
"Consolation?"
"In the car. I could tell you were thinking of someone else."
"Of course," you snarl. "You had time to check me out while racing against me."
"Not my fault you make it so obvious."
"You know what? Fuck you Pierre."
"Three years and you're still not over me?"
You pause, thinking your words through. "I'd think you're the one not over me."
He pulls you closer to him, until his lips brush your ears. "Never. Do you know how I felt? Watching someone else pleasure you like I did?'
You look at his jaw, dripping with champagne. "Big words from someone who never wanted commitment."
"I-" he looks down. "Was afraid. I'm not anymore."
He closes his eyes and leans in. Even though you know you shouldn't, you can't stop yourself. He pulls you like a magnet, and your lips crash into his.
He tastes like champagne. Like victory. A reward, all dolled up for you in that white racing suit. Your hands roam around his sides, inching downwards. He leans into your touch, pushing into you. His knee forces itself between your thighs and the friction between your legs makes you moan.
"I knew you'd like that," he whispers in your ear. His kisses on your neck seem desperate, like he's trying to prove a point. It feels incredible, and then there's the slight twinge of pain.
"What was that?" You ask him, unsure what he was trying to play at.
"Well, you're mine. Only mine. I guess that should make it obvious."
You were beyond angry. He deserves to be taught a lesson, you think. So you smile and play along; softly kissing his cheek and then licking a stripe straight down- down his neck, his collarbones, his chest, his deliciously sculpted abs, the vee of pelvis - and then you stop.
You take his dick into your hands and story pumping. Even after all these years, you know exactly how he likes it. While he's distracted, you put the next part of your plan into motion.
You start kissing his thighs, softly, slowly increasing pressure. Then, you suck so hard you're sure it'll leave a mark. Pierre was way too gone to even notice what you were doing to him. Until it was too late.
"Seriously?" He sighs, mid-pant.
"An eye for an eye, no?" You look at him innocently, doe eyes and all. "A little gift for your boy-toy."
"Fuck this." He grabs you up, like you weigh nothing. "How about we continue this in my hotel room?"
"You're paying for my ride back," you cross your arms, but don't say no.
"Pay for your ride?" He kisses you, soft and gentle, and for a minute, you're reminded of what it meant to you, all those years ago. "I'll drive you back myself."
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Kawakami continues to be my stealth fave. When Operation Maidwatch started, I fully planned to skip it entirely because lets be real, the set-up was horrendous. Then I figured that'd be less funny so I decided to try it For The Bit.
So fucking glad I did.
Kawakami is in the hospital after collapsing from overwork. And what do you know but the people blackmailing her show up to say howdy and while she is still in bed ask her when her next payment will be.
fuck stealing their hearts, i'm gonna steal their car and drive it into a river
I.... think the implication with "sister company" is transferring from the maid gig to full sex work? Which: I'm pro-SW 'til the day I die but this ain't the way, Kawakami, the way is getting these fuckers off your chequebook.
btw for the side-quests, I love when Reverie is just like "Gimme a full name. Thanks. The Phantom Thieves will handle it." LISTEN. I DON'T CARE. If Ryuji can walk around singing his self-made Phantom Thieves theme song, then Reverie can be an intimidating weirdo to random people.
BOY THE PENULTIMATE LOVERS LINK SURE IS JUST REVERIE THIRD-WHEELING HUH
this was so fucking funny, Ann and Shiho are having a serious heart to heart and Reverie is just here as extra muscle to help Shiho with the stairs.
I'm very glad to finally see Shiho again though I assume it will be for the last time.
WHEN I TELL Y'ALL
I FUCKING SAT ON THIS DECISION FOR LIKE FIVE MINUTES
because I do like Ann a lot! probably more than any of my options so far except maybe Tae, but I don't like her that way, but maybe I would like her that way if I gave her a chance? UGH it's agony but I went with the Just Friends route.
EVEN THOUGH "YOU HAVE ME" IS SOMETHING A FRIEND WOULD SAY SO I LITERALLY HAD TO LOOK UP THE LOVERS CHEATSHEET TO VERIFY WHAT IT MEANT.
Ann, you are still best girl, though admittedly you finally have competition.
I did wrap up Ann's Confidant.
As far as the Lovers go, hers is the weakest to me personally. I would rank them Yukari > Rise > Ann. But I think this is because I don't.... understand Ann's life goals. Which may be just my blind spot personally. Ann's dream of becoming a supermodel to inspire people falls kind of flat because I think modeling is an important job and career but I don't.... connect it to like.... inspiration and stuff?
It's so odd it feels like I'm missing something.
But Ann herself, I adore. I would rank her as honestly one of the kindest people in a Persona game, genuinely good-hearted and just seeking a way to harness that.
New Persona for Ann! Hecate!
Yusuke visited like every other day in summer vacation, so I got some premium hangout time and managed to max his Confidant out too.
AND LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING
YUSUKE SHOULDA BEEN THE FORTUNE. He makes zero fucking sense as the Emperor. There is nothing about him or his arc that lends itself to the Emperor, but BOY HOWDY does his arc spin 'round and 'round like a perfect wheel.
After some more artist's block, Yusuke finally puts together a piece for the exhibition run by that one jerk who wanted to package and sell Yusuke like a brand. He takes first place!
TURNS OUT THAT THE WHOLE BRANDING THING WAS A FUCKING RUSE. The guy truly was invested in Yusuke's success as an artist and came up with the whole branding thing to get Yusuke angry and get his head in the game.
THE WHEEL FUCKING SPINS AND SPINS.
I'm so fucking annoyed that he's the Emperor, I just don't see it, it makes no sense. Better options were WAITING.
nah only when the game lets me flirt with you even though we're not allowed to kiss. I adore you, Yusuke.
New Persona Get and WAIT NO GO BACK ugh why is it Susano-o AGAIN? And this Susano-o doesn't look NEARLY as cool as Yosuke's. 8C I will miss Goemon and his cool pipe. 8C
wait is this just disneyland. /googles. lmao the Maihama station is right next to Disneyland. ahahahaaha
I will be boycotting this destination for the entire game! 8)
what else did I do outside the MSQ.......
OH YEAH I'm allowed to hang with Sojiro again finally!
TURNS OUT THE GUY HASSLING SOJIRO IS FUTABA'S FUCKING UNCLE
he wants money or he'll file for custody for Futaba (where he'll have an upper hand as he's a blood relative and Sojiro is not)
Futaba actually shows up to bully Sojiro for some food and immediately freaks out at seeing her uncle.
When Wakaba died, Futaba got handed around between her relatives for a while and ended up with severely neglected by her uncle. Then Sojiro stepped in and adopted her.
Like with Kawakami's blackmailers, I want to wreck some havoc on this bastardman.
Sojiro truly is Best Dad, I'm with y'all on this at last. Sojiro, please adopt Reverie. That should be the no-romance end for Reverie, he just gets adopted by the Sakuras.
I FINALLY got my courage high enough to talk to Iwai the fake(?) arms dealer? AND NOW I THINK I'M DOING CRIMES? i mean uh more crimes. additional crimes. like smuggling weapons?
also like. The Solid Snake/Iroquois Pliskin vibes off this guy, he looks and feels like he just got back from the Big Shell and is laying low until Philanthropy is ready to take out another metal gear.
However unluckily for him, he's also my literal favorite card in the Majors, the Hanged Man, the card I am the most particular about, so he's pretty much doomed to disappoint me through no fault of his own. Because I'm the only person who actually Understands the Hanged Man, you see. Just me.
Okay that sums everyone up, back to the MSQ.
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OK, a slice of my brain that I can’t quite turn off continues to wonder why everyone is having all these angsty conversations about stay in this universe, go back to the other universe, abandon your family and friends there, abandon your friends and the life you’ve built here, what to do what to do ... when nobody has the blindest bit of notion how the Portkey system works or how to actually control it. What do you think Puen’s gonna do if the system just up and decides to swap him back, Talay? He’s gonna go whether he wants to or not. What do you think is gonna happen if Talay really really wants to go home (like he has this whole time), but the portkey system can’t be fucked to take him, Puen? Do you think he’s gonna somehow get there on his own? Hitchhike, maybe? And is either of you considering at all the potential wrinkle that you might not even be each other’s portkey, that the weird feelings you’re having are oh, maybe, falling in love - which you just don’t recognize because neither of you has ever done it before - and not some cosmic universal machinations? Are you saving any kind of space for the idea that if that turns out to be true, what one of you does has very little bearing on what the other one of you does, on a universal-traveling level, at least?
The angst is delicious, but ALL of this is completely THEORETICAL. What do we know for sure? Apparently, if you can find another universal traveler in the body of someone who’s somehow close to the body you’re in, you’ve got a good chance that they’ll be your portkey. That’s IT. That’s all we know. (And do we even know that, or were Dol and Joob just saying it with the same kind of confidence they approached all the other mad science experiments, without actual proof?) Everything else is urban legend and Dol’s mad science experiments trying to match people up. Oh, we know what happens when the system is ready to switch you back: You might remember a thing. What thing? Who knows. Something. A thing you’ve forgotten. You dream. Go to the place you dream about. The only thing you have control over at any point is whether or not you go to the place you dream about. But you have zero control over whether the person who’s in YOUR body goes to the place THEY dream about.
I feel like we’re all maybe acting like we’ve got a lot more control over this than we actually do because we’ve not adequately processed all of the feels that got dug up when Joob DIED out of nowhere and what that illustrates about the precarious positions that ALL THE REST OF US ARE IN.
I mean, fight if you want, the angst is delicious FOR ME (oh fuck me, it’s finger-licking good, just like the KFC :facepalm:), but you’re all Fortune’s fool right now, and all you can do is wait for her to spin the wheel.
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Chapter 7 : Bad Luck
SUMMARY
Sunday morning starts off with a surprise, and it just keeps getting better.
pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader
genre : angst + fluff
word count : 3,984
content : profanity, slightly suggested nsfw
tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn
a/n : this chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut it shorter. I've decided to have the rest at the beginning of next chapter. I hope you enjoy!!
Post Thursday evenings PST, if not latest by Friday.
masterlist
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If your life didn’t hit rock bottom before, it most definitely did now.
It’s the fact you were thrown into absolute chaos first thing Sunday morning. It’s spending hours scrambling to move furniture to a dry place. It’s swiftly securing as many of your belongings as while trying to contain the severe agony coursing through you. Although the flood was very shallow, only damaging the floor and the bottom portion of the wall, which you’re thankful for, it really solidified the kind of luck you were having: everything you touched lately, seemed to fall apart. In fact, you were just ready to disappear at this point.
Your head is spinning as you sit on the steps of the apartment complex with your face buried in your hands, refusing to cry even if you really, really wanted to.
You peer up at Oikawa whose back is to you making a phone call. Thankfully he was there to respond when your first reaction was to freak out and call your parents, who (of course) were away on vacation. The way he jumped at the chance to quickly gather your stuff out of the apartment. The way he told you to get a hold of your landlord to notify them about the flood. The way he felt like he had everything under control.
But here you were, devastated, unable to function. Just frozen.
Hanging up the call, he walks back over to you. “Iwa-chan is going to be here with his car to pick up your things,” Oikawa says, almost breathless at the sight of the distressing aura protruding off you. “Did you get a hold of your parents?”
“No,” you utter, trying to pretend you’re not on the verge of a meltdown. “But I have a key to their place, so we can stash my stuff there.”
“Great! It might take a couple trips, but it will be fine,” he assures watching you grow more and more despondent. “At least your choice of decor is minimalist or we’d be at this all day,” he teases trying to lighten the mood.
You pause furrowing your brow, unable to even look at Oikawa. It’s a joke, obviously, but it feels backhanded. And you do what you do best, stay silent.
Oikawa sighs and sits beside you on the staircase. “Y/N, it’s alright this happens to a lot of people.”
And then you feel your eyes starting to tear up. Fuck, you can’t let him see you like this. So much has already happened and now is not the time to completely come undone before him. Taking a deep breath you turn to Oikawa.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you smile. It doesn’t feel genuine but you force it.
He knows, despite your reply, that you’re very frustrated. Looking down at your hands placed on your lap, he has this sudden urge to grab hold of them and tell you he’s here to help. He knows a lot has happened, and all he wanted to do was reassure you things were going to be okay… Eventually.
“What?” you ask.
It takes him a minute to realize that you catch him staring. When he does, he gives you a wry look, hiding the fact that he is visibly concerned about you. He turns his head just a fraction, narrowing his eyes on your cheek. “You have something on your face,” he lies.
You glower at him suspiciously, turning away from him as you wipe your cheek on your sleeve. If you had the energy to do so, you probably would have yelled at Oikawa for messing with you. But no, you couldn’t take your frustration out on him, he doesn’t deserve that shit. Of course, it’s not his fault all these different mishaps keep happening to you. He’s been everything but patient lately, the least you could do was try to tolerate his childishness more than usual.
“Y/N!”
You snap your head behind you to see an older lady standing at the top of the staircase looking down at you.
“Ito-san. Good morning,” you greet while standing up to give a little bow.
Ito-san is your neighbor from a couple of apartments down. You have an acquaintance kind of relationship, one where you help carry groceries whenever you’ve bumped into her on the way up to her apartment. The most you know about each other is just through small talk like she lives alone and is retired, spending most of her days trying to pick up new hobbies; there’s a new one each month.
She walks further down the steps meeting your gaze on ground level. “I heard about your apartment,” she says while eyeing up Oikawa. “Luckily your boyfriend was here to help out.”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you answer.
“Don’t be modest dear. Here,” she says, holding out a car key.
“Ah, Ito-san, you don’t have--”
“Of course I do,” she replies with a smile, placing the key in your hands. “For all that you do for me, I insist.”
“Thank you,” Oikawa chirps, giving Ito a deep bow to which you follow.
“Get your things somewhere safe. Good luck!” she says with a wave walking back up the stairs.
Turning to Oikawa, your face pales, “Tōru, I can’t.”
“Huh?” Is all he replies.
You begin to shake as the stress surges through your body. Had you given quicker at a response, you might have declined the offer. “I don’t know how to drive.”
Oikawa blinks then bursts out laughing while snatching the keys out of your hand. “So you need my help, again,” he teases with a smirk.
“Yes,” you sigh full of irritation. If you knew he was going to act this way, you would’ve asked him to leave and you could figure things out on your own. But before you could, a honk echoes from the loading zone in front of the apartment complex. And it’s Iwaizumi.
Trying to push down the feeling of excitement you feel when you see him step out of the vehicle, he straightens up peering at you with a radiant expression. Your eyes suddenly brighten while the corners of your mouth curl into a smile. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks toward you.
“How’s the wrist?” Iwaizumi asks, looking into your eyes with a warm reassuring gaze.
“It’s fine,” you reassured, rotating it in a circle proving that it’s fully functional.
“Oikawa and I will move your stuff,” he instructs. As you’re about to challenge him on his plans, he cuts you off, “Unless you’re planning on injuring your wrist more, you're not allowed to help.”
You frown slightly at his stony remark, but you’re still happy to see him, beyond belief. Biting the inside of your cheek, you watch Oikawa lead Iwaizumi to your apartment. It’s so pathetic that you always need to rely on someone to come to your rescue. How could you stoop to this level? What happened before you met Ushijima? Were you always this reliant on others?
------
“Good morning!” Ushijima greets while walking into the classroom.
“Good morning,” you respond, checking out your boyfriend dressed in his joggers and hoodie. Even though it's not the most stylish attire, you still thought he looked so good in them as you could see the outline of his strong, muscular build (plus, his casual outfits warded away unwanted attention from girls and you were fine with that). “Did you get the assignment done?”
Ushijima stares at you blankly, “What assignment?”
“I texted you last night to remind you!” you explain exasperated at his inattentive behavior.
Ushijima whips his phone out of his pocket, staring intently at it. Suddenly the sound of the device turning on rings and his face lights up. “I got it.”
“Just now?” you shriek, gaining the attention of other students in the room.
“When is it due?” he asks nonchalantly, as the blood in your veins starts to boil.
“Today!”
“Oh,” Ushijima eyes you stoically, then kisses you on the cheek. “Thank you for reminding me.”
You clasp your cheek while looking at him and your face grows hot from the act. “N-no problem.”
“Can I copy off--”
“No!” you scold.
------
“Y/N?”
Iwaizumi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
“Sorry, did you say something?” you ask, sitting in the passenger seat beside Iwaizumi.
The morning chaos wears on into the afternoon as you drive to your parent's place with Oikawa following in Ito-san’s car behind you. Fortunately, the drive is only thirty minutes out of the city, you didn’t want to take more time out of Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s day. You feel guilty.
“Yeah…” Iwaizumi replies. “So, uh- how do you know Oikawa?”
“Um, first year of university,” you exclaim. “It was pouring rain after classes and I was waiting for it to stop.”
“Did Oikawa use one of his shitty pickup lines?”
“More like his smug remarks,” you giggle. “It’s been like… Four years? Oh my god, how have I dealt with him for that long?”
“Four years is nothing compared to the fifteen I’ve known him,” Iwaizumi grins.
“Fifteen?” you gasp as your jaw drops. “How many years has he taken off you?”
“More than I’d want,” he laughs.
You eye him carefully when he responds. It’s the first time you’ve seen Iwaizumi laugh since you’ve met him. And truthfully, it was alluring, something you’d hope to see again soon.
“He’s a good guy though,” he adds.
But not as good as you, you think. Your heart stumbles over its own rhythm as part of your brain screams at you to continue the conversation, seeing this is the only opportunity you have ever been alone with Iwaizumi. You try to take a look at him in your peripheral, noticing his muscular arms flexing underneath his t-shirt as his strong hands grip the wheel. The same hands that guided you away from the alley to the restaurant, were now helping you again.
Did you even thank him? You doubt you had the chance in your drunken state. To be honest, you were quite embarrassed that that was his first full impression of you. You can’t believe you had the audacity to get to that point of intoxication. It hurts your head just thinking about it.
“Oh, just a left at the next turn,” you indicate. “It’s not much further from here.”
Upon arriving at your parent's place, you instruct Iwaizumi to park in front of the double car garage to which Oikawa pulls up beside. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you slide out of the car.
“Wow Y/N,” Oikawa breathes looking up at the bigger than the average house. “You never told me your parents are rich?”
“Let me unlock it,” you instruct, ignoring Oikawa. “We will unload everything into the garage.”
As you rush off, Oikawa whistles observing the two-story house taking up two lots worth of houses. “This is where she grew up?” he assumes. “Wow.”
Iwaizumi gazes at the contemporary styled home. He recalls when he heard you moved from the suburbs closer to the city and now he understood as to why.
The sound of the garage door opening startles them both as they quickly gain composure to start unloading the furniture. You let out a deep sigh, not quite ecstatic both men are at your childhood home. Not because you’re embarrassed, but because of all the questions that are followed up like what do your parents do for a living or why didn’t you tell me you had such a big house?
Oikawa and Iwaizumi diligently manage to fill the garage with your stuff. You wanted to help but only received scolding from Iwaizumi when you even lifted a finger. But in no time, the task was complete.
“Is that it?” you ask as Iwaizumi nods in compliance. “Okay, wait outside and I’ll lock up.”
But before you even get a reply, you notice Oikawa is missing and the door leading into the house from the garage is open.
“What the fuck Tōru!” you yell walking into the main part of the house in search of the annoying troublemaker. Iwaizumi follows behind, looking at the high-ceiling living space that leads into a kitchen. He’s never seen anything remotely like this before.
Oikawa pokes out from a room on the side, “Y/N, why have you never invited me over?”
“Oikawa let's go!” you snap.
“Oooh, using my last name, somebody’s pissed,” he taunts, sending you a shit-eating smile. “I’m going to look for Y/N-chans room!”
“No! Don’t!” you screech, and he laughs while running up the stairs. That stupid laugh. It can get on your nerves but you don’t have the strength to run after him. “Fine, he can do what he wants.”
You turn back to the living room and let your eyes roam around. It’s a lot different than you last remembered with a more modern take on traditional Japanese houses. There’s neutral furniture with a very minimalistic feel, almost a cold feeling.
“They’ve changed it a lot since I’ve been last here,” you whisper.
Iwaizumi looks at a picture of you and your parents mounted on the wall; your graduation photo from high school. You look good.
“So, uh, how's your wrist?" he asks.
"It's alright," you smile. "A little swollen."
"Want me to wrap it up for you when we get back?"
"Uh, sure," you reply. “Actually, I’m sure there’s some first aid supplies around here.”
He follows you down a hall into a small bathroom. He lingers in the doorway watching you open the cabinets in search of something he can use to wrap up your wrist. By some luck, you take out an elastic bandage and present it to him. “Does this work?”
He nods, taking the bandage, and holds out his hand, “Let’s see it.”
You pause before rolling up your sleeve to show the damage which is now a tinge of dark purple and red. He doesn't react though, he keeps a straight face while maintaining calm upon analyzing the bruised area. Taking your hand into his, your face grows hot, his hands are warm, the perfect temperature, making your entire body tingle. Slowly you trace your eyes back up to his face, his eyes narrow as he tucks the bandage up and around the wrist then pulls to tighten it. The gesture makes you shutter causing him to stop.
“Is it too tight?” he asks, scanning for any pain in your face
“A bit,” you squeak.
Iwaizumi loosens the bandage a bit to rewrap it again. This time he’s gentler, drawing the bandage around the wrist then wrapping across your hand and palm with a soft tug; still firm, but not quite tight.
“That should help decrease bruising,” he says, cutting the bandage and securing it with a pin.
“Thanks,” you mutter, holding your hand out to inspect it. “How do you know this stuff?”
“I’m majoring in sports sciences,” he answers.
“Woah, that’s so cool!” you smile while putting the bandages away as he continues to linger in the bathroom. “How many years do you have left?
“This is my last semester--”
“Y/N-chan! Your room is boring,” Oikawa interrupts pouting. “I couldn’t find anything embarrassing.”
“Why are you looking for that kind of stuff, Shitty-kawa!” you groan.
Iwaizumi laughs at the nickname and you have to stop yourself from smiling too hard from the sound.
“Okay, the tour is over. Let’s go!” you exclaim, pushing them towards the front door.
------
Stepping into the Oikawa’s apartment, you didn’t think you’d ever get back so soon; from driving back into the city, to dropping off Ito-san’s car and keys to finding out more information from your landlord of what’s going on. You were exhausted. Absolutely over today.
“Why do you have so much stuff,” Oikawa whines while setting your bags down in the foyer.
Maybe you should have stayed with your parents, then you wouldn’t have to deal with seeing Oikawa 24/7, but by public transit, their place was too far away and you really didn’t want to say no to Oikawa after he insisted that you bunk at his place. Plus you couldn’t agree more if Iwaizumi was going to be there.
“Stop complaining!” Iwaizumi scolds who has two of your bags in his hands. Again, he refused to let you carry anything to avoid putting any more strain on your wrist. But you didn’t mind because the sight of him carrying your bags for you makes you swoon.
“That’s not nice Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cries while closing the door then turns to you. “You can take my room until you move back in.”
“What? No, I can’t--” you begin.
“It’s either that or we share a bed,” Oikawa smirks.
“Uh, no.”
He snickers at your reply as you shuffle off to his room to put your stuff away. You blinked in surprise, almost startled by the fact how surprisingly tidy his room is. Reality sinks in as you walk up to the window looking outside to the new view of a courtyard between two apartment buildings. You’d be staying here for who knows how long and it sort of worries you. You’ve never had roommates before, the last thing you wanted was to annoy the shit out of your only friend and his hot friend.
“You good?” Oikawa’s voice scares you, to which you jump and gasp for air.
“Don’t do that!”
“Ok, well, it is my room, I just came in here to grab my things to take a shower,” he adds. To his credit, he doesn’t even look tired after such a long day. “Want to go to the library after?”
“Sure I have some assignments I need to get started on.”
“Cool!” Oikawa smiled, turning to head to the bathroom. “Also, no peeking!”
You send him a growl as he scurries away.
You exhale a deep sigh while collapsing on Oikawa’s bed feeling subtle hints of the hangover but trying to repress it with a huff. Whilst contemplating what the hell you’re going to do for a week at Oikawa’s, you feel yourself drift off...
You take a peek into the crowded classroom. A bunch of students are grouped in their cliques, chatting and laughing. You sigh, not able to recognize anyone you know. Your hands start to sweat as you hold your laptop tighter to your chest.
"It's alright. Just take it easy, everything will be fine," you mutter in an attempt to hype yourself up.
You walk into the massive lecture hall hugging the wall closest to the door to make your way up the stairs. About midway through, you glance down the row of desks and spy a seat available off to the center.
As you approach your seat, you notice someone's coat laying on the floor.
"Oh, you dropped your coat," you note, picking it up off the floor and carefully draping it back over their chair.
You glance down at the person. A young man about your age stares at you with wide stunning eyes. His hair swept to the side, slightly spiked with a tawny hue and his complexion was glowing appearing fresh and radiant.
Initially, his aura exudes kind and pure, until the mood in his eyes shifts, painting a mysterious narrative, bubbling with a playful and coy kind of hunger.
“Thanks,” he purrs.
You awkwardly smile at him and go to sit a couple of seats down from him. Just as you take your spot, the professor enters the room addressing the start of class. You look back at the brunette who looks oddly familiar, almost like Oikawa.
And it is, but he's sitting next to you with heavy lustful eyes.
Suddenly you aren't in your lecture hall anymore but in the campus library.
You're sitting at a desk, merely inches away from each other. You feel his leg lightly brush against yours. A tingling sensation jolts through your body as his touch lingers. The heat of his body warms up your exposed skin.
Oikawa leans in. "I notice you've been staring," he whispers.
His words make your insides melt at the firmness of his tone. And your heart pumps faster as he gently touches your leg with his hand. You can feel his breath on the shell of your ear as he places his hand behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair.
You start to tense up as he pulls away, with a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.
"Do you want me?" His voice dropped to a low growl, sliding his hand up your leg.
You wake up startled, gasping for air.
What was that, you think, trying to process what has just happened. You feel a pit in your stomach grow by the second as this disoriented sensation swirls in your head. Then there’s a beat. You hold your head as the temples start to throb and the headache you’ve been waiting for rushes in so fast you couldn’t even feel it approaching.
Taking a look around, you were still in Oikawa’s room.
What the fuck.
Honestly, in all your years of friendship, you’ve never counted on having that sort of dream starring Oikawa. In theory, you had plenty of opportunities to, but why now? Something about it was strangely arousing, but you couldn’t believe you had admitted that to yourself… Oikawa is your friend.
You notice through the half-opened blinds the daylight fading low as the glow between evening and day paints the room orange. You wonder how long you’d be asleep and quickly get up realizing the day is nearly done.
Walking out, you are face to face with Iwaizumi who’s about to walk down the hallway. You let out a little yelp and clasp your chest catching your breath. The sudden excitement surprises him and he nervously laughs in response while rubbing the back of his neck.
“H-how long was I asleep?” you stumble on your words trying to process what to say.
“Not long…”
The air is filled with silence and awkwardness. Somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable, you stand in each other's presence waiting for someone to speak first. Your eyes are groggy still from your nap and you’ve accepted your mind will be hazy but didn’t feel the need to go back and rest. The dream already spooked you enough and preferred to avoid a sequel.
“Do you know where Oikawa went?” you ask, the only appropriate topic that comes to mind.
“I think he went to the library,” he answers, walking down the hall to his room.
“Oh…”
You wanted to say something more, you felt in debt to him, even Oikawa. But mostly Iwaizumi. For saving you from the creep last night, helping you with your apartment, and even wrapping your wrist today. You wish you could do anything to repay him but didn’t quite know how…
Unless.
“Hey, so,” you call Iwaizumi who stops to look at you. His gaze is soft and you feel like your heart is going to stop. “Where’s the nearest grocery store?”
“Oh, it’s not far from here. Why? Did you need something?”
“Kind of,” you look down at your feet, unable to look at how handsome he is. “I was just thinking of making you guys something… As thanks, you know. For everything.”
Iwaizumi blinks at your response. Your cheeks felt like they were heating up as you feel his prolonged stare.
“I’ll get my coat,” he says, walking past you.
“Oh, you don’t have to come with,” you plead, following behind him to the foyer.
“Well, who else is going to protect you if a creep shows up again?” he teases.
You give him a smug smile at his words. Are we joking about this now? Well, it doesn’t matter because you would quite enjoy his company anyway. Besides, you were happy to spend more time with him.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu fluff#oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru#oikawa x y/n#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hajime#ushijima x reader#ushijima x y/n
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run.
aight this one is kinda silly, i like it but then i dont ya know anyway the way i got this idea is really weird imma explain it at the end and uh yeah enjoy
words: 2341
warnings: cursing, alcohol, fighting (implied)
Pryce walked down the long hallways with her coffee, along with her many files about the latest rebel activity. To be honest, she was extremely proud of how it turned out. She had worked hard on this particular file the night before, also why this was her 5th cup of coffee that morning. However, she was sure that when high command read the file, it would all be worth it. Of course, considering this was the Empire, she also had low expectations, but no matter what they had to say, she was sure that this was going to be good.
But she was so in thought of her little project that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. And in result, she bumped into you. Fortunately she didn’t spill her coffee, but she did drop her files, which was technically a datapad. You reached down to pick it up, and seeing that it was already turned on you read a little bit of the file. Pryce did not stop you, as she wanted to see what you would say about her hard work.
You smiled politely while reading it, “Wow, Pryce, this is really good. I’m sure high command will agree.'' Pryce's pride shot through the roof, but it immediately died out when your smile dropped. “Oh, you have a typo here. It’s supposed to be ‘their’ not ‘they’re’.”
Handing it back to Pryce, you started to walk towards your destination. You turned back to give her a comforting smile. “I’m sure the high command won’t notice, though. See you around!”
Watching you walk off, she gripped the datapad with unknown force. “I fucking hate my job.”
Deciding that the high command could go fuck themselves, she headed towards the bridge where they would be waiting for her work.
--------
Eli was actually surprised with how well Pryce’s work was. Not saying that she was terrible at her job, but this was extremely well put. Besides a few typos, but if the rest of the officers wanted to bitch they could bitch.
Thrawn was certainly impressed, and even though it might’ve been hard to read it, it was obvious that he was from his almost non existent facial expressions. He turned to look towards you to see if you were the same way, but he didn’t see you at all. He looked around the bridge, only to see that you weren’t there. Were you late? No, if you were, you would’ve been here by now.
Thrawn seemed to see how confused Eli was, and leaned towards him. “If you’re wondering what they mean by the attacks on naboo, they mean the ones that happened last week.” Eli turned to him, a little offended that he thought Eli didn’t understand what they were talking about. “Yeah, I got that, I’m trying to look for _____, have you seen her?”
Thrawn straightened himself, before replying, “Last I heard, she was heading to Tarkin's fleet for a meeting. She will be back by tonight, so do not worry.” Eli felt a little hurt that you wouldn’t tell him, but then again, Tarkin liked to pull you from Thrawn's fleet for random meetings, probably just shit talking sessions, so he didn’t hold it against you.
They all turned their heads towards the intercoms when they heard the long ‘beep’ that played out when something long was about to be announced. Eli sighed and waited for a few seconds. But nothing played. Confused, he looked around the room to see if everyone else had heard it. They did, and they were all looking confused as well. Then, there was the faintest sound of audio being picked up, before it seemed to be… playing a recording.
Before anyone was able to ask what was going on, strange music started to play through the halls, and then Eli realized that the song that was playing was the “Coconut Mall” theme from Mario Kart. It got a little louder, then a little lower, before it stopped being adjusted.
Everyone in the room just stood there, listening to the theme song, wondering what the hell was happening. Finally, after almost 2 minutes, the song ended. Thrawn stared at the intercoms with a slight glare, but he turned back to the group to talk about Pryce’s excellent work but got interrupted when something else started to play. This time it was caramelldansen, out of all the songs.
Eli turned to his datapad and opened a new browser and looked at the security cameras, where he then went to the area where they would play the weekly announcements or just emergency alerts. However, the place was in shambles, with the people who were supposed to be controlling the comms were all trying to stop whoever was messing with them. Eli tapped thrawn on the shoulder and showed him the camera footage. Thrawn stared at the panicking staff, before he pulled out his own comm, which could technically be broadcasted to the entire ship and walked over to one of the control panels and inserted it into the panel.
After a bit of typing, he was pleased with what he could do, and pushed a button that would technically override the comms, but before he even spoke, the control panel beeped, before a error message played out on the screen, reading, “CANNOT OVERRIDE EMERGENCY COMM”. Thrawn seemed to be even more confused, and continued to type away at the panel, but the same error just appeared on the screen. The typing started to become louder and louder almost as if he was trying to drown out the song that was playing overhead, but it was no use.
Whoever planned this was extremely smart in making sure that they wouldn’t be able to get the comms fixed. Finally, in an act of frustration, Thrawn just raised his fist and banged it onto the screen panel. However, the spinning wheel of death came to a halt, revealing the words, “CANNOT OVERRIDE EMERGENCY COMM”. With this, thrawn took out his comm, and then tried to broadcast his own voice, but the same message played. By this point, the song was almost over, and everyone thought that this would be it. Whoever was playing this prank was sure that they were going to be caught.
But unfortunately, it didn’t.
After a few seconds, a new song played. All Star by Smash Mouth.
By this point many of the technicians were heading towards the intercom area, to see what the hell was going on. Most of the crew on the bridge were impatiently waiting for the speakers to be fixed and so that they could find whoever was playing the songs. Pryce looked like she wanted to murder someone for ruining her presentation, and Thrawn had a resting bitch face, which eli was able to tell from the way he would galre at anything and anyone.
The first time the song ended, everyone was waiting for which new weird song would play. But the same song repeated itself. Which was weird, considering the fact that they had played a different song each time. But Thrawn didn’t seem to care, simply talking over the song telling people to resume their normal duties and that the song should be down by the end of the day. How wrong he was.
The song played for a third time, and at this point Eli was starting to focus more on the song then his work. Whoever is doing this is gonna wish that they were hiding…
Then, a fourth time. Pryce came into Thrawn's office where Eli resided with Thrawn, because, well, Thrawn had his room soundproof, so that he could scream in peace when the Empire was complete bullshit. Since the speakers in his room were designed to be quieter so he could work in peace, it was a godsend for Eli, especially now.
The fifth time it played, it almost seemed as if the quiet speakers were useless. Eli was starting to get the song stuck in his head and it was bothering the hell out of him. Pryce was trying to revise her presentation in case she missed something, but everytime she went to edit it, her brain tried to write the words she was hearing. Thrawn was just about ready to reveal a flask filled with alcohol if the song didn’t stop.
The sixth time was when shit hit the fan. In the middle of the song, Eli heard running from outside the door, and he then heard, “WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKS ARE DOING THIS, I’M GONNA BEAT YOU ALL TO-” and then the sound of people fighting each other. Someone probably got tackled to the ground. Eli didn’t even want to go outside to see what was happening.
The seventh time was complete insanity, Eli was able to hear the screaming and fighting outside. He had no idea how this would have happened on the ship, but it was absolute chaos. Looking at the security footage, there were at least 6 different viewpoints with multiple fights. He was just about to call a goddamn containment breach.
Then, out of nowhere, a new song started to play. It was Wii music. He was almost able to hear the cries of relief from the crew, and as it played he tried to fall asleep to drown out his problems. He listened to the calming music of the speakers that brought peace to his mind, and he was about to fall asleep, when.
“SOMEBODY ONCE TOLD ME,”
Screams could be heard from across the ship as the eight time, and people started up their fights again. Eli saw from the corner of his eye Thrawn pulling out a datapad and he started to type to someone. This continued for a minute before he pulled out a holopad and turned it on. He pulled out your contact and called you. When you answered you were sitting down somewhere, holding a random datapad probably from Tarkin.
“Thrawn? Are you good?” Thrawn seemed almost to cry in relief when you answered his call. “No, my dear, I am not.” He then went on to explain the situation, before he hung his head low, almost wanting to die having to explain this to you of all people. You stared at him for a moment, before reassuring him, “Don’t worry, I’ll get them to send someone with experience to help you out. They’ll be there in about half an hour.”
Well. Could be worse. Eli found two pillows and stuck them on his ears trying to drown out the song.
------
The ships came earlier than expected. Then again, the place where Tarkin usually resided wasn’t too far from their post, but he wasn’t expecting Tarkin to bring about 4 ISD to the scene.
However, it became apparent why when Tarkin stepped off the smaller ship that had been sent out. Along with you. The song had still been playing, the goddamn tone was getting to Eli so much.
Walking through the halls was a mess in itself. People were trying to restrain others, they were fighting each other, it reminded you of the time the whole Life Day incident happened. But this wasn’t the same.
When the two of you finally reached Thrawn's office, the place had been put on lockdown, still the damn song playing. You did have to admit it was starting to get annoying having to hear it on repeat. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like for an hour.
Walking into Thrawn's office, you saw Eli in the corner, on the floor, with two pillows held up against his ears, Pryce sitting on one of the chairs with her elbows on her knees, head down, and her hands covering her ears, and Thrawn had a tipped over flask on his desk. Overall? A fucking mess.
However, before anyone could explain anything, the music stopped mid play. It was a relief to everyone. Pryce lifted her head like she was seeing an angel for the first time. Thrawn looked almost the same, but his eyes held relief. Eli didn’t hear it stop because the pillows were so good as sound blockers that he didn’t have to worry.
Tarkin gave a smirk, before asking, “So, you needed help with what exactly?”
------
That same day Thrawn held a bounty to whoever could find out who did the prank. A lesser reward for whoever had any info on them, but it was all the same. The ship had to be cleaned up from the whole ordeal. Multiple cleaning crews from other ships had to be requested. Even the Emperor got attention for what happened and had a good laugh (in private).
Vader was supposed to appear for a meeting the next day, but it had to be postponed from the damage.
You, Thrawn and Eli had a secondary, more private meeting in Thrawn's office, where Eli explained what happened. You had to hide your laugh as a cough, which worked better than expected.
After the mini meeting was over, Thrawn left, but you asked Eli to stay for details on what happened that you knew Thrawn wouldn’t want to remember. Eli begrudgingly agreed and told you what happened in detail. You had a good laugh, and Eli did as well, long forgetting his anger towards the situation. After a bit of laughs, you gathered your things, telling Eli that you would be getting on with the report you had to give to Tarkin about the situation.
However, before you left, you turned back to face him. “You know, I’m surprised that those emergency comms had that much range. I was expecting it to die out, you know? But I guess they’re called emergency comms for something.”
Eli stopped, dead in his tracks, and turned back to face you. You gave an innocent smile, before saying, “Hope you didn’t mind. See you around, Eli.”
Eli was left with a feeling of betrayal from one of his closest friends, and a feeling of emptiness.
------
did it. ok so the way how i got this was that i was scrolling through someones blog and i found a funny video about john mulaney and that whats new pussycat and i was like oh hey didnt something happen to my brother and so i asked him about it and long story short in highschool someone had played pumped up kicks like 3 times i think and there was a fight somehow that ended up with someone going to the hospital so yeah. also i havent edited this much so pls tell me of any mistakes lmao anyway heres the guys who imma tag:
@theninjahobbit666 @danger-xylophones @justalittlecloud @queenie-chi-cosplay @ssevent33n @fallenrepublick
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Through A Mothers Eyes (Part 4)
Dean Winchester x Reader
Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!
Warnings: slow burn, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, more best friend banter and crack. THEY ARE IDIOTS.
Summary:Mary meets an old friend of the Winchesters and apparently she’s the only one who can see the very obvious feelings the reader and Dean have for each other.
A/N: This series is always so much fine to write, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and please tell me what you thought!
“Seriously, Dean. Why do you insist on doing this every damn time?”
There was a pause from the hunter across from you.“ . . . I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” Dean breathed from over the hood of the impala, glancing up at you momentarily.
Dunking your sponge back into the bucket, you slapped it across the window of the passenger door, scrubbing away the dust. You didn’t have a problem with helping Dean wash the car, you just didn’t understand why he had to wash it before every fucking hunt.
“It’s-“ you paused to look over at the clock on the wall of the bunkers garage. “Not even nine in the morning.”
“You offered to help.”
“I know- I just didn’t realize you wanted it done so soon.”
Dean looked up again, pausing his work to glare at you. “We’re leaving in a few hours for that case in Kentucky. When else were we gonna do it?”
You hummed a response that sounded a lot like an I don’t know before dropping your sponge back into the bucket and grabbing the hose. Twisting the nozzle, you aimed it at your bare feet to test the water pressure.
You were beginning to grow bored. You needed to spice things up.
“Hey, can you hand me that towe—“ the Winchester never got to finish his sentence before a solid jet of water hit him in the face. Your sudden attack coming out of nowhere when he looked up. A second later he was blinking water from his eyes and sending you a silent and irritated glare as he wiped his face. “Seriously? What are you, Fiv-“
Another jet of water to the face, this time unfortunately Deans mouth was open, resulting in him spitting out a generous amount when you stopped. They were quick spurts, your finger only squeezing the trigger for a fraction of a second- but they still managed to soak him. His black t-shirt clinging to his skin.
“Y/-”
Ptsssss
“You little-”
Ptsssss
“Im gonna-”
Ptsssss
Dean shot you another look, this time pursing his wet lips as he waited to see wether or not you would hit him again. “Bitch.”
“Slut.”
The hunter raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly in mock surprise.
“What? Have you not seen those shorts you’re wearing?” You eyes going down to his denim shorts.
“Okay first of all, free bunker.” He raised a soapy finger . “And second, my legs look great in them. You wish you were me.”
“They sure do.” You nodded . . . proceeding then to squeeze the trigger once more and hit him in the face with another stream of water. “Whore.”
This time Dean reeled back, thoroughly annoyed by the water and wiping his face with the back of his hand as your grinned. “Fucking bitch-“ he fired back, pulling his arm back. Before you could even register what he was doing, a wet sponge smacked into your forehead with a hefty thwap, your head being knocked back by the force.
Games. It was always dumb games like this with you two.
You were stunned momentarily as the sponge hit the floor, and then you started to laugh. The sound bubbling up through you throat and successfully catching Dean off guard. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh. Not at all.
“Y/N?”
He shouldn’t have let his guard down because like a switch being flicked, you stopped laughing, raised the hose and sprayed him again.
“Dammit Y/N!” Dean snapped, spinning on his heel to find his own water bucket. A moment later he was picking it up and throwing its soapy contents over the hood of the car and right into you, successfully soaking you in one go. You stumbled back, sputtering- wiping suds from your eyes as you looked down at the clothes you were wearing, the cloth now stuck to your body.
There was a moment of silence as the both of you registered what had just happened, and then Dean chuckled, you following suit a moment later until the both of you were laughing hysterically, too occupied to notice the two people standing in the doorway of the bunkers garage.
“Are- are they ever not weird?” Mary tried, arms crossed as she watched the two of you continue to spiral into fits of hysteria.
“Mom.” Sam began, clamping a reassuring hand over her shoulder. “They share one brain cell between the two of them. Weird and dumb is all they know.”
*. *. *. *. * . *.
An hour later, your duffels were packed and laying on the war room table as you finished off a late breakfast, Mary seated across from you, nose deep in her laptop. Besides you, Sams feet were kicked up on the table as he flipped through a lore book.
It was much qiuter than it had been an hour ago to say the least. You now had dry clothes on, your hair still damp from Deans bucket of soapy water. It was only a moment later that Dean walked in with his bags slung around his shoulders. “Alright! Who’s ready for a family hunting trip?” He declared, dropping his bags down next to yours.
“What?”
“Hunting trip?”
The older Winchesters shoulders dropped as he looked over at his brother and mother. “Seriously? You'd have thought the bags would have given it away.” He gestured towards the table.
Swinging his feet to the ground, Sam set down his book. “What kind of case?”
“Vahmps-“ you mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled egg, pausing to swallow a second later and clear your throat. “Vamps. Small rural Kentucky town. Shouldn’t be too big of a deal.”
“You guys wanna join?”
Sam opened his mouth to respond but was stopped short when Mary suddenly butted in. “No!” She took a deep breath. “No. You go without us. Sam and I have a case to work a few towns over anyways-“
“We do?” He whispered, clearly taken off guard by his mothers words, but fortunately going unnoticed by you and Dean.
“We do!”
Dean ever so slightly titled his head is surprise. “You guys need help?”
“No!no you guys go deal with those vamps. Sam and I will be fine.” Mary nodded, giving you both a bright smile. Maybe this was exactly what you and Dean needed. Time together.
At this point you had stood up, slinging your bags over your shoulders right along side Dean, your plate still balanced in your hand and ready to be dropped off in the kitchen on your way out.
The two of you shared a confused look before shrugging and heading towards the hallway that led to the garage. “Okayyyyy. See you guys later then.” Dean began, sending his mom one more confused look over his shoulder before turning the corner after you.
Once Sam knew the two of you were out of earshot he spun on his heel to look at Mary. “What the hell?”
“Just trust me.”
“We’re gonna find them dead in a field somewhere.”
“Sam, I doubt that.” Mary sighed, closing her laptop. “Those two seem to work well together. They’ll be fine.”
“. . . Uh huh. I mean, they do work great together, I’ve seen them, but also. . . They’re idiots.”
“Maybe so.”
*. *. *. *. *. *.
The drive from Lebanon to Madisonville Kentucky was shorter than most of your drives for hunts. The seven hours from the bunker to there was easy. You provided the snacks and Dean had provided the music, the two of you falling into your usual hunting routine the moment the wheels of the impala hit the asphalt.
Feet pressed into the glove box, you balanced a bag of beef jerky of your knees, fiddling with the volume dials as you chewed- pausing only to hand Dean a piece when he extended his palm.
“You’re mom was acting really weird when we left.” You began, glancing up from your snack, Deans eyes focused on the road. No answer. “Dean!”
Your shout successfully knocked him out of the zone as his head whipped around to look at you. “What?”
“Dude, you were in the zone. What the hell were you thinking about?”
Not that he would ever admit it out loud or anything, but he had been thinking about you. Why? He had no clue. But for the past hour his mind had been pulling him back to that incident in the garage that resulted in you soaking wet with your clothes clinging to your skin. Why was he think about that? He shouldn't have been thinking about that---
“Dean!”
“Quit shouting damn it!” He sent you another glare before letting out a sigh.”Sorry, What were you saying?”
“I was trying to say that your mom was acting really weird when we left.”
“Don’t mind her. That’s just mom being mom.” Dean sighed, eyes glancing through the side window before flicking on his turn signal and pulling Baby into the parking lot of the motel. “She’s not bothering you, is she?”
“No! No of course not.” You shook your head before lowering your knees and tossing the bag onto the seat. “I was just surprised that neither of them wanted to join us.”
“She said they found a case, so-“ Dean shrugged again as he turned off the car once in a parking spot. “You wanna go get the key or do you wanna unload the bags.”
Propping your sunglasses up on your head, you swung open the passenger door. “I’ll unload.”
And just like that Dean was leaving you at the trunk of the impala as he went to go retrieve the key to your motel room. When he came back you were leaning against the hood, all four duffels slung over your shoulders.
“Room 14.” He held up the silver key as he stepped down in front of you. “You need help?”
“Nuh uh.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.”
Pushing yourself off the mat black hood you followed Dean down the row of bright yellow doors, the numbers on each having rusted from weather and age.You liked going on hunts with just Dean. Sam wasn't there to complain about your taste in music or hog shotgun. Plus, it was much more fun to hang out with your best friend when its just the two of you.
You maybe got halfway towards the door before you stopped and let out a huff as you attempted to re-adjust the straps, Dena stopping when he realized you weren’t next to him.
“Seriously?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The hunter grinned before backpedaling and taking two of the bags. “You know you could just ask for help, right?” He mused, the two of you continuing your walk once situated.
“Yeah, but I don’t like doing that.”
“Oh I know, little miss I’ll stitch up my stab wound by myself.”
“Would you rather have had me bleed out on the bunker floor as I waited for you to get home?”
“. . . Well.” Dean paused as he set his bags on the ground to unlock the door, acting as if he was contemplating it. “If you had done that at least I would be rid of you.”
“Oh yeah, I’d definitely like to see you survive this world without me.” You quipped, stepping into the room as he swung open the door for you.
“I’d be thriving.”
“I’m sure you would.”
Dean flicked on the lights behind you before shutting the door. The familiar sight of old wallpaper and even older flooring meeting your eyes. It wasn’t until your bags had been piled onto the linoleum flooring once more that both of you saw the one slight issue it had.
“Classic.” You sighed, nodding you head. “Just classic.”
SPN Taglist: (Still Open)
@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans @mrsmaybankhere @malindacath @littleagxs @deanwanddamons @idksupernatural @i-make-questionable-choices @drakelover78
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester series#dean fluff#SPN#spn x reader#bi-danvers writing
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Close Call
John (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)
Warnings: SPOILERS, Swearing, Near-death scene
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Colleagues John and Y/N are stranded in the ghost town of Little Hope with four of their students. Will the two manage to save their group from the horrors the town has to provide for them? Will they both live long enough to see the next day and maybe finally come clean to one another?
Requested by @artlovingbre Hello dear! Sorry to be posting your amazing request so late, hope it makes the wait worth it. I love John, he’s such a comfort character and he needs to be protected at all costs haha. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤
“Are you alright?“ Shiny eyes shed a concerned gaze on him while a warm hand hold his cheek, adjusting his head to a specific angle. “Try to open your eyes, John.“ She speaks in a soft voice, guiding him back to consciousness.
His eyelids lift ever so slightly, his foggy vision not doing the woman crouched in front of his slumped body justice. He can see the worry mixed with light fear on her features. Something about the look in her eyes tells him she’s seen something that mortified her.
John’s gaze clears up when he focuses on that exact element of her gaze, the one suggesting she’s not doing as well as she’d like others to think. He almost chuckles to himself at how signature of a Y/N move that is.
Y/N Y/L/N, the Business and Management professor who has recently been transferred into their college. In her early thirties, she’s only had about ten years of teaching experience but she has easily become the most liked and professor on campus. Her attitude and her teaching are basically a formula for success one can’t deny. She’s earned herself this job with a lot of work, having come from a much smaller and less-known college where she taught a class of roughly twenty people, she had to teach many other classes as well, considering she also possesses great knowledge in Economics and English Literature. She’s continued to do so, being a substitute professor whenever an English Lit or ECON one couldn’t make it, while also tutoring on the side. She has worked hard to make it in the world of knowledge and John finds her incredibly inspiring.
He met her when he was looking for a professor to cover for him while he got through the final preparations of the school trip he was planning for a group of his students. She would’ve volunteered immediately, he’s definitely certain of that, but this time around he was actually directed to her by a fellow colleague. Seeing her for the first time felt like he was witnessing a phenomenon he’s heard many people talk about but no one was sure it existed. He had heard whispers about her all over campus, she was rather popular - she had come to the college and brought a breath of fresh air with her, getting the students wondering and making assumptions about her. She carried herself with such powerful confidence, it got everyone thinking she’d be a strict, no-nonsense, stuck-up professor who asked for too much while not giving the students enough.
Needless to say, they couldn’t have been more wrong.
John has never connected to a person so quickly and easily before. The new professor was certainly something the school needed but no one could suspect it’d be someone of her rank. Even he felt he was below her and he has been teaching for twice as long as she has. There’s something so appealing about her, makes him want to never stop talking to her - if circumstances allowed for such a thing, he’s certain neither of them would run out of things to say. They have plenty in common, a lot of stories to share and a lot of advice to give one another despite him being the more experienced professor.
“What the hell was that?“ He mutters, sitting up in a more upright position.
Y/N scoffs, “You tell me. That man, he looked just like you. And....there’s no explanation for this, is there?”
They’ve just witnessed John’s double’s execution. It was a real torture to be exposed to such a horrifying scene. The death in and of itself was disturbing, but one can only imagine how the entire situation is messing with their heads - especially Y/N’s. She’s a person of logic, she likes being in the know and fully understanding issues and problems. She can’t just accept this illogical occurrence that has been happening to them all night. It’s tiring her out and driving her mad. Matters are a lot worse when you don’t know why they are the way they are or how they came to be. Knowing she functions based on this principle, John can’t help but feel bad for not being able to help her. Hell, she’s doing all the helping around here, he’s the one who blacked out when they returned from that hellish trip back in time.
Their students are surrounding them, all looking on with worry and confusion as to what they saw. These trips back in time have become common in the past our or two, they no longer question it when it happens, instead they focus on what they see.
“None as of now, but...“ He starts speaking, looking for words of comfort which are cut short when a sudden noise comes from somewhere nearby, amongst the tall grass and bushes.
It sounds like a fast movement, quickly accompanied by a growl-like sound that is enough to freeze the two in their spot while their students each took a step back, getting further away from the possible danger up ahead.
John and Y/N get up hand in hand, eyes glued onto the now visibly rustling grass from which emerges a gruesome creature straight from hell. It’s not their first run-in with a monstrosity like this one - they faced the chain-bound one going after Angela; the floating, long-tongued one with it’s target on Taylor and the spear bearing one in pursuit of Daniel.
This one is his. It’s finally his turn to spin the wheel of fortune and see how likely he is to survive.
His thoughts are racing, he can hear the thumping of blood in his ears. This is either gonna be his demise or a story to tell, the two options so far from one another, so surreal. They remind him how fragile his life is. How little it would take for him to be wiped off the face of the Earth, but how much effort he’d have to put in to save himself and the people he’s responsible of. Among them, a person he hasn’t been fully truthful with this whole time...
“GO IN THE HOUSE! NOW!“ Y/N’s voice grounds him, pulls him back to reality. She shakes his arm, yanking his attention to her, “John, we gotta move!“
The thought of one of these things even daring to get close to Y/N mortifies and angers him. He doesn’t want to run from these creatures, demons or whatever the fuck they may be. He’s done choosing flight.
“I’m sick and tired of allowing them the upper hand.“ He exclaims in frustration, looking around for something to use as a weapon. “Y/N, go inside. I’ll meet you there shortly.“
His words are insanity to her. She can’t even imagine leaving him behind as he’s suggesting, but she knows arguing would be futile. Instead, she backs away without as much as a word.
The demon starts approaching, this one’s movements a lot faster and more rapid in comparison to the rest they’d faced. John is aware he’ll need to stay razor sharp to even have a chance of survival, not that there’s much for him to do against an overpowered demon moving at that speed while all he has is the old sledgehammer he finds laying nearby.
He manages to get one good swing in, pushing the thing away, earning himself some time to put distance between him and the demon, but before he is able to do so, the thing is already charging at him and has him toppling to the ground, promising to seal his fate right here and now.
A sudden hit is delivered to the demon’s head with incredible force, giving John the freedom to stand up and look to see who his savior is as they go in for another swing with what looks to be a metal pipe.
It’s Y/N.
“Take that, you piece of shit!“ She yells, delivering another blow to the head.
John runs to her side, guiding her away by the arm now that the demon is far enough away. Adrenaline is pumping through the both of them, keeping them on their feet despite the shaking of their knees. They attempt to make a run for the house, but Y/N’s movements are hindered by the chain that wraps around her calf, yanking her back and onto the ground.
John wastes no time rushing to her aid, using the sledgehammer to free her from Angela’s demon’s grasp and pulls her to her feet.
This time, the run to the house is successful. They make it inside, mildly harmed, out of breath and with rapid heartbeats. And with their lives, of course. Surprisingly, they made it in with all their limbs and their lives. That has to count for something.
“You suck at following instructions, don’t you?“ John asks Y/N after they briefly catch their breath.
She chuckles, holding the wrist she sprained when manning the heavy metal pipe as a weapon, “No, I just protect the people I care about. You should know what that’s like.” She bumps his shoulder with her, sending him a warm smile.
He sure knows what it’s like.
* * *
It’s all over. They are safe, back on campus. Shaken up, bruised and traumatized but alive and safe from any physical harm. For the mental torment they will be helped by professionals, friends and family. What matters is that they’re alive.
“Hey, um, I never got to thank you for saving my life back there.“ John hesitantly approaches Y/N once each student is picked up by someone from the school parking lot, presumably to be taken to a hospital. The two of them can’t go anywhere before they take responsibility for what happened.
Y/N grins at him, her tired eyes shining in the late morning sunshine. “I couldn’t leave my favorite colleague to die now, could I?” She laughs, placing a hand on his shoulder, “And thank you for saving my life.”
He returns her smile, covering her hand with his, “Couldn’t let you die on your first school trip, could I?”
She laughs again, shaking her head in what appears to be disappointment, “First and last. I bet I’m getting fired for this.” She looks down at her shoes, digging them into the pavement.
“Hey.“ He gives her hand a squeeze, grasping her attention causing her to look up at him and meet his warm gaze, “I won’t let that happen. I promise.“
Y/N sighs and nods, exhaustion radiating off of her, “Alright, I trust you. Let’s just get it over with, shall we?” She tilts her head towards the entrance of the school.
Ok John, now or never. Just spit it out
“Um, Y/N?“ He says her name questioningly, causing her to turn to fully face him, “Would you maybe want to head to lunch afterwards? I completely understand if you’d prefer to be alone, but if you want some company...“ He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, nervous as all hell. That’s really telling, considering they just escaped hell.
He resists the urge to close his eyes and cringe at how hesitant and awkward he sounds. Where is that bold side of him that wanted to fight a demon earlier?
“Sure, John. I’d love nothing more. Lord knows company is just what I need right now. I’d hate to be alone, I think I might lose it.“ Her response accompanied with a slightly shy chuckle sends an overwhelming wave of relief crashing down onto him, allowing him a sigh.
Sometimes, as John would learn, going through hell may be worth it when you consider the aftermath.
A chance with Y/N is his aftermath, and it just about makes the hell of Little Hope worth it. He’s yet to find out for certain though.
@sparrow-gg @megandaisy9
#the dark pictures little hope#the dark pictures house of ashes#the dark pictures#the dark pictures anthology#the dark pictures man of medan#dark pictures anthology#dark pictures little hope#little hope#the dark pictures anthology little hope#man of medan#dark pictures man of medan#until dawn#supermassive#supermassive games#little hope john x reader#little hope john#little hope angela#little hope andrew#little hope daniel#little hope taylor#video game#video game fanfic#video games#john x reader#fic#fan#fandom#fanfic#fanfiction#requests open
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The Last Piece Left
This was supposed to be fluff the first time I had this idea. But then I decided that it could be fluffy with angst in the end. But then I got to actually write it and it became angst with even more angst in the end, so... hope you enjoy
I apologize in advance for any mistakes
Summary: For the first time since he left the Others, Virgil reunites the courage to talk to an old friend, but neither of them seem to know how to feel about each other. Or how to not make things worse.
Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders
Warnings: swearing, mentions to death and dead bodies, angst (does that count as a warning?), fight, sex mention
Word Count: 2287
“I told them my name” Remus looked away from the canvas in front of him, just to see who he once called a friend standing in the middle of his room, with an expression as abstract as the paint Creativity was trying to finish. So many feelings in such a small space it became impossible to understand.
“Ok? Good for you, I don’t give a fuck” replied, focusing his gazes on anything except Virgil’s eyes, doing his best to keep his emotions simple. We hate each other. He abandoned us. That should be enough. Virgil stayed in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. “What do you want, emo?”
“Thomas painted his hair” he started.
“Yeah, I noticed. Purple doesn’t really go well with green. Unless we’re talking about a wound. Or a dead body. Nevermind, purple and green are awesome together”
“Yeah, I really liked the hair, actually. I was thinking… I mean, you and Deceit have green and yellow. The core sides also have colors. I’m kinda tired of the black”
“Are you? I think it matches you, boring, quickly establishes that you’re the villain, having been washed in at least some months”
“I just want you to teach me how to sew,” Virgil replied, already starting to lose his temper. Calm down, he said to himself,he may be hard to deal with, but you are here to help, not make things worse.
“Roman knows how to sew, probably way better than me. Do you think I should add like, blood red or more like a wine red?” He pointed to the canvas, answering his own question before Virgil could do so “Yeah, blood red of course, the classic”
“I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, I don’t think Princey’s style really matches mine” Remus wishes he was as honest to himself as he was with other people. He knew deep down it would hurt more to do that. He knew that getting a bite of what used to be their friendship would just make him more hungry for something that didn’t even exist anymore. He knew it would probably hurt both of them even more. But someone wanted his help for the first time in… well. Virgil wanted his help.
“Ok, get out of my room” said, finally turning to Anxiety, who tried to pretend those words didn’t send a wave of disappointment though his body.
“Of course... This was a mistake” mumbled, starting to sink out.
“No dude! Fuck, I mean, like, intrusive thoughts and anxiety is never a good mix, let’s go to your room or a neutral room” quickly explained.
“Oh” Virgil came back, seeming surprised “I can take your room just fine, dude, I’m used to it”
“It got way worse since the last time you were here, trust me, Gerard Gay” Virgil looked around. The view did look messier, if it was possible. The floor felt like skin, but with something off. He could hear whispers in the back of his consciousness, to which he could never identify a source. The smell was less like trash can and more like a trash can on fire where a corpse had been discarded some days ago. But he could take all that. He could take hours in that room, the same way Remus could take hours in his room.
“I don’t see how”
“As much as I would love to see Thomas hyperventilating because his anxiety can’t stop thinking about how people are going to invade his house and slowely murder him if he doesn’t check all the locks at least five times, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that headache. And it will be a hell of a headache as soon as the room reaches your mind”
“Fine, My room, then?”
“Yeah, I’m in need of some new spiderwebs anyway”
Virgil’s room didn’t change much since The Duke was there for the last time, except for some new Disney posters, probably from Roman and a drawing on the desk right beside anxiety’s bed. It was terribly colorful and childish, with all the three core sides and Virgil. Patton, then. Of course it was Patton. Anxiety immediately took the gift out of Creativity’s sight.
“I’m not gonna eat it or anything, y’know?”
“It’s personal”
“Of fucking course it is” He could see how Patton seemed better compared to Janus. But they didn’t need a stupid - and shitty, let’s be honest - card to prove how much they cared for, everything was just so fucking stupid and boring with the core sides, why would Virgil fucking chose to be with them?! What was wrong with him?! What did Remus do wrong?! “It’s really shitty, but I guess daddy has always been bad at everything he did”
“Could you keep it down? For at least thirty fucking minutes?” Virgil snapped, clenching his fists and looking at Remus with pure danger in his eyes.
“Do you have a… “He looked around, wishing he could just stop fucking talking for at least one damn second “A sketch. For how you want your hoodie to be?
“I do, actually” Virgil kept his eyes away from his old friend, the tension in the room so heavy it could be cut, grabbing one of the drawings on the same table Patton’s gift was and giving it to the duke. It was… a concept. Remus conjured a pen, turning the paper and using it’s other side to make a more clear image, giving it back to anxiety.
“How about this?” Virgil tried not to smile, but his eyes betrayed him by shining. It was perfect.
"It 's cool”
“Great” he then started to reunite all the materials. One of Virgil’s older hoodies, purple fabric, white and black threads and…
“Why a spinning wheel?”
"It 's cooler” replied, shrugging.
“If I touch the needle will I also sleep for one hundred years?”
“Who knows? Now sit your ass down, emo, this will take time”
“Ok, what do I do first?” said, sitting on his bed and waiting for instruction. Remus flinched until the realization struck him.
“Wait, you actually want me to teach you? Buddy, I’m the worst teacher ever and you know that” And also I’m a selfish motherfucker who knows very well that if you never learn it every time you need to fix it you will have to ask for my help.
“It can’t be that hard”
“If you actually want to do something decent, it will take at least some days. Do you want The Duke in your room for days? I wouldn’t mind it, we could even have some fun” He smiled maliciously. He was right. Virgil wouldn’t want any of the core sides to know he still talked to Remus. Especially not Roman.
“Fine. How long will it take for you to do it?”
“One hour” He could do it in a couple seconds, actually, but sshhh.
“Ok” Virgil looked down, seeming almost… embarrassed. Creativity grabbed all the materials, conjured a bench, sat down and started to work. He tried to stay in silence, but it was almost painful to do so
“How are the core sides doing? Anything interesting, if that’s possible?”
“Are you trying to do small talk?” Virgil almost smiled. The only one of the Others good with that was Deceit and they all knew that.
“I’m trying to keep it down like you said to protect your now light side ears or whatever” Virgil chucked, rolling his eyes.
“What was that painting about?”
“Oh… I was trying to do an abstract representation of the emotions decay and rottenness bring”
“Sounds like you. How was it going?”
“Like shit. Not literally, even though that’s a good idea, did you know that when we die our whole body, like, relax, including our stomach muscles and all? And yeah, we shit ourselves, so go to the bathroom before you die, I guess” Virgil flinched with that unwanted information.
“I feel like you told me that before”
“I probably did, it’s pretty basic. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, I haven’t being able to paint anything good”
“I thought it was pretty nice” For Remus’ standards.
“Sure you did. But really, how are those dorks? Did someone already explained to Daddy what sex it or nobody had the courage yet?”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?”
“Of course!”
“Nobody did, obviously, but I’m considering, I like Patton, but if he refers to adulthood as adultery one more time I’ll lose it” Remus snorted.
“He does what?”
“Long story, dude”
“Holy fuck” He laughed “He’s definitely doing that on purpose”
“What would he win by doing that?” A couple of answers came to Remus’ mind but he was sure VIrgil would hate all of them. Still, he had to choose one, that how things work “Maybe he likes fucking with you guys”
“Not everybody finds it funny to manipulate the people around them like Deceit” Oh, here we go again.
“Patton and Janus are not that different”
“Name one thing they have in common” fortunately for Remus, the first answer that came to his mind was not that bad.
“Well, if you’re right, they both don’t know where babies come from” Virgil seemed divided between keeping arguing and smiling. He went with the second option. You can do it, Virge. You can not screw everything.
“I guess so. But Patton is definitely better with hugs”
“Which one of the light sides would you fuck if you had to chose?”
“Where did that come from?!” Remus shrugged.
“Just curious”.
“I won’t fucking answer that!” exclaimed, his face starting to get red.
“For me it would be Logan. Or maybe you. Do you count as a Light side already?” Anyway, Logan must be amazing. It’s almost like fucking a teacher and I always wanted to know how it feels like” Virgil was about to order him to shut up, but he knew Remus enough to know it would only make things worse, so he went with a more effective technique.
“How is Deceit doing?” Remus raised his eyebrows, the question surprising enough to stop his line of thought.
“Fine? Why do you care?”
“I mean… are you guys good?”
“As always”
“Haven’t he been… hurting you or anything like that?”
“Janus never hurted me, dude, what the fuck?”
“Except that he did. Except that he does it everyday. You just don’t want to admit it” Remus looked into his eyes, frowning.
“Emo, what is this all about?”
“What do you mean?” Based on how he focused his gaze on the floor, Remus raised his eyebrows even more.
“This is not just about the fucking hoodie, is it?” Virgil stayed in a seeming never ending silence.
“They accepted me, Remus.You guys said it was impossible for the core sides to accept us, but here I am. They could accept you too” Oh, so that’s what this is about. Remus went to one of his rare silences, which were always scarier than his loudest noises.
“We already talked about this, emo”
“But that was before! When we thought they all hated us! But they don’t! Logan is welcoming and Roman is trying and Patton… Patton is willing to receive us with his arms open”
“No, he’s fucking not. Patton hates me so fucking much I’m pretty sure he would get rid of me the second he had the fucking chance and would still convince himself it was the right thing to do” He got up without realizing, putting all his efforts into not crying like a pathetic child.
“I think you’re mistaken him for Deceit” Virgil also got on his feet.
“Janus, his name is fucking Janus, why can’t you just call him for his fucking name?! He yelled.
“He’s a liar, Remus! He doesn’t care about you or any of us! He just wants to… Follow his plans or whatever”
“Oh, do you think Patton cares about you?!”
“Actually yes, I know he fucking does”
“Well, yeah, maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but if I get there? Not only will he get scared and kick me out, he will also be angry at you for bringing the freak here into his perfect little world of sunshine and rainbows, so thank you so much, but Janus at least was there for me when I needed it, unlike those dicks or you!” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“I should have known this was a mistake” Virgil said, letting his shoulders drop with the height of defeat.
“Yeah it was. Here is your fucking hoodie” He finished it with a snap of his fingers at threw it at Virgil, sinking out right after. “Have fun with your new friends, Virgil”
Slowly, anxiety grabbed his new costume. It was amazing, Comfortable, spooky, creative. And it was so… detailed and clearly done carefully, It was… He started crying.Ugly crying, with the tears scratching his throat to came with violent sobs, their warm burning as they fell down his face, wetting his own clothes and the new one in his hands, the pain in his chest seeming like a monster was tearing apart his whole soul, trying to destroy his heart, it hurted more than anything that he ever felt.
He knew, deep down, it was impossible to have a real famILY like that. But he also knew he was a hypocrite and it was easier to pretend things were simpler. It was easier to pretend he didn’t need Remus. Or Janus, by that extent. It was easier to pretend they weren’t family. But not easy enough for him to not hold on to all there was left from what they once called a friendship.
He held the hoodie tighter.
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a series of fortunate events
summary: the three times the line between friends and ~something more~ is blurred and the first time that line is demolished.
word count: 1.5k+
warnings: language, mention of harassment
a/n: dang right i stole the title from my favorite children’s book series! what’s it to ya?
i.
the first time it happens is completely by accident. you’re mates––nothing more––so when he asks you to go with him to the oscars you tease him about his lack of a proper date, but ultimately say yes. it is the oscars after all. you find your dress (a pale lilac chiffon gown, only eighty pounds on the clearance rack at h&m), begrudgingly allow him to purchase your plane ticket, and pack you bags.
after a long flight and full saturday of sight-seeing and overpriced meals in the city, sunday evening finally rolls around. you get ready in the comfortable silence of your hotel room. introvert that you are, it’s easier to get ready alone knowing you’ll be out until the wee hours of the morning. plus, the solitude gives you a moment to collect yourself in private. you’re nervous, naturally, but it’s likely he’s ten times as nervous as you. the thought forces you to get your emotions under control; you’re here to be a support, not a burden.
he knocks on the door at five p.m. sharp. grabbing a pair of earrings, you hurry to the door and pull it open, turning your back as you search for your shoes amidst the pile of clothes on the floor.
“that would be a riot if i forgot my shoes,” you say dryly. one hand shoves the back of your earring into place while the other tosses a shirt out of the way. “could you imagine me showing up barefoot?”
you rise from where you’re crouched near the floor and turn to face him. what you see stills the air in your chest. he’s painfully handsome in his suit, and there’s a part of you that likes his short hair, but that’s not what stops you.
he’s staring at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. so much so, heat rises to your cheeks at his open gaze. you want to look away because if you don’t soon you’ll surely start to sweat, but you can’t. his stare holds you frozen.
clearing your throat, you motion to your gown. “i got it on sale.” it’s lame, a foolish attempt to ease the heaviness in the room. if anything, as his eyes move from your face to your body, the heaviness only grows stronger.
“it’s... nice.”
a moment longer and you know you’ll burst, both out of confusion and excitement, so you find your shoes, slip them on, and shove him out into the hall with a quip about being late.
still, once you crawl into bed well past midnight, buzzed and content, you replay his look over and over because friends don’t look at each other that way and the idea alone sends a nervous thrill down your spine.
ii.
the next time it happens is barely worth mentioning, but it’s kept your wheels spinning and your heart thumping for days despite the moment’s smallness.
you’d gotten coffee together, caught up on a few weeks, and shared a laugh. it’s nothing out of the ordinary. but there’s one moment––the moment that nearly drives you to insanity––which you cannot shake.
from his place at the table, he can see out the window over your shoulder. as you talk, he watches the road outside, his eyes trailing the passersby. he’s always been that way, a people watcher. you like his thoughtfulness, but sometimes it can drive him to distraction.
you snap your fingers in front of his nose. “hey, earth to gwil. i’m just about to get to the best part of the story.”
“wait.” he sits forward, grabbing the hand still hovering in front of his face. his fingers curl around yours, and he squeezes your palm in a silent message. “that lady dropped her grocery bags and that guy’s about to help her.”
you twist, hands still entwined, to look out the window. sure enough, an older woman, tomatoes and fruit and cardboard boxes littered around her feet, is helped by an older man. the scene is sweet, like something about of a film.
you face him again. “that’s cute.”
he sits back and shrugs before taking a sip of his coffee. “finish your story.”
as you finish, your hands remain meshed together on the tabletop.
iii.
the last time is happens––and when you know one of you has to make the first move or else you’re fucked––is on holiday. your families have gone to the shore as one large unit for years and this summer is no different.
one evening, you follow him, your sister, and his siblings to a nearby pub. you’re tired after a long day of doing nothing, but he convinces you to come. something about trivia night and the smile on his face, the eagerness in his voice, breaks you down despite your initial protests.
you’re just grabbing another pint from the bar when a hand slaps your ass. you jolt out of surprise, beer sloshing over the rim of your glass to wet your arm. torn between the offender and the trail of beer spreading across the counter, you freeze, uncertain. the offender takes the mute reaction as encouragement, and he leans against the bar next to you.
“hey.” his breath is foul, a mixture of bad beer and garlic. you cringe and reach for a pile of napkins. “nice ass.”
“fuck off,” you mutter.
“just bein’ friendly, that’s all. you don’t gotta be so uptight.”
“i’m not uptight.” you level him a glare and upturned brow. “i’m simply not attracted to anyone who thinks a good pick up line is slapping a complete stranger’s ass.”
“is everything okay here?”
on some level, you wish he would let you handle your predicament on your own. you’re a big girl. surely you can handle an asshole without someone coming to your rescue. but he looks concerned, his eyes darting back and forth between the offender and your angry features. he sidles up next to you, weaves his arm around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and gives the offender a once over. he’s taller than the offender, which not uncommon for him, and tonight he uses his height to intimidate.
worry flashes over the offender’s face. he gestures between you and your rescuer with a meaty finger. “you know him?”
before you can answer, he answers for you. “she’s my girl.”
you feel your face react before you can stop it. your eyes go wide in surprise, your jaw slackens but doesn’t fall open, thank goodness. the hand you slowly bent around his back goes hot.
he’s just playing a game, you tell yourself. he doesn’t mean anything by it.
the offender huffs, pulls at his beer, and sulks off.
his arm remains snug around your waist, his fingers fluttering over the exposed skin of your hip. you shift, nerves forcing you to look elsewhere.
“thanks,” you say. “but i could have handled it.” that’s the pride speaking, but also the anxiety.
he moves to help mop up the spilled beer. “sure, but i meant it––you’re my girl and i look out for you.”
you still and look up at him under your lashes.
your mind is made up.
iv.
later that same night, you resolve to demolish the line between friend and lover once and for all. you’re tried of wondering and dreaming. you’re already too far gone to care about the repercussions. god, you think you probably love him already.
the house is quiet, asleep, as you tiptoe your way across the floor where your sister lays on her air mattress. he’s lucky enough to have scored his own room this year. he was fastest out of the car when you parked, and he beat his brothers to the loft above the cabin. it’s semi-exposed––you can peer down over the railing to the house below––but he’s alone and that’s enough to keep you moving.
he’s awake, which surprises you. there’s no door so as you round the corner, you can see him sitting cross-legged on his bed. a small table lamp shines across the book in his lap. his hair is mussed, as if he’s woken from an unhappy sleep. the floorboards creak under your feet, and he looks up, sleepy eyes peering through his glasses. when he realizes it’s you, he sits up straight.
“hey,” he whispers.
“hey.”
“couldn’t sleep?”
you shake your head.
“me neither.”
he sets the book aside and rubs a hand down his face, elbows propped on his knees. his sleep shirt––a godawful t-shirt with the phrase dad jokes? i think you mean rad jokes written across the front––is too small for his muscular shoulders. it tightens around his back as he moves.
“gwil, i think...” you nearly loose your muster when he looks at you. years of memories play through your head, and you wonder, if he rejects you, what will come of those memories.
but then he stands. he reaches for your wrist, circles his long fingers around it, and pulls you close. you stumble toward him. just before he lowers his head to kiss you, his fingers propped under your chin, he smiles.
“me too, kid.”
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Take A Chance On Me
Ship: Royality
Word Count: 3,127
Warnings: Mentions of being horny, breakups
--
If you change your mind, I’m the first in line.
Honey, I’m still free.
Take a chance on me.
Patton had never been one for sunbathing, but he was rather inclined towards any activity that involved Roman. The warmth was like a blanket, keeping him cozy and safe (though Logan would warn quite the opposite, going on a lecture about the dangers of overexposure to ultraviolet rays). Patton was with Roman, that was safe enough for him.
“He just wasn’t my style, I guess,” Roman said, continuing on his rant. Patton was trying to listen, but the sun was putting him to sleep. He wondered if Roman would have to wake him with a kiss.
“What is your style?” Patton teased. “A knight in shining armor?”
“Hey, knights have to be strong under that armor. If a buff strong man wants to suplex me then he can go for it.”
“What if he has a frog face?”
Roman thought for a moment. “I can live with that. If he keeps his helmet on.”
Patton laughed, which made Roman laugh, which only made Patton laugh even harder. He moved his hand, letting it brush up against Roman’s. He wanted to grab his hand. He wanted to take his face and kiss him senselessly.
But the timing wasn’t right.
“Carlos sucks.”
Roman shrugged. “He’s fine. I don’t regret dating him or anything. I think it could’ve worked out if things were different.”
“Things?”
“If we were a year younger. If I didn’t know what I know now.”
“And what do you know now?”
Roman moved his hands to his chest- away from Patton- and looked to the sky. He didn’t answer, but Patton could hear him humming under his breath. It was a song he recognized from Into the Woods but he couldn’t think of a title. The two went back to cloud gazing and laid in silence. He closed his eyes, tucked under the warm blanket of sunlight, and tried to fall asleep.
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
Roman and Patton had been friends for longer than either of them could remember. But what Patton does remember is years of movie marathons and blanket forts with a projector turning the ceiling into the galaxy. He remembers losing a tooth when they were ten and Roman pulling one of his own out in solidarity. He remembers that wasn’t a pretty picture.
He remembers being thirteen. He remembers clearing “Am I Gay quiz” from his search history time and time again. He remembers watching his friends start dating. He remembers thinking of Roman.
Roman was someone Patton always considered fortunate. Roman never had to come out, no one ever expected him to be one thing or another. Patton remembered when they were twelve and Roman told him about how he learned how to kiss in a game of spin the bottle.
Patton remembers feeling jealous. Not of Roman, but of those who had the honor of kissing someone so carefree.
The honor of kissing Roman so carefree.
He remembers being thirteen and laying by Roman’s side as Dumbo played on screen. He wasn’t watching, there wasn’t any point.
“Roman,” he whispered, “when did you know?”
Roman glanced at him in confusion. There wasn’t much light, but his braces shined from the television screen. “How did I know-“ Patton turned away. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, hey,” Roman whispered. He grabbed the remote and hit mute, giving them a moment of privacy. “You don’t, really. You just find someone attractive- and sometimes you don’t even know what that means- and you just... figure it out.”
“That sounds so simple but-“
“It’s not,” Roman sighed. “It’s not simple. But you’ll figure it out, okay?” Patton didn’t look convinced. “You have a whole lifetime to figure yourself out.”
Patton grabbed the remote, turning the volume back on and making it just louder than comfortable. “Thanks, Roman.”
If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down
He can still remember being angry, boiling with rage just after homecoming. He found Roman crying in the school parking lot. There was still an hour left of the dance.
“Roman?” he whispered.
“P- Patton, I- What are you doing here?”
“Roman, I’m here. What happened?”
Roman wiped at his eyes, stepping back into the shadows to try to hide. Nevertheless Patton knew that his cheeks were stained with tears and his eyes were red with pain. “He broke up with me,” he whispered. “At homecoming, of all things!”
“He’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve you,” Patton said. “Can I hug you?”
Roman gave a weak nod and let himself fall into Patton’s arms. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me like that.”
“Roman, please, don’t apologize for feeling.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, listen to me,” Patton said. “My date and I were going to go get ice cream. You should come, I think it’ll help.”
“I’m not going to third wheel on your date.”
“Oh, no, we’re just here as friends.”
“Still-“
“You need friends right now.”
“Okay,” Roman sighed. “Okay.”
Patton smiled and took his hand, walking him through the parking lot towards the only lit car around. “Roman, I want you to meet Logan.”
If you’re all alone, when the pretty birds have flown
Honey, I’m still free
Take a chance on me
It was March when Roman and Carlos broke up. It was mid-April now. The four of them were tucked up in Patton’s living room, watching the rain outside. Virgil, Patton’s new roommate, was half asleep with his head on Logan’s shoulder.
“Go fish,” he said, barely coherent.
“How are you this tired at three in the afternoon?” Roman teased, grabbing another card.
“Movin’s hard,” he yawned. “Logan, got any aces?”
“The only ace I have is myself,” Logan said. “Go fish.”
Patton grinned. “Logan made a dad joke!”
“Fuck.”
“Didn’t you move in a week ago?”
“Roman, be nice,” Patton said with a frown. “You can’t move in on day one.”
Virgil flashed him a smile and took a card. They continued playing for another hour or so before Virgil actually had fallen asleep. Roman and Logan had carried him off to his bed while Patton loaded up a movie. The storm was coming in harder and no one wanted to leave.
Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie
Patton smiled, quick to take Virgil’s place against Logan’s shoulder. He gave a fond sigh, accepting his fate. After knowing him for years, one simply grew accustomed to Patton’s displays of affection. (And, while Logan would never admit it, Patton’s friendship was the perfect way to stave off touch starvation.)
As the movie started, Patton could see the sad glances from Roman. He reached out and grabbed his hand, watching Roman’s eyes light up like the same old galaxy projector they’ve used for years.
If you put me to the test, if you let me try.
Take a chance on me.
Take a chance on me.
He had Roman exactly where he wanted him.
We can go dancing, we can go walking, as long as we’re together.
It was the first clear day in a week. Roman was stealing Patton from Virgil for all of it. They were hand in hand walking through the park on the way to Roman’s house. It was a perfect day.
Listen to some music, maybe just talking, get to know you better
When Patton and Roman were little they could lay in the same bed and feel all the space of the world between them. They were so small and the mattress was only a continent. But they’re bigger now, adults now, and the two of them on the same float drifting in the middle of Roman’s pool didn’t offer the same space. The sun was still beating down on them, but it felt different now. Their skin was still damp and Roman kept his arm around Patton’s waist to stay afloat. Patton could feel his breath on his skin.
It was hot. And Patton was dying.
He pressed his hand against the side of Roman’s face and moved even closer, smirking as he did so. He waited a moment for Roman to respond, loving the way he turned bright red. Patton held his breath and rolled off of the float, taking Roman down with him. When the resurfaced Roman’s hair was stuck to his face and he was coughing up water.
“You FIEND!” he yelled, splashing Patton with water. “Ugh! It’s in my nose! Fuck, it burns!”
Patton only continued laughing, watching Roman’s every movement. Behind him, things were blurry. They didn’t need to be focused on because Roman was there and he was the most important person alive.
Maybe he just needed to put his glasses on.
He swam over to Roman and grabbed his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “However can I make it up to you?” he teased.
“I-”
“Yes?”
Roman moved away, taking his hands back to himself. “I think we should, uh, dry off. I’m going to take a shower. If you want to too, you can- wait shit-” Patton almost felt bad for how flustered he was. Almost. “I just mean like after I’m done and-” He stepped out of the water, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.
“I know what you mean, Roman,” Patton said. “Go dechlorinate yourself.”
“Right,” Roman gave an awkward wave, hanging his swim trunks up on the towel rack and heading inside.
‘Cause you know I’ve got so much that I want to do
When I dream I’m alone with you
It’s magic
It was later that month when they saw each other again. It was different from their typical meetings, Roman had called him late at night. “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t,” Patton lied. He glanced at the clock. Just past one in the morning. He held back a yawn.
“I- It’s stupid, nevermind. I shouldn’t be bothering you right now.”
“Roman. You’re never a bother to me.”
There was a moment of silence, and Patton wondered in Roman had fallen asleep. All he could hear was breathing.
“Roman?”
“Do you, um, want to watch a movie? Like we used to?”
“We both know you’re not calling me at one in the morning just to watch a movie,” he said.
“Oh.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair
He walked into Roman’s bedroom exactly twenty-seven minutes later. He slipped his shoes off and let himself fall into Roman’s bed. “Welcome back to childhood.”
Roman brushed his hand against Patton’s. “Yeah. Just like childhood.”
Patton wanted to grab his hand. He wanted to take his face and kiss him senselessly.
“So, why did you call me?” He decided to let that choice be Roman’s. “You must’ve wanted to talk about something.”
“I was thinking,” he admitted. “About Carlos.”
Patton felt something settle in his stomach. Something bad.
“And I don’t like thinking about him.”
“Are you upset about the breakup?”
“No,” Roman said. His fingers brushed against Patton’s again. “You know me. I don’t like to regret the past.”
“Do you regret the breakup?”
“No, Patton, stop.” He sighed. “I regret being with him. And I don’t like that.”
“Oh.”
“He was a rebound, I guess. A distraction. He loved me and I loved that. I loved the attention.”
“Sounds like a few old memories of mine.”
“I was too busy waiting for someone to love me back. And now, I’ve been waiting for so long that I don’t know if he’ll ever-”
“Roman.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
But I think you know
Roman moved so slowly and carefully. Patton held his cheeks in his hands and pulled him forward, kissing him like there was nothing else in the world.
That I can’t let go
“There isn’t a world where I don’t love you.”
“Oh,” Roman tiredly murmured. “Does that mean we can kiss again?”
Patton pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “You need to sleep.”
“No, I don’t.” Roman yawned. “I need you.”
“I’m here for you, Roman.” Another kiss. “Now go to sleep.” And the world went quiet. And the world went black.
Oh you can take your time baby, I'm in no hurry, know I'm gonna get you
You don't wanna hurt me, baby don't worry, I ain't gonna let you
They decided to wait a few days before telling everyone. Roman, however, wasted no time stealing every bit of Patton’s affection. “I’m starved,” he’d said. “I’ll die without your kiss, my love.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Patton said, pressing a kiss to Roman’s cheek as he made pancakes. Roman was holding onto his waist, resting his head on his lover’s shoulder. “I love you, Princey.”
Roman hummed. “Love you too, Pattoncake.”
“Awww. Roman that’s adorable.”
“Only because you are.”
Patton squealed, turning around to hide his face in Roman’s chest. He was a blushing mess; he felt like Roman when they were merely flirting.
“Your pancakes are burning, darling.”
“Fuck the pancakes, my face is burning.”
Roman laughed and flipped each of the pancakes quickly before lifting Patton’s chin and kissing him softly. “You’re too easy.”
“Could’ve said the same about you in that pool float.”
Roman kissed him again. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“That’s how I wanna go,” Patton said. “Now go, sit, I need to make sure these don’t burn.”
Let me tell you now
They decided to tell everyone at the next game night, though it never really came to that. Logan had walked in on them making out in the kitchen, muttering “Fucking finally” before grabbing a soda from the fridge and walking out.
Patton blushed and hid his face in Roman’s chest as they both failed to hide their laughter. “I suppose we should get back to cards.”
Roman hummed, snaking his arms around Patton’s sides and pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to Patton’s lips and let it melt into more as sugar dissolved at his touch. “I have much more fun things in mind than cards.”
“Baaabe.”
“Yes?” Roman asked, kissing him again.
“If you two don’t get your asses over here I will stab you both,” Logan called.
Virgil then continued, shouting, “STOP BEING FUCKING HORNY!”
Roman laughed. “Let’s get back to cards.”
My love is strong enough
They settled into a nice routine. They spent more time together, yes, but also readjusted to spending time apart. Being a couple felt natural, it was hard to imagine living any other way.
Patton was laying in bed, squinting at his phone screen without his glasses. He smiled, half asleep but not willing to end his conversation so quickly. Roman was gushing about some book series or maybe it was a YouTube video, Patton really couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter, seeing the stream of texts was comforting enough.
Pattoncake: Wait, hold on
Princey: ???
Pattoncake: I love you <3
Pattoncake: Okay, keep going
He smiled at his phone. He knew there had been times in life when he had been hurt. Upset. Injured. But Roman made it feel like nothing bad existed. Roman made everything feel like love.
To last when things get rough
It’s magic
“Fuck,” Roman groaned.
“What’s wrong?” Patton asked, leaning against his shoulder.
“Tomorrow got cancelled due to weather.”
“That’s Florida for you.”
He groaned in response. “Florida can suck my dick.”
“But then I’d be out of a job.”
Roman’s face went bright red as Patton laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Patton said, “We can still be gay in the rain.”
“Not with the other gays though.”
“We can be gay together. We can hang out with our friend gays.”
“I guess.”
“There’s other events,” Patton reminded. “Just let the weather pass. I’ll make tomorrow special.”
You say that I waste my time, but I can’t get you off my mind
Roman was out getting groceries while Virgil and Logan were sneaking into his apartment with every rainbow thing they could find. The apartment was covered wall to wall in flags and lights and for some reason a framed picture of the kiss scene from Love, Simon that had not been there before.
“Patton, I don’t intend to sound rude, but,” Logan looked up and down at Patton’s rainbow suit, “is this, perhaps, a bit superfluous?”
Patton adjusted Logan’s lapel pin, a heart in the colors and arrangement of the demisexual pride flag. “I’m dating Roman, if it’s not extra it’s not us.”
Logan rolled his eyes but gave a fond smile. “I will never understand how I am friends with either of you.”
“Yeah, yeah, love you too. Now I need you and Virgil to show how much you love me by leaving, Roman will be back any minute now.”
No, I can’t let go
Roman’s hair was sticking to his face when he came inside. He dropped the grocery bags by the door when he saw everything around him.
‘Cause I love you so
“Patton, what the fuck is this?”
“Surprise,” Patton said. “Or should I say ‘surpride!’”
Roman smiled, picking up the grocery bags and putting them properly on the counter. “You look ridiculous.”
“Do you not like it?”
“Oh, Patton.” Roman pulled him in close, holding his cheeks in his hands. “I adore it.”
Patton leaned into the touch, pressing their lips together. “I adore you.”
“Not as much as I adore you.”
“Hmm, nah,” Patton hummed. “I think I love you the most.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe,” he said with a smirk. “OH! I have to show you something!” He grabbed Roman’s hand and they ran into the living room. Patton pressed play on his phone and grabbed Roman’s hands.
“You can’t slow dance to Troye Sivan.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I want to. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
If you change your mind, I'm the first in line
Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me
Patton pressed his head against Roman’s chest.
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
If you've got no place to go when you're feeling down
“We should stay like this forever.”
“What? Dancing?” Roman asked. “People have died from that.”
“No, not dancing,” Patton said. “I mean...”
If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me
“Together. Forever.”
Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie
If you put me to the test, if you let me try
“I agree completely, my love.”
Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me
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Hey, I saw your gorgeous faceclaims for Terry's parents earlier, so I was wondering; could you perhaps do some sort of quick one-shot featuring the two of them? Nothing long or complicated. Just a little insight into their daily (messy?) lives back in the 50s? Thanks a lot. 💙
He waddled in drunk.
Again.
Thing is, he didn’t understand how come Red 31 wasn’t a winning option on the roulette wheel when red as a color has never failed him before - his lucky choice for years, in a sense. He could’ve swore to god almighty, that fucking game was rigged. It was rigged and it was rigged in such a way to harm the economic savings of decent, hard-working Americans like himself. Really, if anything, he blamed McCarty for letting in all those damn Communists into the country and messing up the order of things around here. That was the only way Morton could explain his losses tonight. Fifty thousand dollars in one sitting. Straight ripoff and as such, the deplorable state he was in tonight was well-warranted. Did he try to fight those bastards in the security department? Yes! Did he get thrown out of the casino? Yes, he was! Did he, by any chance get in an alteration with one of the suckers who did in fact win a sizeable amount of money tonight on the same fucking roulette wheel and were slaps generously thrown around? Yes, they absolutely were! And proudly at that! This was a free land.
And now, he was home.
Deep-fucking-joy.
His beautiful pastel Harrods catalogue house.
To his gorgeous nagging wife and their gorgeous tiny brat son.
-”It’s three in the morning.”-
A voice chided and of course Myra would be awake waiting for him like some sort of interrogator in the partial darkness of the hallway, stepping out of the bedroom in a silk bathrobe over her lace chemise and her blue rollers strapped to her curls, arms crossed over her chest with bloody intent, a scowl gracing her red lips as she took a long drag out of her cigarette, huffing the smoke into the air. She had time to put on a lipstick? In the middle of the night? The damn casino scammed him out of his own money and she had time for her goddamn rouge face-paint? The absolute nerve of this broad. She didn’t even wear her usual house slippers. No. She had her heels on like some manner of decadent, shameless saloon harlot. Because of course she did.
Wretched Biblical viper.
-”Y’know. If I knew you’d be so good at stating the obvious and telling the damn time I’ve would’ve strapped you to my wrist instead of a Rolex and just carried you with me around all day.”-
Morton shook his hand at her frantically to nail the idea behind his words into her head, clanking the gold clasp of his arm-watch in her direction. The general idea was, that before she even tried to accuse him of anything at this late hour, to gently remind her, as she often needed to be, that he in fact made all the money in this household, and as such, he could waste and spend as much of it as he pleased, however he pleased, whenever he pleased like the man he was. Because, really - who was going to stop him? Did she really think he didn’t know what time it was? There were no clocks in casinos. Yet, he always knew, regardless. It was an ingrained instinct, by now.
-”You’re bleeding, you reek and you look like hell, Morty.”-
She clicked her tongue in annoyance alongside an eyeroll, using an endearment instead of his full name, walking around him with her heels clicking on the marble carpeted floor as she plopped down in the velvet armchair facing him directly, crossing her legs, watching him pour himself a glass of scotch and downing it one swift move. This has happened before. Of course it has. But, was it such a sin he wanted out of this stifling, godforsaken upper middle class life out here in the fucking desert, peddling rings and knick-knack like a common salesman or roadside merchant? Was it so bad he wanted to make a quick spin of money? Was it so hard to understand he wanted Lady Fortune to smile at him? If only just once? Let him live the life he knew he deserved? That she deserved. That their son deserved. That he, correction and all humbleness aside, Morton Silver, deserved, most of all?
-”We can’t all look like Liz Taylor, ma’am. Respectfully.”-
He spat back in disgust, loathing how beautiful she appeared.
So close to making him behave in ways a gentleman never should.
-”How much?”-
She inquired firmly, with a certain sense of softness.
He immediately what she meant, even without clarifying.
He averted his gaze, sighing in defeat - putrid, bitter defeat.
Leveling his eyes instead, with the glass liqueur bottle in front of him.
-”That much, huh?”-
Myra knew, even without words spoken, more or less what the monetary casualties of tonight’s exploits were - she had an instinct for things like that by now, the damn woman - finishing the butt of her cigar and crushing it in the crystal ashtray next to her seat and leaning over her white cream boudoir instead, starting to remove the rolls from her hair one by one, combing them out steadily and attaching the pearled earrings to the pierced holes of her lobes. She once stated he had a serious addiction and that she read in a health magazine at her book club that such things weren’t anything to be ashamed of and that it could be curable with the right methods and care - that she worried about the state of him - where he was headed - where they were headed, as a married couple - but he didn’t want to hear about it. If she intended to institutionalise him she had another thing coming. He knew what they did to people deemed crazy.
And the Silvers had a reputation to uphold around these parts.
His father was a jeweler and his father before him.
His father’s father, even.
He only wanted to increase what he inherited.
Not let it all go to waste with the knowledge that he wasn’t quite right.
People would avoid them both like the plague for it - bloody bastards.
-”I’ll make it back for us. I always do. You know me! You know I do! I’ve luck at the tip of my fingers, all I need is the right moment at the right time and it’ll find me when I least expect it! And you love me for it! Maybe next time this year, we’ll be sitting at a balcony somewhere, overlooking the sea! And you’ll be sunbathing with a big hat and we’ll never look back! Maybe up the West Coast - maybe -”-
He found himself ranting, a wave of desperation, guilt and hysteria taking over his senses, fueled by alcohol and a need to rationalize and justify himself, suddenly on his knees and grabbing Myra by her ankles, nearly ripping the nylon of her sheer, flesh-colored stockings with the sharpness of the ruby on his wedding band, pulling her away from the mirror and back unto her arm chair, embracing her legs and leaning his face unto her lap, trapping her in place because he needed her to stay put and listen like he needed air to breathe, rambling and stuttering as he did. He despised this place and he knew she did too, but money was never enough to move someplace better permanently and for that reason he hated it here all the more out of rage. All the dust and scorched, dryness of the earth, and the unbearable desert wind and the goddamn mob burring mutilated bodies out in the wild, and the hyenas, and the loan-sharks, and the snakes, and the hookers and the temptations and the sinning and people blowing their fucking brains out due to accumulated debt and he just couldn’t take it anymore. It was hell. And he wasn’t out of here in a couple of years, he’d just ram his car off of the first cliff with himself, Myra and Terry in it and call it a day. It wasn’t the most Christian way to go, but heck if he cared at this point. He was as far removed from God’s light as he could be by now.
-”You’ll wake up the child with your drunk rambling.”-
She chastised whispering, with infinite tenderness.
With a tinge of sadness and pity too, he figured tiredly.
Letting her run her manicured fingers through his hair sweetly.
Comforting him - another woman would’ve left him by now, surely.
He drank and whored around and gambled and cussed and shouted.
Not her though - all she wanted was him, their son and money.
And although a bit skinny, puny and small for his age.
Almost to the point of occasional embarrassment -
Morton figured a change of scenery would do Terence good too.
Get some strength back into him - make him tall, statuesque and healthy.
Last thing Morton Silver wanted was a malnourished, sickly offspring.
-”Do you believe me, though? Do you believe me when I say I’ll give us lives worthy of gods and leave behind this petty corner-store waste of time? I don’t want to spend the rest of my days behind an old, dusty counter, convincing people which fucking engagement ring to buy some random, nameless dame off of the street they met in a joint one time!”-
He looked up at her almost pleading, fingers digging into her skin to the borderline point of nearly making her bleed - his humiliation at requiring her approval in the first place mingling with genuine need and rage at even being in his position mixing into a potent sort of fury where he was just one inch away from slapping her if she answered negatively and then grabbing her and kissing her the next for running her pretty little mouth like that. He was an irresponsible, hypocrite, drunk gambler and lying, materialistic, greedy whore-mongerer. She was a tobbacco-addicted, fashion-crazed, haughty diva obsessed with her pearls and being the perfect, unassuming upper-crust housewife and mother. They were made for each other. Hell, they even looked alike, aesthetically speaking, both pale, lanky, dark haired, with stark blue eyes - like a matched pair of paper dressing dolls cut-out from a magazine. If anything - little Terry would be a looker. Not an overly wealthy looker, but a looker nonetheless. A little pretty twig-boy with no inheritance quite big enough or impressive to turn heads. Not if they stay here. In this crime-infested cesspool of filth that threatened to drag him down even lower.
He pressed a sloppy, inebriated half-kiss to the side of her mouth.
Trying to make himself forget how much he exactly lost tonight.
She turned her head away, nostrils flaring at the stench of him.
She didn’t exactly bear the scent of roses either, reeking of tobacco.
How many did she exactly smoke in the darkness expecting his return?
-”You always did things your way and I’ve enabled you, in part. Now all I can do is sit around and wait for you to come home alive and hope to god someone doesn’t beat you half to death on the steps of some sleazy, two-bit gambling den like a dog.”-
Myra’s voice cracked and she was overtaken by a wave of sobbing.
Tracing the fresh wound on his head, impartially.
In defeat - her tone pained, regretful.
They been through his debate a million times.
And a million times they’ve reached this exact conclusion.
She didn’t even bother cleaning the blood on his scalp.
This happened so often, there was hardly a point anymore.
He’d be battered and bruised at work again by tomorrow.
She’d ambush him in this same fashion, at this same hour.
Wearing the same bathrobe and spewing the same reprimanding.
And he wouldn’t really change or learn - neither would she.
#two people being extremely in love and extremely fucked up#and extremely dysfunctional and tragic because of it#terry silver#silver family#morton silver#myra silver#request#kk#ck#a highly fanon take#but i hope you like it
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I wrote this pastiche years ago based on the first issue of Grant Morrison’s comic ANNIHILATOR and like, might as well post it?
ANNIHILATOR
Fitz Kreiner pulled another cigarette from his pocket. It was in his mouth and lit before he realized he hadn't finished the last one. Or the one before that.
FADE IN:
SPACE. THE VAST PANORAMA OF THE GALAXY.
Stars wheel through the spiral of the Milky Way as the camera moves toward the centre, the supermassive black hole at the nexus of space and time.
A blue box spins through the void. Behind it, a grey cylinder, menacing, spikey. They crash together, spikes piercing the blue-painted wood of the first box.
INT. THE TARDIS.
Reimagined from the classic series. It's like a gothic cathedral rebuilt by Jules Verne and H.G. Wells.
THE DOCTOR as portrayed by Sylvester McCoy. His question mark cardigan has been replaced with a more formal suit. His hair is longer, he looks worn and haunted. He runs through the corridors of the TARDIS, pursued by COMMANDER MAXIL. This is a new regeneration, no longer performed by Colin Baker. Maxil's features are obscured beneath the shadows of his helm. He carries a Time Lord gun, a STASER.
MAXIL
Doctor! You have been tried and found guilty! This time justice WILL be properly executed in the name of the Time Lords!
DOCTOR
Stuff and nonsense! The Time Lords are corrupt and decadent. The Time War has turned them into monsters.
The Doctor stops. They wrestle, and the Doctor gains control of the staser. Coldly, he fires it directly at Maxil's head. Maxil's head jerks back. He grunts in pain and falls backwards into an end table decorated with a vase full of flowers. Blossoms and petals erupt into the air.
DOCTOR
I am the Doctor. I am Ka Faraq Gatri. I am the one who stops monsters.
FADE OUT.
"Are you listening, Fitz?" Fitz's agent, Anji Kapoor, was looking impatient. Better nod.
Fitz nodded.
"You promised me a screenplay. This is fifty pages of act one," said Anji. "I need more than this. If you don't deliver, Fitz, Michael Brookhaven gives the gig to someone else. Someone younger."
"I've almost got it," said Fitz, adding another cigarette to the burning mess. "I just need a little more time."
"It's been two years since your last movie," said Anji. "Five years since The Taint. You're not Hollywood's enfant terrible anymore. Brookhaven wants to turn this Doctor Who pilot into a series. You nail this, you still have a career."
"I'll get it for you," said Fitz, lighting another cig.
"When?"
"Monday," said Fitz. "I'll have it for you by Monday."
****
Fitz dropped a cigarette down the sinkhole. It continued to glow as it spiralled down into the darkness, growing smaller and smaller. There was no sign of it hitting bottom.
"Are you sure about this?" asked the realtor. "We can look at other houses in your price range."
"I like this one," said Fitz. He dropped another cigarette into the hole, just in case the laws of physics had changed. "It fits my mood."
"There's a literal sinkhole in the living room," said the realtor, as if this wasn't obvious. "The whole place might collapse at any moment."
"Like I said," said Fitz. "I'm a writer. I'm looking for inspiration."
"Well! That does explain why you'd want to live in a crumbling deathtrap. Writers are eccentric." The realtor nodded sagely. "I write a little myself. Would I know any of your work?"
"Have you seen a film called Interference? Or The Taint?"
"The Taint? With Tom Cruise, right?"
"That's the one," said Fitz.
"That was out a long time ago."
"A long time," said Fitz. "Yeah."
"What's your new film about?"
"It's a reboot of the classic British science fiction series, Doctor Who."
"Never heard of it," said the realtor.
****
Naked bodies writhed on the floor around the sinkhole. This was a *proper* orgy. Boys, girls. Fitz didn't care. They were there for atmosphere.
"Stop talking to me," Fitz said to one of them. "I'm trying to write."
FADE IN:
SHADA. THE PRISON OF THE TIME LORDS.
Darkness. Only the centre of the room is lit. The DOCTOR, as portrayed by Paul McGann, is strapped to a table surrounded by Time Lords in dark, chitinous armor.
INQUISITOR DARKEL
Confess, Doctor! Confess your crimes!
DOCTOR
I confess! I'm criminally handsome. And brilliant.
INQUISITOR DARKEL
Tell us about the girl, Doctor. Tell us about Peri Brown.
DOCTOR
That didn't happen! That was a lie! Your lie!
DARKEL
It did happen, Doctor. Now you will be imprisoned here with her, as a reminder of what you've done. Forever.
The background darkness is lifted. A coffin-like structure behind the Doctor is revealed. Within it is the frozen body of PERI BROWN, played by Nicola Bryant.
DARKEL
She was your companion, Doctor. You killed her. You removed her brain. How do you sleep?
DOCTOR
As seldom as possible. I usually wait for a Cyberman or one of you lot to knock me out. But I didn't do this.
DARKEL
You did. Confess!
DOCTOR
You really think you've caught me? I'm insulted.
DARKEL
What do you mean?
DOCTOR
The flowers in the TARDIS. You'll find they contain a rare pollen dangerous even to a Time Lord metabolism. I've been immune, of course, since my fourth regeneration, but you lot should find yourselves falling into a coma very soon.
The TIME LORDS begin groaning and falling to your knees.
DOCTOR
And I slipped out of my bonds forty minutes ago.
He stands up.
DOCTOR
Now that the monsters are dealt with, it's time for my real work. I, the Doctor, vow to reverse the order of creation. And find a cure for death!
Fitz blinked slowly at his scene. The orgy was still going on in a desultory sort of way. He groped for another cigarette, finding only empty packs.
"A cure for death," said Fitz. "I'm a genius."
He banged his head against the screen.
"This is rubbish. Absolute rubbish."
****
"This is rubbish," said Anji.
"I know," said Fitz.
"You said you'd get me something by Monday."
"This is something," said Fitz.
"This is incoherent at best. How stoned were you when you wrote this?"
"Ran out of cigarettes," said Fitz.
"You look a mess. When was the last time you slept?"
"As seldom as possible."
"You look like someone punched you in the face for being an asshole," said Anji. "Is your nose bleeding?"
Fitz slowly tumbled from his chair, landing on his face.
"Fitz? Fitz?"
****
Fitz woke in a hospital bed.
"You don't remember how you got here?" asked the doctor. A doctor. Not the fictional character Fitz was writing about. That would be stupid.
"I don't remember anything," said Fitz. Senselessly, he groped automatically for a cigarette, knowing full well there wouldn't be one in a hospital.
"You have an inoperable brain tumor, Mr Kreiner," said the doctor. A doctor.
"It's Fortune," said Fitz. "Call me Fitz Fortune."
****
The police pulled him over on the way home.
"Have you been drinking, Mr Kreiner?"
"I have a bloody brain tumor," said Fitz. "Just give me a ticket. Give me all the tickets."
"We'll take care of this, officers," said a new voice. "FBI."
Bright light shone in Fitz's car window. Men in suits and dark glasses. "Does the name 'the Doctor' mean anything to you, Mr Kreiner?"
"I've just been to the doctor," said Fitz. "I have a brain tumor."
"You've been to a doctor. Have you been in contact with an individual answering only to the name 'the Doctor?'"
"Is this a joke? The Doctor is the lead character in my screenplay."
"He's a fugitive. If he tries to make contact with you, let us know. My fiance loved 'Interference," by the way."
Fitz grunted. He'd had enough of this nonsense. He'd had enough of everything.
When he got home, he took a long drink. Whiskey. Still out of cigarettes. Fuck. He found a gun in his desk drawer and raised it to his chin.
"Fitz Kreiner." A stranger's voice. Plummy, amused. Fitz had never heard it before, except in his head. When he was writing his screenplay.
Fitz opened his eyes. The stranger was wearing a green velvet jacket. A cravat. His hair was long, auburn. His eyes were blue. His face was handsome, aristocratic. Somehow not human.
"You called me, Fitz. So here I am. I'm the Doctor, Fitz. How can we help each other?"
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Hunting Season (sambucky) - Part 4
Series Masterlist
A/N: ello :) I hope you’re all safe and sound, and I hope you’re surviving quarantine. Here’s an angsty update for you to enjoy!
Words: 3329
Day 3.
The morning had prepared for the happy couple an hour of kayaking. Bucky got his tired ass to the lake with the least amount of motivation possible, for he had spent a sore night. The idea of Brock Rumlow spending the night in that house had his bones rattling. Sam, on his part, couldn’t blame him; Brock only stayed there when the two were an item, so the fact that he was tagging along indefinitely had ‘ill intentioned’ written all over it. Bucky’s theory was that Brock probably thought he was gonna crash the lunch party and win him over again, stay the night at their old bed instead of a small guest room downstairs.
On the bright side of matters, Sam and Bucky were still the only ones to have a hunting clue. The envelope that had fallen out of the Viktor Frankl book had a hand-written note, specifically placed there by Nana. It read as following: If you found this clue, congratulations, you have a brain. Frankl was more than just a man in search for meaning: he was a neurologist and a psychiatrist, as well as a philosopher. It’s not hard to guess why my husband was obsessed with him. Now find out more about the author and try to guess what else he and Theodore had in common. You’ll know where to look.
Those words meant absolutely nothing to Sam, but it made some sense to Bucky. All they had to do was research about the author of the book and find a connection, for now. The rest would be a problem for later.
Right now, meaning at that very exact moment, Sam’s problem was kayaking.
“Okay, so what now?” he asked Bucky, holding the paddles like they were going to hurt him.
The second the word ‘kayak’ had been brought up when discussing future activities, Sam knew he would make a fool out of himself, for it was something he had never done, while the rest of the guests had been practicing every summer since they bought the damn house. Still, he put on his swimsuit and showed up. For Bucky. They were the ones closest to the lakeside, as Bucky was still teaching Sam, meanwhile the other Barnes were already paddling away or messing around in circles, as they prepared for a race.
“Now, you kayak.” Bucky replied simply, which earned a death glance from Sam.
He was already having enough trouble adjusting to the new sport, which left him with little to no patience. Fortunately, Bucky pitied him and laughed as he moved to the front seat, agreeing to help.
“Okay, wait,” he grunted as he struggled to accommodate behind Sam, “let me help you.”
Sam felt the warm pressure of Bucky’s chest against his back without any type of warning, and flinched a little. He could feel the drops of water that hadn’t dried out in Bucky’s skin stick to his own, and it sent shivers down his spine. He decided to believe the shivers were caused by the startling feeling of water droplets.
“You’re holding it wrong.” James explained as he took the paddles from Sam’s hand.
Wilson rolled his eyes, “Of course I am.”
“Someone’s cranky.” Bucky remarked, “Didn’t sleep well?”
Sam thought hard about that one. As a matter of fact, he had woken up plenty of times during the night, only to find Bucky struggling to catch his own sleep next to him. The situation was weird as it was, so Sam pretended to miss it.
“You kick your feet a lot.” Sam lied.
“There’s always the divan.” Bucky reminded him.
“Will you shut up about the damn divan? No one should sleep in anything called like that.”
However, the ridiculous discussion came to an end when Bucky managed to get Sam to paddle correctly.
“That’s about the hang of it.” he congratulated him before turning his body and dropping it into the water.
The water barely reached his chest, so he stood there in waits for Sam who accomplished his goal of successfully kayaking away.
“Now come back to me.” Bucky instructed his apprentice, “Turn.”
Watching him swirl the canoe so concentrated, Bucky couldn’t help but find him slightly adorable. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen Sam learn something like that before, but it definitely was a good look on him. A smile creeped up his face, however, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, his ears picked up on a conversation behind him. He saw that uncle Milo was talking to Brock, and he only then figured they probably had been the entire time, which made him feel observed and, most of all, uncomfortable. Bucky was so distracted by the interaction that he almost didn’t see Sam returning to him, but he noticed right on time to stop the tip of the kayak before it hit him.
He shook it off by shooting a smile in Nana’s direction.
“Sure you don’t wanna hop in the water, Nana?” he messed with the woman who looked over everyone from her chair.
“I want another drink, sweetheart.” She messed with him back.
Bucky winked at her and returned his attention to the fake boyfriend, who seemed a lot more comfortable with the sport. They most likely wouldn’t win the race, but at least Sam wouldn’t feel bad for sucking at it.
“You know what?” Nana’s voice was loud and clear this time, which got everyone’s attention, “First one to get me a drink gets a clue."
The bold statement was followed by hesitant glances. Most of the family exchanged weird looks, none of them sure of how to proceed.
"Is she for real?" Bucky said, frowning.
Then, cousin Colin jumped to the water from where he was paddling, and started swimming towards land. Rebecca went second. Bucky and Sam were quick to notice how they were the ones closest to the lakeside, which didn’t make it seem like Nana was unbiased. If anything, it made the couple look like the favorites. Alas, Bucky and Sam climbed onto land fast, hearing people rush across the water behind them, until they heard a scream.
As they both turned towards the noise, they saw Rebecca slapping her hand around, swallowing water, and barely managing to yell the word ‘cramp’.
Bucky dove back on the water to save her. Literally. As Sam awaited kneeling on the shore, he couldn’t help but notice nobody else went to help. As usual, Bucky was Rebecca’s knight in shining armor.
"Rebecca, are you ok?" Winnifred barely asked above her usual tone to be heard.
The siblings were too busy trying to stay afloat –Bucky dragging her to land and Rebecca coughing her lungs out– to answer, so the mother insisted.
"Rebecca?"
Luckily, Sam cut in to get the unhelpful and mediocre concern away from the scene, "She- she's fine! We got this!" he assured the woman.
Once the siblings reached the wooden shore, Sam pulled Rebecca up by her arms while Bucky climbed up, panting. The young woman held her leg in pain.
Right on time, Brock approached them to save the day.
He extended his hand towards Rebecca, "Here, let me-"
"Get the fuck away from us!" James shot him an aggressive warning while placing a hand on Rebecca's back, not dignifying the man with eye contact.
Rumlow raised his hands in defense, "Just tryna’ help, Jamie."
The snap in Bucky’s brain might as well have been hearable. He was so done with the hovering figure he used to call his partner, everything in his head went red with fury. He looked up at him with such rage, Sam anticipated his outburst even before it happened.
"Shut up, Brock, shut up!” He yelled directly at him, microscopic bits of spit being thrown in Brock’s direction, and followed by a uncomfortable, still silence, which Bucky couldn’t stand either, “Are you deaf or are you a fucking idiot? I said leave!"
Rumlow accepted the offense and shook his head, putting on a disappointed façade.
"You're insane." He informed Bucky before turning on his heels.
As the man walked back inside the house, the spectators of the show remained silent. All that could be heard was Bucky’s heavy breathing, until Rebecca spoke.
"Way to go, brother." She whispered, which was only heard by Sam and Bucky.
Bucky’s expression revealed how shocked he was at his own courage to pull off such a stunt.
"That felt so good." He admitted, drawing a big proud smile on Sam’s face.
-
The outburst that morning, no matter how fulfilling, had taken a toll on Bucky. The rest of the day, it was all he could think about, and therefore, it naturally got the paranoid spinning wheel in his brain running at full speed. Cousin Colin, after the lake scene, was the only person insensitive enough to actually go through with Nana’s demand; the man had brought his grandmother a nice summer drink from the kitchen, which the lady received with a roll of her eyes. Unfortunately, she had promised the deliverer a clue, so she reluctantly kept her word and gave him the help in private.
It didn’t necessarily worry Bucky nor Sam, because the couple still felt they were winning so far. They had found the first clue by themselves, no help needed, so the best Colin could do was keep up with them before they got the advantage again.
No, what had them both worried was this cocktail gathering after dinner, right now. It was too early for anyone to be tired enough to go to bed, but it was late enough for people to start making bad decisions. That had been Bucky’s case. Drink after drink, worry after worry, the liquor had found its way into Bucky’s system long ago. In fact, he was sitting down, resigned to his sorrow, with a glass of champaign in hand.
He was wasted, and Sam could tell. While Bucky played around with the almost emptied glass, Sam’s chest felt heavy.
"He's watching." Bucky suddenly said, his enunciation already affected by the booze.
His eyes were fixated somewhere in the room, over Sam’s shoulder. The latter didn’t need to turn around to know who he meant.
"Don't pay attention to him." He shrugged it off.
"He used to do that,” Bucky, however, acted as if Sam hadn’t even spoken, “when he didn't approve of something."
"Hey.” Sam called, demanding his attention, “Hey, look at me. I'm here with you, okay? Not him."
As much as Bucky wanted to lean into those words, embrace the support and such, he knew it wasn’t truly real. Sam was there to help him out of pity, or so he thought. He used to love imagining having a boyfriend who would take away the pain, wipe away the tears caused by Brock. He used to like that image, but sometime in the horrible long-lasting relationship, he just didn’t think it possible. Anyone loving him after Brock? Anyone putting up with that baggage, with the lurking ex-boyfriend watching them at all times?
It simply wouldn’t happen. It’s why he wasn’t there with an actual boyfriend. It’s why he had to play-pretend with Sam. In his head, there was no place for anyone to love him. Not after he’d been chewed on by Rumlow and spat out a hundred times.
"But you're not.” Bucky sad dryly, almost insulting, “Not really. I'll never get the real thing."
Sam’s brain had a hard time with that one confession. Did Bucky mean that getting his friend to play fake boo was the closest he'd ever get to a boyfriend from now on? Or as he implying a world where Sam could have become the real deal? His confusion left him almost speechless.
"And why is that?" he managed to ask with a heavy heart.
Bucky was too quick in answering Sam’s doubts, "Cause I'm messed up. 'Cause of him."
That being declared, James stood up from the table, leaving his company sitting there by himself, rudely. Sam watched him get to the bar, which consisted of a few tables set up for drink service, attended by one of Nana’s kitchen employees. It did the trick in looking fancy enough for an improvised bar, and still, Bucky managed to look fairly pathetic, leaning on the table and ordering yet another hard liquor.
For the next half hour, Sam brought himself to chat and interact with the Barnes, but mostly, he was checking up on Bucky every other minute. Fortunately so, since it allowed him to spot Rumlow as he approached the drunk figure. Wilson excused himself and headed straight for the bar, and was noticed by the man who looked, as usual, like he was up to no good.
"Samuel, we were just talking about you." Brock greeted him cynically.
"Leave him alone." Sam said, not messing around.
Bucky’s eyes were fixated on his drink, avoiding exchanging gazes with his ex, no matter how hard Brock tried to catch his attention.
"I don't think anyone should leave him alone like this." Rumlow cocked a brow, giving off the most pedantic posture yet.
As much as Sam didn’t wish to sound just as condescending as the ex-boyfriend, he needed him to back off. So he stood his ground, planting himself in front of Bucky, and raised his chin.
"Oh, goodie, that's what I'm here for." He clarified with a taunting tone.
All of a sudden, Bucky decided to stand his ground as well. Unhappy with the exchange of words about his state, he got himself in front of Sam, stumbling a bit.
"I don't- don't need anyone to look after me." He managed to croak out, frowning.
After he delivered the words, he propped himself on the table unsteadily, causing Sam to gesture catching him, but Bucky seemed to be partially alright on his own. Brock, on his part, gave him a deeply disappointed look. Suddenly, Sam understood so much; the paternalistic vibe he gave off, like you’re nothing for yourself and are in desperate need of his aid. The way Rumlow judged people could get anyone to doubt themselves. Luckily, Sam wasn’t giving in.
Brock extended his hand to the more-than-tipsy man, "Come on." He said, more a demand than an offer.
The response was even more abrupt than that morning by the lake. In sight of his hand so near him, Bucky’s paranoia crippled through his bones, provoking a different kind of outburst.
"Don't touch me, you fucking maniac!" he yelled, taking a step back.
Sam’s skin crawled. During the tense silence that followed, he felt eyes staring at them three. Brock, however, didn’t seem nearly as shocked, but instead acted like this was just typical Bucky. He did seem embarrassed, though, being the victim of the scandal for the second time that day.
"Let's go." Sam pleaded, not daring to touch Bucky in a jumpy state like that.
That was Rebecca’s cue for approaching the lot, allured by the fuzz.
"What's going on?" she demanded an explanation in a low, but harsh tone.
"Nothing.” Rumlow spoke before anyone else got the change, “He's making a scene, as usual."
Rebecca shot him a threatening glance, to which he simply rolled his eyes and abandoned the bar area. Sam took his place in order to check up on Bucky’s face, and found his eyes beginning to water. He was frozen in place, eye sockets reddened by the drunkenness and lips caught between his teeth.
"James, get it together.” Rebecca whispered, “Everyone's staring."
Although Sam was expecting more comfort from the man’s sister, whom just so happened to be scolding him for no reason, he kept his quiet this time. The two sober characters dragged Bucky’s body to the nearest chair and forced him to sit down, which only attracted more attention towards him, but that way he could remain still and far from tumbling scandals.
"Get him some coffee before he embarrasses himself even more." Rebecca told Sam, sternly.
As she kneeled sat next to her brother in order to pretend normality, Sam just gave her a look of disbelief. He didn’t think she could act so heartlessly before.
"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" he threw her a sarcasm dagger, refusing to move.
"Believe it or not, I'm helping him.” She spat, looking around frantically in hopes no one was judging them, “Coffee, Samuel, please."
Sam took one last good look at Bucky before obeying the very persuasive sister. The drunken mess was avoiding all sorts of eye contact, and was almost pouting like a child. Wilson didn’t have much else to do but get himself to the kitchen, although reluctantly. At that moment, he hated everything; every person and light were getting under his skin, and even the sound of glasses clinking together pissed him off. Right before he reached the kitchen, the sound turned muffled, abandoned far away, and there was a sense of peace. Silence. And breaking through that silence, there was a sharp voice.
“I’m telling you, this is our chance.” The voice echoed from inside the kitchen.
It was unmistakably Rumlow’s. Of fucking course. The man was a goddamn ghost lurking around every room of the massive house. Sam was determined on turning back, until he heard another voice responding.
“Give me a few days-“
“I don’t have days to give you.”
It sounded like an altercation that had just recently began, right before it could get too heated.
“Is your lawyer not your personal bitch this time?” the other man accused Brock, “You not screwing him, too?”
“You want the money, right?”
The inciting question was followed by a tense pause. Therefore, Sam seized his chance and walked into the kitchen, hopefully being able to pretend he hadn’t heard any of it. He recognized the other man as uncle Milo, when the two angry men straightened themselves too quickly, in an attempt to dismiss their previous altercation.
Sam gave them an uninterested glance, “Am I interrupting?” he asked nonchalantly.
“What can we do for you, Samuel?” uncle Milo raised his voice with false friendliness.
“I’m just gonna make some coffee.” He replied, waltzing towards the busier side of the kitchen, further away from them.
Before he could even get a hold of the coffee maker, Rumlow’s forceful interruption made Sam stop in his tracks.
“Nicole can take care of that for you, right darling?” he called for the maid in a patronizing tone, “She’ll even pour it for you and everything.”
Sam glanced at the woman who was still putting the dishes away when it definitely was the end of her shift. It wasn’t just about Rumlow’s treatment of the staff, it was everything, from the way he put Sam in an uncomfortable situation, to the smirk on his face while doing so.
“No thank you, I got it.” Sam told the working lady.
“Actually, she’s got it,” Brock insisted, this time much more taunting, “that’s her job.”
Sam found himself cornered, and resigned, although not without showing his discontent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and agreed tiredly.
“Fine, uh… Can you just take it up to James’ room when you get the chance?” He forced a smile in Nicole’s direction, whom nodded politely, “Thank you.”
When he was leaving to return to Bucky, Sam took a turn on his heels at the last minute. His blood still boiling, he gave the two plotting men a small but clearly exaggerated reverence.
“Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.” He let uncle Milo know his anger wasn’t directed towards him, then spoke directly to Rumlow, “Fuck you, Brock.”
“Classy.” The appellee complained.
“You’re right.” He lied, then turned to the maid one more time, “Nicole, my apologies for such rudeness. On behalf of Mr. Rumlow, of course. I guess money can’t buy decency.”
After addressing that last insult to the obnoxious man, Wilson headed back to the cocktail gathering in order to retrieve his drunk friend.
#sam wilson/bucky barnes#sambucky fanfiction#sam x bucky#sambucky#fake dating au#sambucky au#sam/bucky#sam wilson x bucky barnes
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Silver Lining: Chapter 2
In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time...
w/c: 3k
a/n: Thanks for such lovely feedback, already! This has been so much fun to write and we’re just getting started y’all! Please let me know if I forgot to tag you or if ya want to be added ♡
taglist: @etherealallure @maria-josefin @shelbygirlsclubx @loulouloueh @clarkewithameme
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Seen yesterday 11:12 am
Of course, he hadn't responded to the shared google doc, you laughed to yourself in the car park of the airport. What were you thinking, inviting a stranger on holiday? You were nearly full of more regret than excitement for your pending adventure. But here you were, double-checking all the things in your handbag.
A pair of sunglasses, your plane tickets, and passport all accounted for, you unplugged the charger from the console and double-checked the time on your phone screen.
Right on time. You locked your phone, sliding it into your bag as a wave of nerves swept through you. Was this even going to be any fun? What was the point of going on some big romantic getaway if-
Your phone buzzed in your hand before you had let go all the way. When you pulled it into view a single notification lit up your screen... from George.
Wait up for me? ;)
Oh. Oh? You found yourself staring between the text message and his name in the corner of the screen. Was he really coming? Or was the cheeky emoji his way of sardonically letting you down easy?
You clutched your phone, trying to read between the lines as you collected your luggage from the back seat. You glanced at the message again as you locked your car and made your way inside the bright airport. Would lingering around the lobby make you look like a loon when you were inevitably left all alone? Would checking into your flight summon George, but all too late?
You glanced down to your phone one last time, decidedly turning it off along with your useless worries. You slid the device into your bag, reaching for your tickets and passports in exchange. And right when you turned your heels, you stopped in your tracks.
"Good morning!"
It was him. George Mackay was stood there, in some high-end joggers, sporting perfectly messy hair and a smile that made you wonder what he had to be so damn happy about.
"You're here." You realized, looking him up and down like taking notice of the laces of his shoes would solidify his existence.
"For some reason, I am." George nodded, shifting his weight as you stood staring.
You wondered for a beat, what exactly you'd gotten yourself into. But all at once, a family of four rushed by in a hurry to the tune of their father chanting, "We're gonna be late!"
"Shall we?" You decide, remembering you were on a clock. You extended one of the plane tickets to George, whose already pleasant grin grew during the exchange.
You moved together, checking your bags, shifting through security and strolling amongst the slew of fellow travelers.
As you walked through the airport alongside George, crept into a conversation about how you’d both ended up here. About your recent ex’s, how for a dozen different reasons you should have seen it coming. How it was still sort of hilarious the way it all came to an explosive head. As George laughed along with you over the shitty situation, you felt more like you’d been catching up with an old friend than getting to know a new one.
Sure there was an air of elusiveness between the two of you, but it didn’t seem George had anything to hide. He took his time forming most of his responses, knowing there was a certain level of trust being built as you marched toward spending a handful of days together. But even though his quips were quiet and maybe even coy, he spoke in a manner that was confident and sure. You found yourself in a bit of a daze, studying his face as he spoke. He wore a hint of a smile and an almost furrowed brow. His sparkly blue eyes glancing at you every now and again, as if to check you were still listening.
All these factors added up to dampen your worries over if this was a good idea. George hadn’t given you a single reason to feel unsure of his company. He even asked somewhere back at the baggage claim if you were sure about his tagging along. By the time you wound up at the waiting gate, it seemed you’d found fast friends in one another.
“Are you sad about the wedding?” George wondered, sitting on a stool at your side. You rested your purse at a low risen bar, spinning on the stool to face him.
“I guess a little. I’d spent so long planning.” You shrugged. Funny how you really didn’t miss Colin, though. You explained to George how you met Colin in high school, before he got a big fancy job and fell in love with the money and power he gained. How you’d already settled into the role of doting on him, and you stopped feeling anything for the guy a while back, but only realized after it ended. You explained how you were glad for it now, but how it scared you a little to have been so blind.
“What about Chloe? Do you miss her?” You wondered, propping your elbow on the table at your side, and resting your head in your hand.
George gave you a lifeless grin, casting his eyes off in the distance as he explained how she was hardly ever around. How he wasted more breath begging for her to pay attention to him than ever actually spending much time together. How he felt silly for trying to make it work, after realizing all the signs it never would, were there from the beginning.
“I wish her the best, though, I suppose.” George sighed as if he wanted to hate Chole for what she did, but his purely kind soul wouldn’t allow it.
“I found her Instagram last night and scrolled through. I wanted to be mad at her, but I wasn’t. I mean, lots of her posts were pretty annoying, but I digress.” You gave a light chuckle. The girl had thousands of posts and saved stories, most of which were emoji saturated over-filtered bullshit. But she was studying to be a nurse and she had a family and friends who cared for her. She was just a normal girl who fucked up.
George hummed in a sort of agreement but the way his brow drew together made you toss him a look that demanded he speak his mind.
“Social media really isn’t my thing,” George informed matter of factly. Ah, so that explained why you hadn’t been able to find any accounts of his, last night.
“But you’re famous. Isn’t that like the prime place to advertise or whatever?” You chuckled, sitting up a little, stretching to shift positions.
“I’m not famous,” George stated, plain as day, that same perplexing micro expression lacing his features together. You huffed a laugh as his expression remained,
“Well, I recognized you and I'm nobody. We live in different worlds." You pointed out, playing along.
“That’s not true, is it? Look at us now.” George rose a coy brow as if to prove a point. A montage of muddle memories of the past couple days flashed across your brain as you looked to George, realizing this was really truly happening.
“Why’d you decide to come anyway?” You wondered all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be off charming a few news anchors or something?
George sat up a little from where he’d been slumped against the counter space, giving a small slow nod as if he knew this question was coming sooner or later.
"Well... I've got some time to enjoy myself before I start my next film. The last one I worked on was, well it was intense. Made my head spin a bit, if I'm honest. The next one will probably do the same, so I figured a bit of spontaneous fun was in order."
"How could you possibly enjoy work like that?"
"I like bringing these stories to life, even if they're hard to tell. Besides, not all of my roles are quite so intense." George explained, drumming his fingers on his knee for a beat. "Ah, but you should know, I'm apparently quite famous."
He cast you a blank look, waiting for you to crack a smile before he did. With a shake of your head, you let out a laugh and stopped marveling over how you ended up here long enough to appreciate the fact that this was happening at all.
And then, it was time to board the plane. You found your seats, watching the last of the passengers cram their belongings overhead.
"Why Rome and Barcelona?" George asked as he settled by your side once more.
"Colin wanted Barcelona. I wanted Rome so he booked it first to get it 'out of the way'" You mocked your ex, feeling more grateful by the minute to be rid of him.
"You really scored with that charmer." George snickered, relaxing back against his seat.
"And now I have a masochistic actor taking his place. I'm so lucky." You shot back withholding a massive grin. You did feel pretty damn fortunate.
"You literally asked for it." George pointed a finger your way.
"You literally offered." You countered. His lips were upturned, and parted as if he wanted to respond but only a defeated breathy laugh escaped. It caused you to wonder if he was regretting making the strange offer. If he'd suddenly realized what he was doing and wished he'd never agreed to it.
That's about the time the plane started to jet down the runway. When the wheels lifted off the ground, the small worry in your stomach spread to your chest and everything seemed so insanely wrong all at once.
"I've never flown before." You admitted quietly, gripping onto either armrest and hoping the feeling of dread would pass if you alluded to it out loud. George glanced to you, sitting up a little straighter, and speaking up in that tone of his that was calm yet demanding all at once.
"It's just like a roller coaster, just at first. Then it's like nothing."
"I threw up on Splash Mountain." You fretted, the one and only ride you ever had the experience to draw from.
"Gives a new meaning to the name aye?" George joked, but you could find it in yourself to laugh along.
You knew George was only trying to keep up the banter you'd picked up somewhere back at the airport, but you were far too freaked out to join in. You hoped the sorry look in your eyes was enough of an apology before you screwed them shut, trying to ignore the invisible vice around your throat.
"Okay, it's alright, you've just gotta breathe." George shifted beside you, leaning in a little closer to gently relay his message.
"My heart's beating so fast I can't even feel it," You admitted. It felt like the buzz from the broken air conditioner vent overhead, with a flap vibrating against cold air. George followed your gaze to the thing but shook his head as your focus remained.
Then, without a word, George gently tore your grasp away from the armrest. He decidedly pressed the back of your hand to his chest, holding it there as he said,
"Focus on that beat and try to match it."
His heartbeat was unmistakable and strong. His concentration was on you, and you were almost lost taking note of the exact color of his eyes. They were sodalite, the color of a world you could have easily lost yourself in.
"Thanks." You mewled, daring to keep your focus on George, forgetting for just a split second, what you were so anxious about.
After you'd gained composure, and there was no reason for your hand to be intertwined with Georges any longer, there was still a nervous flutter in your chest.
George eased into a conversation about his favorite books, asking you to list off yours, joking that you needed to find something in common besides the grim reality of being recently dumped. He made you laugh, and he listened when you spoke. You'd almost forgotten where you were headed, and why, entirely too lost in the fun you were having on the ride there.
By the time the plane landed, it was as if you'd planned for this trip together all along, with George rambling about the things you'd organized in the google doc you shared.
In the blink of an eye, Rome was alive all around you, at long last. You passed through colorful markets and waved to musicians in the streets as you took a short journey to a hotel just outside of the city.
When you ended up in the bustling sunlight saturated lobby, the very kind and tired looking woman behind the front desk let you know that the room you'd reserved wasn't quite ready. She very kindly offered to stow away your bags until then, while you decided to take to the streets.
All the while, George was always somewhere right behind you, charming the lady at the front desk and making a cab driver laugh so hard he cried. You realized you were in the presence of someone very special, George wasn't like anyone you'd ever known. And strange as it was to sit by him in these sudden change of plans, it was oddly familiar. It was as if it was always meant to be this way.
The cab dropped you off in the heart of the city where you pointed out sights and ordered some coffees from a vendor to fuel your stroll through town. You were finally in the place you'd longed to end up, even having only just gotten there, there was so much beauty to spin around and soak up.
The sun was low in the sky, peeking through a dusty alley in a quiet part of the city you'd wandered to. When you took to a bench to rest a beat, you checked your notifications and found your phone was full of missed phone calls from your mother. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd made some kind of mistake.
But then there was George, lingering a few feet away, snapping photos of a street sign like a dad on vacation. The golden sun highlighted his charming features as he turned to you with a smile.
"I see why you choose this place. It's like nothing bad can happen here." He spoke, sauntering your way with that same dopey smile he'd been sporting all afternoon.
"What about in the '80s when that girl got kidnapped by the police and the church covered it up?" You spoke up, crossing your arms as he approached you with the shake of his head.
"You're a real ray of sunshine, huh?" George laughed, shifting his weight to stand right in front of you. "There are bright sides to every story too, ya know?"
"Says the guy who keeps auditioning for horrific films." You shrug with a grin. This was what you'd been doing all day, trying to uncover each other's layers between the deepest level of small talk imaginable.
"Okay, first of that's just a lie," George pointed, "And who says I'm not looking for the bright side in those stories? Why not try and make the most of the bad part of life?"
So that's why he was here, you figured. But you had to counter him.
"Sometimes life is just shitty ya know?" You shrugged as a breeze blew past.
"Yeah, well not now. Come on, let's go get some dinner." George held out his hand for you to take, pulling you from where you sat on the bench. You couldn't help but chuckle as you followed his lead.
Your shared laughter echoed through the empty streets as George directed you to an eatery where tiny tables were packed into a vine-covered stone patio. He'd found his way there without fault, leaving you to wonder if he'd been here before. And if he hadn't, George's assuredness was admirable.
The crowded restaurant was full of smiling faces, yours included. Everyone vendor and passerby you'd interacted with thus far was incredibly kind. Rome was everything you'd imagined and more, and you'd only been for a couple of hours.
As you ordered food and ate, you and George went on slyly getting to know each other. He mentioned his family, comparing the dinner he ordered to his grandmother's best recipes. You admitted your mother had phoned a dozen times throughout the day. George insisted you call her back right away, recalling a time he ran off as a boy, almost giving his mother a heart attack and still felt guilty to this day.
So to cease his pestering, you called her right in the middle of your meal. The conversation with her wasn't very long, as you informed her you'd taken off on the trip you planned for and that you'd call to tell her the rest of the story later, only ringing now to let her know you were safe and fine.
And by the time you finished eating, George refused to let you pay for any of it.
"You've planned and paid for most of this trip. I can't just tag along with nothing to offer" George laughed, but swatted your hand away from the bill all the same. "So it's either I pay for dinner or I force you into some spectacular plan and blow all my savings on it, your choice."
"You're impossible." You nodded, slumping back allowing him to pick up the check, just this once.
Back at the hotel, the lobby was just as full of people as it had been early in the day. You almost reached out to George as you pushed through the crowd, just so you wouldn't lose him, but you didn't.
After collecting your room key and luggage, you were greeted with your first issue. It was inevitable for something to have gone wrong, but the stakes were a little higher now, in the company of a man you just met. You didn't even know his middle name.
But now you were stuck in Rome together, in a teeny tiny hotel room with one small bed and a wooden chair in the corner.
"I'll go see if they can switch rooms." You sleepily sighed, spinning to head back down the couple flights of stairs you'd just trudged up.
The same sweet woman at the front desk looked even more exhausted when you reached her again and you almost felt bad for asking, but you had to.
When the lady regretfully informed you that they were entirely booked, pointing to a walk-in who opted to sleep in the waiting lounge, you wished her a goodnight and worried all the way back upstairs.
"We could take shifts like they did in the war." You shrugged, informing George that your trip down to change things proved unsuccessful.
"I don't think that's a viable option." George chuckled. He was sitting in the rickety wooden chair, thumbing through a paperback that rested on the desk beside him. Before you could speak up again, he shut the book and stood, announcing that he was going to get cleaned up for the night.
You sorted through a few of your belongings as George occupied the bathroom, pacing at the end of the tiny bed. The room was quaint and warm and held all the charms you'd longed to be surrounded by. But what the hell were you supposed to do now?
You kept on trying to brainstorm when it was your turn to clean up, but you'd had far too much to still try and process about today, that your mind went blank.
Back in the room, You found George settled below the paint chipped window, leaning back against the desk. His legs kicked across the floor, that old ratty paperback in his lap.
"George, get up you're not sleeping on the floor." You sat on the edge of the bed, turning back the covers. He twisted to gaze up at you, confused.
"Come on, we're grown-ups and we're only here two nights." You gestured for him to occupy the bed space beside you, easing toward the edge best you could. You could practically hear him thinking from all the way across the very small room.
"Don't make me count to three." You threatened, giving George a look. He let himself smile as he rolled his eyes and stood with a sigh. He turned off the light and somehow after you'd both situated under the covers, there was a miraculous sliver of space between you.
Worn out from all the travel you were nearly asleep when your head hit the pillow. Tomorrow was a tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican. It was the day you'd planned for a million little things you'd always dream of doing, but now, you felt guilty.
"George..." You spoke out, quiet as you could, gazing out of the window you faced. "If you got to spend a day in Rome what would you want to do most of all?"
He offered to tag along on your trip, but you wanted him to have fun, too.
A beat passed in the still of the night and you figured the guy on the opposite side of the small but arguably cozy bed, had fallen asleep. But then in a low gentle whisper, George replied...
"Do as Romans do."
When in Rome, you thought... It was a saying used as an excuse to indulge but you'd forgotten it really meant to adapt to your situation, to roll with the punches and not get hung up in trying to fight or figure out the natural flow of things.
With that, you fell asleep, dreaming of waking up to another adventure
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Two Night Stand AU: Part 7
Ao3
Hiccup (3:52am): Astrid please, I can explain. Better than I did. I’m sorry.
Hiccup (3:52am): Astrid
Hiccup (3:53am): I keep saying your name, I don’t
Hiccup (3:53am): It’s my favorite name
Hiccup (3:53am): I know my name I just a bodily function but I love how you told me that and also none of this matters because I
Hiccup (3:54am): Please, if you get these, please give me your number. Please.
Hiccup (3:54am): I’m not begging. Not in the manipulative way. Or any way.
Hiccup (3:56am): Except I actually am begging.
Hiccup (3:56am): In the pathetic way.
Hiccup (3:58am): I thought about running after you. I didn’t because well, I was naked, or not, that’s not, I
Hiccup (3:59am): Please, just say anything. Please. I need to talk to you. I
Hiccup (4:02am): I’ve been saying ‘I’ a lot, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about what this means to you and I’m guessing it couldn’t be worse. This couldn’t have gone worse. I was everything you feared and more. Or less. I don’t
Hiccup (4:03am): I don’t want your comfort, not that you’d give it, I’m saying I’m the worst. I’m saying I’m awful and I’m sorry and this is so bad and it looks even worse than it is and I’d like to talk about exactly how bad it looks with you. Only you.
Hiccup (4:04am): Please, just message me back or give me your number or your address, I won’t stalk you, I’ll just send you a long-winded letter in cursive on cardstock.
Hiccup (4:05am): I’ll buy cardstock, I can’t write cursive though
This is pointless. And stupid. And the only thing Hiccup cares about even as he gets the notification that Heather’s plane has landed. She’ll be home soon. Fine. It’s fine.
He should make the bed. He should shower. He should do anything but obsessively message the perfect girl who isn’t responding.
Astrid.
Astrid.
Astrid who feels like home. Astrid who’s gone. Astrid. Astrid.
He keeps saying her name like it has a hidden definition. Like it’s a code that can unlock some way out of the mess he’s placed himself in.
It can’t, because there isn’t.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Because he made a mess. Not just a mess. A mud pit, in which he voluntarily brought dirt into his life, and then mixed it with water, and then invited someone who lacked the qualifications to turn mud into structure into his life, and somehow, instead of being a disaster, it just lit everything on fire.
The mud pit is a clay-pit. The moving sculpture of his life fired into place the second that he realized Astrid for what she truly was. Is.
It has to be possible.
Or, you know, there’s just no reason to any of this.
But the thing is that after pulling the short stick enough times, it ceases to be random chance and starts to feel like reserved karma. And Hiccup would like to cash in.
And yes, he understands that the idea of karma is not a genie in a bottle, it is not a magic wand, it cannot magically bring Astrid into his life, not that he’d want it to because—well, she’d hate it—but he thinks there should be some sort of cosmic station where one could exchange the sum of their theoretical suffering for what they want.
Like he lost a leg, that’s…big ass misery, ok? That was a gigantic ‘fuck you’ from the universe. He endured it with a mostly strong chin and stubborn sense of humor, but right now, he is willing to drop it forever just for a specific configuration of ten digits.
That’s a pretty good deal, right universe? Deal or No Deal?
Spin The Wheel of Fortune, Universe.
Do You Want to Be a Millionaire, Universe?
The Price is Right, as in this is the best he has to offer, so Universe, maybe make your move.
“Honey, I’m home!” Heather calls from the living room as she disarms the security alarm.
Check. The universe says, sliding the queen of the castle into view.
“In the bedroom,” he says back, staring down at Heather’s note, wondering how leading with it would go. Not well, not that there’s any way any of this will go well.
It’ll be faster maybe, if he leads with the Dear John letter he knew about for weeks that led him to make a ‘fuck you’ account on a dating website and God, he is so stupid.
“What the fuck is this?” Heather dives right into it, standing in the doorway with a folded piece of paper in her hand.
“Oh, sorry, I was supposed to be vacuuming with my pearls on,” he says flatly, “I forgot we were going to roleplay Leave it to Beaver, which takes on a very different meaning when you add the sexual element—”
“Hiccup,” Heather sighs his name like it’s an impossible to squelch bodily function, and he can’t keep Astrid off his mind for even a second, can he? “The note, by the front door, what is it?”
“I’ve…” He swallows hard, wiping his hand on his boxers before picking up his only shred of pitiable evidence, “I have the note right here.”
“Trade me,” she raises a non-plussed eyebrow, but her hand shakes as he puts her own letter into it and takes the scrap of paper from her.
Thanks for last night. I had fun. Great apartment!
xx Astrid
It’s smeared, written in makeup, casual in a way that Astrid isn’t. In a way he thought he was before he met her. His mouth goes dry and he tries to hide it, looking up at Heather and waiting for her to react to her own note.
She stares at it for a second before frowning and folding a new crease in it. When she holds it up at him like the last card in her Uno hand, it hits him for the first and final time that he really was batting out of his league with her. Not because she’s too good for him, even though his decision process over the last week or so corroborates that, but because she’s wrong for him at some fundamental level that he never believed in.
He knows he’s playing fast and loose with the concept of karma, but for the first time, fate makes some kind of sense.
“When did you find this?” She looks ashamed under her hard edges, the ones that don’t blunt and crumble even when they’re alone. The ones he used to think were strong when maybe they’re actually cruel, but he’s not dumb enough to blame her for making him that way.
Maybe they bring it out in each other. Brought.
“When did you write it?”
“Does that matter?” She laughs and Hiccup shrugs, willing himself honest even though it’s hard.
“Probably not.”
“Because of Alison, or whoever wrote the slutty little note you left me to find?”
‘Yes’ is the honest answer, but not the right one.
“Because you’re right. It’s not working.” He sighs, “it hasn’t been for a while, we’ve been…growing apart—”
“You haven’t been growing at all,” she retorts, “and your snarky, cryptic thing isn’t as charming as it used to be when I’m around it all the time—”
“That’s fair,” he taps his temple, “I live here, it’s not great.”
“You waited until I was out of town and cheated on me instead of just telling me directly that you’d found my note.”
“Yeah,” he nods, “and you didn’t give me the note, I think it’s fair to say that communication has been breaking down for a while. And communication is the cornerstone of any relationship, so suffice to say when that breaks down, the relationship goes with it.”
She shakes her head at him, slowly, a little shocked. He doesn’t remember the last time he actually surprised her, the last time she authentically laughed at his antics instead of spurring him on with a half-interested glint in her eyes. She doesn’t quip back though. That hasn’t happened in a very long time.
“What happened to you?” She asks after a too long minute and he shrugs.
“I…realized it was time to be honest. To stop doing this just because we feel like we’re supposed to, because we’ve put so much time into it.” He feels it now, everything that drew him to her in the first place. All the hours and days and weeks they spent together, making friction like it was a resource. “The fact is, I don’t think we’re right for each other. I think we’re just…or at least I was scared that there’d never be anything better.”
“So, you’re breaking up with me because you’re infused with optimism that we’re both going to find something better.” She shakes her head, looking lighter and bored and not hurt enough for what he did. “You really believe that?”
“Not believing it wasn’t working.”
“You’re an idiot,” she points at Astrid’s note, which might as well be his prized possession now, because he’s going to have to move and it’ll fit in his wallet.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, I’m furious with you but…I get it. I wrote the note, I wish you hadn’t found it while snooping, I should have just given it to you. I would have if I thought you were capable of being this mature about this—”
“No, not about—we’re broken up, I think we both understand it, but umm…did you ever fake it?” What starts as half a joke ends in some bitter, curious, cringing place that he never wants to visit again, but given that this is probably his last chance to get the facts, he goes for it. “When we were together?”
He makes a hand gesture that he wishes he hadn’t. Heather shakes her head and he thinks she’s feeling the bad fit too. He thinks, because he’s realizing that he never learned how to read her face, not really. And not because she didn’t let him, and not because he didn’t try, but it’s a language with a different taproot, something he could struggle with for years and never be fluent.
“A year together. A fucking year and—all this,” she gestures at the apartment that he didn’t even really like, but agreed to because going with the flow was the way to make their bickering day touring apartments end, “gone, and you want to know if I faked it?”
“You shouldn’t do that,” he lectures, internally cringing but feeling lighter. Vindicated, maybe. Fully through the veil of embarrassment and into someplace free. “It’s no good for you, it didn’t help me.”
“Right, you do so well with criticism.”
“Maybe I do,” he shrugs, “I think we both know there are a lot of things we never learned about each other.”
“You’re an asshole.”
And that makes him think of Astrid, and how he’s never felt closer to anyone, and how he wants this to be over with and then, how Dagur is probably going to beat him up. He probably should get in touch with his long lost cousin, that’s probably his only chance against Dagur’s impending wrath.
“I can move out.”
“Ok.” She stands up and looks at him with dwindling recognition, the polaroid of the present crystallizing in her memory and affirming him eternally as ‘that dickhead’. It’s…it sucks. He sucks. “Let me know when you’re out, I’ll go stay with Dagur.”
“Shouldn’t take that long,” he regrets how mean it sounds until it seems like she doesn’t care, cut off from him in a way that isn’t new. He should have noticed. They should have talked. They didn’t, he was an asshole, and now the idea of Astrid is a North star brighter than the blizzard and definitely brighter than the vengeance his ego would like to imagine in Heather’s expression.
Except it’s not there. And he has no ego, not right now, not when he’s so eager to exit this conversation and this chapter in his life.
She is too. She wrote the note.
He should have just told her he found it.
He’s so glad he didn’t, and he’ll hate himself for it later, when the leak in his heart is patched.
“Alright.” She stands up and he half thinks she’s going to shake his hand, but she doesn’t, “well, bye, Hiccup.”
Her voice might catch. His throat might hurt.
As soon as she leaves, he opens the dating site again and tries to message Astrid.
Hiccup (5:10am): I broke up with her
CustomerHelpBot (5:10am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated
Hiccup (5:11am): good job changing your name, very convincing
CustomerHelpBot (5:11am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated, for further information, please contact customer service at 303-555-7893
Hiccup (5:11am): that’s a really weird way to give me your number.
CustomerHelpBot (5:11am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated, for further information, please contact customer service at 303-555-7893
Hiccup (5:12am): I’ll call the number
He gives the supposed threat a minute to sink in before doing just that, and the robotic voice that picks up honestly shocks him.
“You have reached the customer service hotline for America’s Favorite Dating Site, what can I do to help you?”
It’s not Astrid.
Not remotely.
For one, the voice is entirely humorless, entirely dead. Bored in a way she’s not capable of, he’s seen it as she prowled around this apartment he hates, looking for something to do. Also, it’s a guy.
“Hi, I—Hi, you’re not—I’m actually looking to get in touch with someone I met on your site—”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Hiccup Haddock, my username is—”
“PrincessOutpost?”
“Thanks for not making me say it out loud.” He was drunk when he thought of that. He was drunk when he made this stupid plan. He was sober when Astrid showed up, eyes bright and shoulders strong, breathing hard as she introduced herself and shook his hand.
So awkward. So pretty.
And no, that first time wasn’t great. It was…necessary, like spring cleaning, but after they talked…after they got to know each other…
“I’m afraid we can’t give information about any of our cancelled accounts to anyone but the police.”
“She cancelled?”
“The last profile that you interacted with is inactive, as of even earlier this morning.”
“That—come on, man, it—”
“I’m sure it was magical, but we are legally obligated not to give our customers information out.”
“I really just need a phone number or an address or…or a last name.”
“I get that sometimes you don’t get a chance to talk much—”
“Rude,” Hiccup snaps.
“But we are legally obligated to not give customers’ information to anyone but the police.”
“The police?” He pauses, picking Astrid’s eyeliner note up off of the bed and staring at it, resisting the stupid, fond, useless urge to swipe his thumb across her name.
“Yes, they’re men in blue who enforce the laws.”
“So, if I know she’d broken the law, you’re saying I could get that personal information.”
“Sir, our service doesn’t exist to help stalkers—”
“What about people who break and enter?”
#two night stand au#hiccstrid au#modern au#httyd fic#one more chapter methinks#i fought off melatonin to finish this because it kept haunting me
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