#Going through my bookmarks like hm. i’m kind of sick in the head..

[dictee]

top five loustat only fic

tides by @nlbv

reformation by @downstairsbar

put your records on and regret meeting me by dreamtiwasanarchitect

after the storm by anonymous

vein by vein by morian

[sweetsubharry]

hi! do you have any fic recs of like really fluffy one shots

Hiya!! yes I do!! Aren’t they just the best sometimes?? Sorry this took me a few days to do! I had over 260 fics to go through on ao3 just under fluff (I really need to tidy my bookmarks!)  💖 There’s 79 in this list so it’s a long one!! ^-^

please stay safe and read the tags everyone! :)

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Thunder started it by booloveshiscuppycake

Harry's always been scared of thunder storms. But louis' always been there to comfort him. Friendship and comfort turn into love. (Fluffy as shit)

but he cant be what you need (if he's eighteen) by lingerielarries

“I need you to do something for me.” Harry said, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“It seems like you’re asking me to kill for you, H.” Louis laughed nervously.

“It’s nothing that drastic, I promise. It’s just. I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m not a.. normal eighteen year old.” Louis furrowed his eyebrows at that, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy.

“Are people giving you a hard time?” Louis wondered. Harry shifted in his seat and brushed some of his fringe off his forehead.

“Yeah, that’s. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Harry swallowed nervously. He could feel the sweat pooling at his hairline so he wiped it with the sleeve of his sweater. “I need you to uhm, pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or

the one where harry is sick of getting bullied and casts louis as the hot punk boyfriend to scare them away. louis needs harry to return the favor.

punk!louis and flowerchild!harry

the love is ours to make (so we should make it) by lingerielarries

“I’m.. Harry. I nanny? For Ernest and Doris?” Harry responded.

“A nanny? How old even are you? You look twelve.” Louis remarked. Something caught Louis’ eye, and a closer look revealed that Harry had a coat of pink nail polish on his fingers.

“Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” Harry replied.

“Right. Nineteen, wears pink, flower crowns and paints his nails. Who the actual fuck did my mum hire?”

or

the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.

All I See is You by ElegantSurrender

Even with the blood gushing from his nose, he couldn’t keep his thoughts on anything but the boy in front of him. He was just so… pretty. He smiled to himself, which only seemed to worry his boyfriend more.

“Why’re you smiling?” Louis asked confusedly, moving Harry’s bloody hand away, and replacing it with his, pinching his nose shut with a tissue. “You’re bleeding, and you’re fucking smiling.”

“Seeing you makes me happy.”

(or the one where Harry has a bloody nose and Louis takes care of him, and Harry really really loves Louis)

Pretty Blue Eyes (I don't care about the nightmares) by justgotowisharder

Harry has nightmares, Louis hates sharing the bed, they end up talking about dreams, they read Freud and they fall in love in the process.

Breathe by dontlietomehoney

Harry has an asthma attack and Louis is scared to death. What follows after though, scares both boys, pulling them apart and bringing them together.

with your love we could breathe underwater by luminescents

Harry’s brow furrows, a look of confusion spreading over his face. “But I am real. I exist, see,” he says, raising a hand out of the water and wiggling his fingers at Louis.

Louis finds himself relaxing a bit. Harry seems harmless really. And he’s quite cute, for something that’s not supposed to exist. If Louis is indeed having a hallucination right now, at least it’s a cute one.

AU where Harry is a mermaid, Louis is a human, and they both discover a lot more than they anticipated.

yes, you make my life worthwhile by orphan_account

Harry whispers to him that this feels like every dream he’s had for the last three years and Louis kisses his temple, behind his ear, across his cheeks and by the edge of his jaw. He runs the back of his finger across Winnie’s sleep-warm cheeks and sighs, the weight of the world finally off his shoulder.

Louis' a pediatrician, Harry's a preschooler teacher, and they're having a baby.

Weigh Us Down (We're In Love) by orphan_account

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at that. “We’re friends?”

Louis nods eagerly, smiling even wider. “Of course we are! You’re like, my first ever friend here. We just moved in, you see. Did I already tell you about that? Anyway! Maybe you can stay for dinner and I can show you my toys?”

Harry smiles. “You’ll let me play with you?”

Louis nods again, excited. “Of course!” He looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he’s slipping off the couch and crouching in front of Harry. “Oh, and Mum always kisses my wounds after she fixes them up. It makes me feel loads better all the time, so.” He leans forward and puckers his lips, pressing them over the bandage on Harry’s knee.

(harry and louis first meet when they’re eight and ten. this is their story throughout the years.)

Breathe by Jade_eyed

Can you write a Larry high school AU where Harry's a sophomore and Louis' his senior boyfriend and Harry's being bullied during class and has a panic attack and all he's saying is 'Louis' so someone goes into louis' classroom and gets him and louis' like freaking out when he finds out and just really fluffy and stuff i just need this okay

[ I changed it a bit , I'm sorry babe I tried. :( ]

Cause If You Let Me, Here's What I'll Do by stylesforstiles

Five times where Harry is Louis' baby

Zero Means Nothing When I'm With You by StripedAndBowtied

Louis doesn't know what he's looking for until he finds it.

Harry just knows he may defy his gender norms, with his height and clumsiness, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want litters of pups running around while he does domestic things all day long.

In other words, boy meets boy and no one can stop pining.

All my senses come to life by erikaeurekajoe

And it was true. Harry's senses were all coming to life, on overdrive in fact because a handsome blue-eyed stranger was holding his hands.

Because of Louis Tomlinson's Arse by AggressiveStress

One in which Harry is a clumsy Uni student that first sees Louis leaning over, picking up his things with his arse very prominent. Harry then falls down the stairs and Louis- wearing a nice little beanie- helps him back to his feet.

In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria

From: Louis Tomlinson To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

Delirious in Love by yourpricelessadvice (orphan_account)

Louis is there for Harry waking up from minor surgery; he wouldn't miss it for the world. For two reasons.

Stars Will Align For Us by 2tiedships2

"The serial monogamist is single," Niall said by way of introduction when he sat down across from Harry in the canteen.

Harry sipped his chocolate milk. "What are you going on about?"

"Your alpha dream boat," Niall said. "That tiny little footie player? I heard from Hannah that he's broken it off with his boyfriend so he’s single and ready to flamingle. Now's the time to make your move."

Harry sipped his chocolate milk harder to keep himself from replying.

Or the one where Harry is an omega at a loss of how to get past his pining and gain the attention of Louis...especially considering the alpha is always in a relationship.

(twenty minutes later) wound up in the hospital by callmelover

“Baby, I think a quick trip to A&E might do you some good, hm?” Louis keeps his voice as calm as possible. He doesn't want to startle Harry or make him scared, but he knows that Harry’s fever is too high and he can't risk Harry choking himself into another attack when he's so poorly.

He hears a sharp intake of breath come for Harry and he knows Harry is starting to panic. Louis moves his hand from Harry's hair to his back, rubbing circles into his sweat-soaked shirt.

“No, no. Shh, don't worry, darling. Everything is okay, you’ll be okay. I just know that the doctors will be able to make you feel much better much sooner than I can...Just want you to get healthy as soon as possible, okay?”

-

or the one where harry has the flu and louis is a protective, nervous-wreck of a boyfriend

You live in my heart by styleztomlinson

As soon as they’re done with their set, Louis only has one thing on his mind and that’s to get out of there as soon as possible.or,Harry is sick during their performance at the iHeartRadio festival. Afterwards, Louis takes cares of his baby, and dotes on his husband.

Take Care by secretlylarry

Louis really does love to take care of Harry when he's sick.

if we got nothing, we got us by tumsa

Harry is Louis' baby and he's sick as well.

Peppermint and Lavender (and Coffee) by 2tiedships2

“He was there again,” Louis announced by way of greeting. “Lottie was right and she can never know.”

"What the fuck are you talking about?” Niall asked as he snapped his laptop closed.

“The omega, Niall. He was there today. Just sitting in the corner looking pretty. Or at least his back is. He hasn’t turned around when I’m available to see. I know he’s beautiful though.”

"Okay?” Niall questioned. “What does that have to do with Lottie?”

Louis let out a huff. "She told me I shouldn’t work at a coffee shop. She was right.”

Or the one where Louis might have met the love of his life in a coffee shop. But that’s not how it’s supposed to happen.

So Long I've Been Waiting by kikikryslee

Niall held up his glass in a toast. “Cheers.” Harry stared at Louis as he brought the glass up to his lips, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t like he could refuse the drink, but he certainly didn’t want to have any champagne. Louis monitored everyone else, and as soon as they all had their heads tilted back, drinking their mimosa, he reached out and knocked Harry’s glass right out of his hand, sending it crashing to the floor. “Oh, no!” Louis pretended to be shocked at what had just happened. “Harry, you’re so clumsy. You dropped your glass.” “Yes,” Harry said seriously. “I am very clumsy.” --- Or, the one where Harry and Louis are having their first baby, and keeping it a secret until the end of the first trimester is a lot harder than they thought it would be.

Nothing's Gonna Stop Me But Divine Intervention by kikikryslee

“So… what’s next on the soul mate search?” Louis asked. “I don’t know,” Harry answered. “Whatever I’m doing isn’t working. I’m not finding him anywhere.” “He’ll get here. I know it." “Yeah. I know he’s out there somewhere; I just have to figure out where.” --- Or, the soul mate AU where Harry overthinks everything having to do with finding the love of his life, and Louis doesn't think there's a Mr. Right for him at all. It takes them a while to realize that their soul mate is the person they want it to be: each other.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

taken by the wind by scrunchyharry

When he decided to move to London with his sister, Harry thought he would finally get to learn how to control his magic. He couldn't possibly have predicted that he would fall for her neighbour.

Or the one where Harry is a clumsy witch and Louis is making everything worse just by existing.

Piece by Piece by SadaVeniren

He rubbed his hand over his lower stomach and closed his eyes. Louis was going to lose his fucking mind.

(aka Harry tells Louis he's pregnant and it goes as expected)

And We Linger On by stylesforstiles

Harry is pouting. Louis takes care of him

There's a Hole In My Soul, Can You Fill It? by stylesforstiles

Sometimes Harry is so tired. Louis always wants to fix it.

one glance and the avalanche drops by Wankerville

It's strange, honestly, having someone so gorgeous in his kitchen, and not only physically gorgeous, but, like, the everything else gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that Louis wants his life to always be covered in. The type of gorgeous he wants lying in sweatpants and an old t-shirt on his couch when he gets home from class. The type of gorgeous he wants to have shoving crisps down the front of his shirt. The type of goddamn gorgeous he wants to kiss, and coddle, and like, love.

Which is ridiculous- he doesn't know him. Pfft.

(or an au wherein louis buys a christmas tree and harry is the boy in leggings who delivers it. they are a christmas classic.)

Do Not Falter (There's a Star Ahead) by LadyLondonderry

It's Christmas Eve, and every single one of Louis' family members are crowded inside his little flat. Really, what more could he ask for on his birthday?

The present he never knew he wanted - in the form of an omega from his past - might just make this his most memorable Christmas.

Right Here Waiting by lovelarry10

Louis and Harry are expecting a baby. Harry's heavily pregnant and nesting madly, determined to make their home ready for their baby.

Blow Out the Candles, Baby by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis' been planning Harry's 20th birthday party for weeks, and Harry's too sick to move. Louis might be the kind of sap who tries to nurse him back to health with cuddles and jokes and cupcakes for two.

Never Let You Fall by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry slips on stage and gets a minor concussion, and Louis insists that he spend the night in the hospital just in case. He then turns into a protective baby lion because that is his Harry and he'll be damned if anything happens to him on Louis' watch. Harry rolls his eyes a lot but doesn't really mind.

Asthma and Bad Jokes by Larry_Klaine_Stylinson

When Harry has an asthma attack on stage, Louis has to go and help him. He leaves Niall in charge of keeping the audience entertained.

All I Need is Oxygen (and You) by lululawrence

There are only two ways to navigate Bloomfield High School: become popular or make yourself invisible.

With the help of his best mate Niall, Harry’s introduction to high school hadn’t been half bad. Despite being a “bandie” – the lowest of the low in the ancient hierarchy of high school –Harry had somehow managed to survive freshman year relatively unscathed. So naturally, Harry would have been perfectly happy to resume his position of invisible trombone player number four for the remainder of high school. But one day something drastic happened, something that would change the course of Harry’s entire existence (probably).

It was the last football game of his freshman year, and the band was back in the stands after performing a rousing rendition of Bloomfield’s alma mater during half time. Harry was gracelessly wiping the slobber from the mouthpiece of his trombone when he saw him.

Louis Tomlinson.

Or...a High School AU where Harry is a bandie and Louis is the epitome of cool, so naturally, Harry must find a way to get his attention and win his affections.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team by ellisaco

Harry's not very good at football, but he's aces at cheering Louis on.

Snow by hlftanna

Louis hid something from him. Harry was 100% sure of that. He knew him better than he knew himself. And. He. Hid. Something. From. Him. Harry just hasn't figured out what. Because if Louis wanted to hide something from anyone he usually succeeded because he was Louis Tomlinson.

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

calling out for somebody to hold tonight by heartinsidemine

“Dunno why I can’t sleep,” is the first thing Harry says into the still, quiet night.

“New flat, new noises,” Louis murmurs, finally setting the kettle on the stove and turning properly toward him. “New responsibilities, too, eh? Second year, you’re working your way up in the world.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Nothing’s really new, though, is it? I mean, the location, but… I’ve got the same job I had last year, same basic courses, same workload…” He sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You and me are in the same boat, though,” Louis murmurs to him. He hates seeing Harry like this, even though rationally he knows that he can’t do anything about Harry’s insomnia. “Finding it difficult to sleep myself. Was gonna turn on the telly, maybe the cooking channel until I fall asleep. Care to join me?”

He doesn’t think twice about the offer before making it; it only makes sense. They’re both exhausted and they both sleep better with a cuddle, and anyway Louis would absolutely rather have a conversation partner than only the walls of his room for company.

Running Down To The Riptide by sweaterpawstyles

"I can't give you your present yet, Lou."

Louis furrowed his brows. "And why is that, my love?"

Harry smiled at his lap. "Because your present is under my sweater," he pulled his free hand that wasn't laced with Louis' and gently laid it on his stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Or

It's New Year's Eve and Harry has a surprise under his sweater

Song For The Springtime by sunshiner

“Cherry blossoms,” Harry mumbles. “The solution’s cherry blossoms.”

Uni AU.

the happiest place in our universe by tippytoetomlinstyles

Harry holds Louis’ hand and looks around at all the exciting and beautiful things and Louis looks at him because he finds him the most beautiful and exciting thing there is.

or the one where Louis takes Harry to Disneyland and Harry convinces Louis to wear Mickey Mouse ears to match his Minnie Mouse ears.

Made From Love by lovelarry10

It's almost Christmas, and amongst the preparations, Louis' realised something about his husband Harry.

Harry, however, seems to be oblivious.

Louis' determined to open Harry's eyes and make him realise the real magic that's happening this Christmas...

Another Constellation to Trace by screwstyles

Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m winning that bet.”

“What bet?” comes Niall’s excited voice from behind them, followed by footsteps. “I wanna be in on the bet!” he shouts, prompting Harry to quickly roll down his shirt sleeve and straighten his shirt where it’s still crinkly after Louis’ hands.

Niall takes one look at them and purses his lips in a tight line. “Were you guys making out again? Isn’t the fire meant to die down a bit after eight years?”

“Trust me, the fire is still very much alive,” Louis winks at Harry. “One could even say it’s cooking something.”

-

Mpreg AU: Louis and Harry bet on who can keep Harry's pregnancy a secret for longer. Neither of them is particularly good at it, and it doesn't help that their soulmate tattoos make it even harder.

another pair of feet by honey_beeing

where Harry is pregnant and Louis is an oblivious idiot.

We Were Made to Love by supernope  

“Everything all sorted? Need help with the buckles? I know they’re a bit tricky in this compartment.”

The voice startles Louis out of his daze, and he turns toward the voice to let him know he figured it out. When he catches sight of the owner of the voice, though, his response dies in his throat. Whatever he had imagined the conductor of a children’s train that rides around the shopping centre in Leeds would look like, this is certainly not it.

Leaning through the window, arms folded across the sill, is a green-eyed angel with cherry red lips stretched wide in a smile and dimples flirting in his cheeks. A black conductor’s hat is the only confirmation that this is not some gorgeous stranger who’s come to flirt with Louis through the window of a children’s train, but is just a man doing his job.

[or, Harry drives a kiddie train in the shopping centre for the summer and is obsessed with babies, and Louis never stood a chance.]

here comes the sun by orphan_account

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Louis promises, his pink, chapped lips moving slowly in the cold. It matches the beanie on his head—pink, because they found out this morning that they’re having a girl and that’s just.

Harry’s going to be a dad. To a little girl. Five months from now he’ll be holding her in his arms, and she’ll be so lovely and small.

They’re going to have a spring baby and she’s probably going to have Louis’ eyes. What a blessing that would be. Harry crosses his fingers on the hand inside his pocket, hoping that she does. He’ll love her either way—blue or green or even brown eyes, it doesn’t matter—but he’d really like them to be blue, he thinks.

[Harry is a pediatric specialist, Louis is a neurosurgeon. All they want is a baby.]

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates

A Little Kind of Magic by Star55

A tiny tale of Louis' Very Important Birthday and Christmas at Hogwarts that Harry loves celebrating with his best friend whom he absolutely is not in love with. No matter what Niall says. (He's a little in love with Louis.)

it tastes like you, only sweeter by EmmyLouWho

Sometimes Harry hates being a second year, like when all his older friends get to go to Hogsmeade and he has to stay behind in the castle. Luckily, Harry has a Louis to make everything better.

For the prompt: “I’m not allowed to go to Hogsmeade but you always tell me stories about it and bring me candy from Honeydukes”

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Sweet Like Sunshine by orphan_account

When Louis saves him from some seventh years bullying him on his lack of Quidditch skills, Harry takes offense. Louis offers to teach him to make up for it. They fall in love somewhere along the way.

Featuring one exasperated Niall, trips to Hogsmede and many flying sessions.

Follow Me Down This Time by supernope

Harry first noticed Louis in his second term at Hogwarts, and despite three years of inventing ways to stumble across Louis, he's never managed to actually work up the courage to speak to him. Also known as, self-indulgent Hogwarts AU, because every fandom needs Hogwarts AUs.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by panicmoonwalk

Niall’s head was sitting in the fireplace, wide grin lighting up his features as flames licked the bright tips of his hair. Louis promptly dropped his tray at the sight.

“Bloody hell!” He yelled, half at the sudden appearance of Niall in the fire and half at the scalding cocoa he’d just dropped on his bare foot. “What are you doing?!”

Niall just continued to grin, clearly highly amused by Louis hopping on one foot and desperately trying to search for a weapon he could use to beat his friend’s head out of the fireplace.

“Well,” Niall began. “We’re going on an adventure!”

Or, the one where Louis and Harry’s Christmas holiday at Hogwarts is rudely interrupted when they’re dragged off on a tropical wizard’s vacation, featuring some angry centaurs, a spell gone wrong, and the ‘weirdest birthday anyone’s ever had. Ever’.

Loving with a Little Twist by hrrytomlinson

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Niall! I just promised my mother I’m bringing my boyfriend - a boyfriend I don’t have - to Thanksgiving dinner. What should I do? I can’t call back and be like, ‘Oh yeah mom, that boyfriend I said that I have, I don’t actually have. Sorry to disappoint you.’ My life is ruined.” Harry returns to suffocating himself with the pillow.

Niall laughs and Harry growls at his best friend’s unwarranted happiness in this life-ending situation. Harry is fucked. Fuck. He needs a boyfriend. Fuck.

(or a thanksgiving themed fake/pretend relationship au)

everywhere (i wanna be with you) by itiswhatitisbutterfly

Harry and Louis meet because they have terrible friends, they fall in love because something feels right in a world of uncertainty and shifting grounds. Louis is an actor and Harry is a model at the top of his game, the best things in life are the most unexpected ones and the things that hit you when you are least expecting it.

Featuring winter in London, nights in Paris, early mornings in New York, burning heat in Monte Carlo and an enduring love spent transcending four corners of the globe.

on a wednesday, in a cafe by wreckedboyfriends

“What can I get for you today?” he asked without looking up, arranging the last of the pastries.

“Have any recommendations? Never been here before, actually.” Harry hit his head on the top of the case in his haste to look at the source of the voice. It was a really beautiful voice, small and high and just lovely, if a voice could be lovely. Harry thought so. “Alright, mate?” the man asked when Harry finally composed himself, rubbing the top of his head as he took his place at the register.

Harry opened his eyes, and fuck. If Harry had thought his voice was lovely, the man himself was on a whole other level. “Alright, mate?” He repeated and shit. Harry had been openly staring for quite awhile, hadn’t he?

“Yeah,” Harry replied, and it came out sounding like a semi trailer running over gravel. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Um, the cherry danish is quite good, I think. ’S my favorite.”

The man smiled. “One cherry danish it is, then.”

OR Harry’s spent the last year with six locks on his door, a pair of too-flamboyant boots buried in the back of his closet, and insecurity issues the size of a mammoth. Louis changes some of that, but Harry changes the most.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

Let It Snow by thebrainisafunnyplace

Bakery owner Harry Styles is always cold, until he hires local university student, Louis Tomlinson to work as a cashier. When the storm of the year hits, the boys find themselves stuck together inside the bakery the night before Christmas Eve. Luckily, they have each other to keep warm.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

No words by becharlatan

Harry is a music student who never talks because he's a total introvert. Louis happens to bump into him by accident and as if like the constellations, the two have aligned their paths together despite their differences.

Sun Emoji Moon Emoji by mybeanieandme

For the prompt:

University!au: Harry works at a cafe as the busboy and Louis just really wants to get to know him. (Louis pines for an insecure Harry for a semester)

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Kiss From A Rose by lovelarry10

Harry is the quiet one in the office no one ever notices. Until Louis does, that is. When notes start appearing on Harry’s desk, he ponders who is behind the kind words, oblivious to Louis’ attempts to get his attention...

Black Cat by lalune15

Inspired by this tumblr post (not asked or requested): fic where louis works at a haunted house jumping out at people and harry’s friends drag him along even though he doesn’t really like haunted houses. when louis jumps out to scare their group, harry freaks out and accidentally jumps into louis’s arms. louis just squeaks. harry ends up sitting there with louis the rest of his shift and totally doesn’t come back every night after that.

Be Mine, For Always by zams

Louis is happy when Harry is happy. That's what Louis wants, and so when Louis starts feeling weird when Harry cuddles with Liam, Zayn, or Niall instead of him, he keeps quiet. But the burning, uncomfortable feeling Louis gets deep in his stomach when he sees Harry contentedly nuzzling Liam's neck, or Harry's arms and legs tangled around Niall like an octopus, or Harry's face smushed in Zayn's stomach as Zayn plays with his hair only gets worse as the days go by.

Loosen Up My Buttons by softfonds

The beautiful man opened this bakery about a year ago. He remembered the exact day he came: a glum, rainy morning in the middle of February, which instantly turned brighter the minute he saw him. The man had come in with some paint buckets and tools, and Louis doubted he would be able to fix up the drab place all by himself. But as he walked down the stairs at the end of the day and saw the man standing there in the middle of a gorgeous pink and white shop, clearly proud of his work, Louis fell in love at first sight. If only he knew how to talk to him.

Usually, Louis knew how to flirt. He prided himself on it. But every time he looked at the beautiful man, he completely forgot how to form sentences, and there was no way he could go up to him only to make a fool of himself. That was the last thing he needed.

Or, Louis owns a tattoo shop called Pretty in Ink, Harry owns a bakery called Rolling Scones, they haven't been introduced, and Valentine’s Day seems like the perfect opportunity to finally talk to the man Louis has been pinning over for the past year. And they both end up with more love than they bargained for.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

you make my whole world feel so right when it's wrong by orphan_account

“Curly?” Louis says, stepping into Harry’s sight. “You okay?” Harry looks up from where he has two things in his hands, a thick winter coat sized for a newborn, and a sweatshirt fitting a grown man such as himself. He looks up at Louis, stricken, and holds them out for him to see. “They’re the same price,” he says. “They’re both forty dollars! Forty dollars for such little material.”

(or, Harry is pregnant and stops at the mall to buy cheap baby clothes. Louis has extra money from working a long shift, and he can't think of a better way to spend it than on him.)

you were the ocean, i was drawn into you by by orphan_account

where harry takes pictures and worries too much and louis plays guitar.

i'll be your sunflower by scagnetism

“What do you think’s gonna stop us now?” Harry says cheekily, laughter in his voice as he looks up at Louis. “Something’s gotta get in our way like always, doesn’t it?”

“Ha,” Louis grins, kissing his cheek and holding open the door for him as they make their way toward the car. “Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time. ‘S gonna be perfect, just like Pumpkin.”

Or, a few interruptions aren't going to stop Harry from having a perfect pregnancy and having the family he and Louis have always dreamed of.

Send Me Your Pillow (The One That You Dream On) by flowercrownfemme

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

Short fluffy o/o gaybo drabble with lots of cuddles and softness and sock stealing <3

As one we are everything/We are everything we need by louloubaby92

Harry finally marries the love of his life. He's got the mating mark, he's got Louis' ring on his finger.

And now, he's on his honeymoon. Louis is but a door away, waiting for him.

Honestly, he doesn't understand why he's nervous.

only guilty of loving you by sweetrevenge

After Harry gets set up with his co-worker's alpha friend Louis, he's expecting some pleasant conversation, free dinner, and maybe a new friend. What he doesn't expect, however, is that Louis' arrival in his life begins a life of crime Harry never knew he had in him.

A You've Got Mail!AU with a twist.

[winterswhumpblr]

Out of sheer boredom I created a one shot Peter Pan AU. Wendy’s a teenage writer who currently lives alone; Peter is her childhood friend, let the fluffy romance commence!

She sighed closing her book and moving the blankets over her shoulders, the winds breeze had chilled her to the bone. She looked out her window, the city looks so pretty at night-time she thought, her apartment was on the highest floor of her block, so she had the best Birdseye view of The city of London. Her home away from home, it reminded her a lot of her first home, back in New York City.

She smiled as she thought back to her fondest memories in the states. She wished she could go back there one last time, but as the first rain droplets fell from the sky, she was reminded why that would never happen. She moved from her spot on the single bed to lean against her window sill, she reached out and opened her sliding window as far as it would go, keen on listening to the rain fall.

She sat there in silence for awhile, her head rested on her hands which were being propped by her elbows that dug into the wooden ledge. The rain poured on and she could feel the spark of her creativity flow through her once more. She turned her head towards her bedside table where a leather discarded notebook lay underneath her fathers old fountain pen.

She ignored the pain that erupted in her chest as she grabbed both items, she didn’t want to think about that now; her fingers were itching to write. She opened the bookmarked page and read over what she had written last, it was a simple story about a love sick girl who wished she could stay young forever and a heartbroken boy who longed for a future where he could call her his.

She didn’t think too much about the words she was drawing with ink as she wrote, she let magic do it’s thing, it could be corrected later on. As the rain poured and she released her thoughts into her writing she swore she could hear footsteps come from outside.

She looked around her plain bedroom, the door was closed, her wheeled chair dormant beside her aged desk. Her wardrobe stood by the door leaving a large open area in the middle of her bedroom where she could walk around. No one was around, she lived alone, John and Michael lived with her aunt in the states.

She thought nothing of it as she took a break and stared up at the moon, it always looked so lonely in the sky, even though it was surrounded by thousands of stars she still couldn’t help but feel bad.

She cleared her throat, “why is it the loneliest souls are often found surrounded by people?”

“Because the more people that surround you, the more alone you seem to feel.” She didn’t expect a reply of any sort and whirled her head around, a boy floated at her window, completely and utterly drenched.

She exclaimed, “Peter! You’re going to catch a cold” he laughed and tried to tell her he doesn’t get sick but she had already sped off to her bathroom to grab a clean towel.

He climbed into her bedroom through the window and floated past her bed and onto her desk chair carefully, he didn’t want to get her sheets wet. She had come back in a flash, warm white towel ready to be used.

He smiled at her, “Wendy! You’ve returned” she nodded her head, “here’s the towel Peter, bend your head for me” he did as she asked and she got to work at drying his hair.

He looked around the room, spotting her journal almost instantly, “you working on something new?” She shook her head, “no, I was trying to finish the story before you came in.

He pouted, “but you were talking to me, if I had known you were writing I wouldn’t have answered.” Wendy laughed, “oh Peter, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the moon!”

He looked up to face her, her hands around his neck as the towel stayed put. “What do you mean, talking to the moon?”

Wendy smiled and continued to dry his hair, “you see, when I was a child my mother would tell me the story of the man on the moon. He was a lonely old man who didn’t have a friend in the world.” Peter narrowed his eyes, “not a single friend? Not even his shadow?”

Wendy shook her head, “not even a shadow friend. The moon took pity on him because of this you see, so she summoned him to her.” Peter made a face “the moons not a girl!” Wendy rolled her eyes, “she is Pete, and what’s more, she made him her protector! He had a job to do and someone to speak to finally.”

Peter smiled, “kind of how I’m your protector, huh, Wen?” Wendy stopped drying his hair, she looked at him sternly, “I don’t need you to be my protector, Pete, I need you to be my friend.”

Peter blushed, “you mean that, Wen? You really mean that?” Wendy smiled at Peter who beamed, “wow! I promise I’ll be the best friend you could ask for Wendy, you’ll see!”

“You already are Peter.” Wendy whispered it so quiet she was sure he couldn’t hear her, but she was wrong. Peter stood up abruptly which startled Wendy so much she slipped on the puddle he created and almost fell back.

Peter had thought fast on his feet, he grabbed her hands and pulled her up gently. She locked eyes with him, “you okay, Wen?” Wendy blushed and looked down which made Peter smirk.

He looked around the room again, “say, what kind of instrument do you use for music?”

“Hm?”

“Oh, you know, so we can listen to music who do you have to call?” Wendy laughed, “we don’t need to call anyone, Pete, I have my speaker for that.”

He waited patiently as she scrolled through her phone for a song, he had asked her a bajillion questions about her phones use, and, Wendy couldn’t help but think how much Peter missed out on in Neverland.

She chose some piano music and hummed along to it as she dimmed the lights in her bedroom, Peter faked a yawn, “this is what you call music? It’s not even upbeat! How can we dance to this?”

Wendy pushed her hair behind her ears and got Peter back on his feet, he had whined and asked what she was doing but she hushed him immediately.

She grasped his hand, placing one on the small of her back and intertwining the other with her own. She showed him the steps and as the rain continued to pour they danced in her bedroom.

Her head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck since he stood almost a head taller. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain, for the first time in what felt like a really long time, she was happy.

“Say, Wendy?” She hummed, “yes Peter?” He moved to look down at her and she stared up at him, his chocolate eyes glistened in the moonlight and she found herself wanting to lean in.

“Would you like to share a kiss?” She blinked, “what?” He flushed, his cheeks becoming the same colour as his red hair, “well, I mean, you said you only kiss someone special and I know I’m just me but I thought maybe-”

Wendy cut him off with a kiss, his lips gently kissed her back and she smiled into the kiss. It was innocent yet so filled with love, Wendy couldn’t have asked for a better first kiss.

She broke off and he let out a breath, “wow, I don’t know what to-”she rolled her eyes, “shut up and kiss me.”

He did what she asked and as they embraced each other, the moonlight almost giving them their own spotlight with the soft chime of a piano mixing and the rain in the background; Wendy couldn’t help but think she wanted to stay there with him forever.

•

•

Let me know what you thought☀️

[cilliansaccent]

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 10

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!! e.

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 4,137

!!Warnings!!: Smut!! Graphic Smut!!! ;) Enjoy you naughty kiddies.

Date: December 2016

Chapter Name: Distract me, Cillian.

Brief Chapter Outline: Gabrijela talks to Cillian what happened to her at the Christmas party before they discuss her hobby as a band member before it ends with one hell of a steamy afternoon...

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When Gabrijela woke up, she felt sick and iffy. She coughed pushing herself up with an arm as she rubbed her eyes. She was alone in the bed, but the door was open and she could hear music coming from downstairs. 

She got out of the bed and found some slippers set beside the bed. She slipped them on. She walked over to the window and pushed back the heavy drapes, it was raining lightly outside. She loved the rain, this was perfect weather to be in bed. 

She smiled and turned and headed out of the room and down the stairs. The music was Christmas music, the classics that everyone would play. She peaked her head through the threshold to the living room and found Cillian sitting in the armchair before the fire, reading with his glasses on. There was a large flatscreen TV above the fire mantle. Near the bay window, there was a Christmas tree set up. No presents beneath it. 

"Good morning." She said, her voice coming out rough. She cleared her throat. 

Cillian looked up, "Oh morning." He said as he tucked in a bookmark and took off his glasses as he stood. "How did you sleep?" 

"Really good. Cozy and warm. You?" She asked as she came over and sat down in the two-seater couch. 

"Same as you. I haven't made breakfast yet as I don't know what you want today." He said as he sat back down. 

"Well, I'm craving chicken soup. Mum would always make it for me when I was sick." She said. 

"Hm, well I don't have it but I can run down to the store to buy some?" He offered. 

"If you don't mind. I'll write down the ingredients." She said and he passed her his phone so she could jot down what she needed. 

"That's it?" He looked at the list. 

"Yeah. That's all. It's simple but super tasty." She smiled. 

"Okay then, I'll be back soon." He said and touched her shoulder as he left. 

She pulled the knitted throw around her and watched the fire, getting lost in her thoughts. She could hear the faint ringtone of her phone upstairs but didn't feel like getting it. But it kept ringing and she sighed as she got up to go check it. 

Missed calls from Logan and Lucia and from her dad. "Fuck." She grumbled, she had to call her dad back. So she did and apologised to him that she didn't pick up last night and that she was tired and exhausted. But Lucia had told her dad about last night but in a twisted way. Gabrijela was drunk and had attacked Lucia when she was with some guy. 

"So you would believe her rather than me?" She snapped at him. "How could you." 

"I am getting your side of the story, Gabrijela." He said, his tone hard. 

"Well, I didn't attack no one, Dad. She was being... she..." she choked on the words, "You know what she was doing with another man in a bathroom stall." She held back her tears that threatened to come. 

"Gab..." His voice softened, "Did you love this man?" 

Gabrijela thought about it, she had started to fall for Logan, "No." She shook her head, "But I was falling for him." 

Her father had fallen silent but sighed, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm dealing. I'll be fine." She shrugged, "Anyway, I gotta go." She said as she heard the door unlock and open. "Goodnight dad." She waved. 

"Goodnight my blossom," He smiled and hung up. 

She got up and headed down the stairs and went into the kitchen. It was entirely white with light brown beams that framed the window above the double basin sink. Countertops were made of white marble with pale grey cracks in it. It opened up to the dining room that leads out to a small deck and then flowed into the green garden. 

The kitchen had a farm touch to it, "You have a really nice house, Cillian." She said. 

"Thank you. I like the coziness of it. I'll take you upstairs after breakfast, you'll love it." He smiled as he set out the items. "So what should I do first?" 

"I'll do it," She shakes her head, "You can admire me from afar." She came over and bumped her hip with his to nudge him out of the way. 

"From afar? Why not close?" He cocked a brow perfectly. 

"Close then, but I forbid you from helping." She pointed at him. "Where are the pots?" 

He showed her and she got into it. The recipe was simple, but it wasn't going to be exactly like how her mum would make it. But it was better than nothing. 

Soon enough they sat on the couch before the fire, bowls in their hands and they ate. A throw was covering their legs. 

"This is so good. Better than what I made that first time." He said and tipped his head back to drink the soup. 

"Nah, I think we are tied." She said doing the same before she set the bowl down on the table. 

"You think so?" He looked at her, hooking his arm over the back of the couch, holding his head up with a hand. 

"I do think so." She moved closer to him as she got comfy. 

"Did you want to watch TV?" He asked as he watched her sigh and lay her head back. 

"No. Not really." She shook her head, her expression changing. 

He frowned a little before he took her hand, "I'm here for you, okay?" 

She looked down at their held hands then met his blue eyes, tears lined her eyes, "I'm hurting, Cillian." She whispered as she moved into his arms, an arm over his stomach. 

"Talk to me." His arms went around her, squeezing her gently. 

"Last night... Logan threw a Christmas party and I brought along Lucia, my best friend cause she came to see me. You know the one you saw in that video chat all those months ago?" 

"Yeah, I remember." He nodded. He had an idea of where this was going. 

"So yeah, at the party, everything was going well but I had this weird feeling something wasn't right. And then I went to uh... I went to look for Logan and... In the bathroom... He... He was with Lucia... They-" She choked as tears began to fall again. 

"Darling you don't need to say it. Hey, hey shhh." He wiped away her tears, cupping her cheek. 

"They've been doing it behind my back for four months, Cillian." She sobbed, the emotions rushing through her, "I-I shouldn't have trusted him so fast. Fuck I made the wrong choice." She whispered burying her face in his neck. 

His heart broke for her, it made him so upset to see her like this. How could anyone think to hurt someone as sweet and kind like her? 

"Do not let this ruin you, Gabrijela." He murmured into her hair, "You don't deserve these tears. Not on this beautiful face." He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. 

"The worst thing is the whole thing is so similar to how my ex ended up. God," she frowned and looked at the fire. "I shouldn't have trusted him. I thought he was better." 

"Sometimes people can be cruel despite their pretty demeanour," Cillian muttered. 

Gabrijela nodded and turned back to him, "But I know you are true and real." She sniffled as she touched his cheek. "You're a good man, Cillian. Truly." 

He smiled, "And you are a wonderful woman, Gabrijela. I've never met someone so natural as you." 

"Distract me today, Cillian." She whispered, a hand on his chest. 

"I will try." He nodded, "Come, let me show you the third floor." 

They got up and headed to the top. 

She gasped, the whole floor was transformed into a mini library of some sort. The wall had shelves full of books, memorabilia of awards and all that. A fireplace took a spot between the bookshelves with some seriously comfy-looking couches. 

"I've kept the majority of things from when I was younger, things from school or gifts and whatnot." He explained all the knick-knacks he had. 

"Awesome." She was in absolute awe. 

He had a guitar as well and a ukulele that hung on the wall. "You play the ukelele?" She asked as she came over and plucked it off the wall. She strung her fingers along it. 

"Yeah. The main thing I bring when I go away." He watched how she became a whole new person. The pain in her eyes seemed to go away as she began to play a melody. 

He was surprised, "You play?" 

"I do. I know how to play the guitar and the cello, I'm an expert in both." She smiled. 

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Just for fun or...?" He sat down as he listened to her play. 

"Been in a band since I was sixteen. I play the electric guitar and also sing with Elijah who plays the bass guitar, Karsyn does the drums and Maya is on the keys and her partner plays the extra guitar. Lucia never really liked it but always tried to be apart of it... We had to kick her out cause she caused too many headaches for all of us." She said, finishing off her melody. "Elijah and I play the cello together, he's probably the next close friend of mine." 

"What kind of genre you play?" Cillian asked. 

She put the instrument back where she found it, "Anything really, we like to do covers and we have some of our own songs. We play every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night at this club in Sydney, Maya and her husband owns it and its very popular." She walked along the bookshelves, running her fingers along the many novels. 

"Wow. And you kept this all from me!" He smiled, "I have to definitely come to Sydney and see you play." 

She giggled and picked up a phot of when he was younger, "Not because you want to see me?" 

"That too. I was twenty there." He got up and peered over her shoulder. 

"Wow. Look at this young man. You haven't aged at all. Are you immortal?" She smirked up at him. 

"Some say I'm aging like fine wine." He chuckled and she put the photo back. 

"Oh, I can so agree on that." She patted his cheek. 

"Can I ask you something?" He asked. 

"Go ahead." She turned to him once more. 

"Your birthday is coming up, do you have any plans on that day?" 

She raised a brow, surprised he remembered it, "Uh, I mean I did but... with what happened... No. I'm free all day." 

"Good. I've got something you will love to see." He grinned. 

"Can I know?" She crossed her arms. 

"Nope. It's a secret." He said. 

She whined, "Ugh fine. What are you doing for the next day? It's Christmas." 

"Flying back to Cork to spend three days with my family." He said. 

"Oh... Really?" She had hoped she could spend the day with him. She couldn't hide her sadness in her tone. 

"I got two tickets." He said, eyes trained on her. 

"And?" She tilted her head to the side, confused as to why he told her that. 

"You're coming with me." He laughed at the shock on her face. 

"Cillian! I couldn't! No!" She hit him lightly. 

"Yeah, you are coming with me. I want to show you my hometown. It's going to be fun." He took her arms gently, his smile soft. 

She pouted, "You sure? I... Your family... wouldn't they think it's weird that you're bringing someone like me to their table...?" 

"No. Of course not. They will love you. I only told them I'm bringing someone wonderful." His arms moved around her waist and she stepped closer, her hands on his biceps. 

She giggled, "Oh Cillian," She smiled, only he could make her forget about her problems. She felt so at home in his arms, "I see that record player. Put something on and we can dance." 

"Yeah? Alright." He pulled away and set the player up and picked out a good record. He placed it down and the needle before he pulled her back close. 

They swayed together, body to body. Rain fell harder but everything seemed so magical. Her head was resting on his shoulder and she could feel the tickle of his breath on her neck. 

"Cillian?" She murmured. 

"Hm?" His hand was splayed on her back, between her shoulder blades. 

"Please don't leave me." She said in a soft, shaky voice. 

He pulled back to look at her, "I won't. Never." 

"Promise me?" She sounded desperate as she gripped his biceps again. 

"I promise," He cupped her face, "I'll always be with you." 

She searched his face and leaned up to kiss him, but he pulled back, "Gabrijela, don't you think its to quick?" He asked, eyes wide. 

"It's just a kiss. Cillian, please. Distract me." She whispered. 

"Gab, we shouldn't, we really shouldn't. It's way too early, you're hurting." He frowned. 

"Fuck it Cillian. Fuck it all. I need you. I need you. You are all I think about. All I need. Logan was a mistake. That time you touched me, that was what brought me to my knees. I cannot hold back Cillian." She had tears in her eyes. 

He was shocked at her words, and yet he felt the same. The moment he touched her, kissed her, she was all in his head nonstop. "My Gabrijela. My lovely Gabrijela." He leaned in and kissed her, pouring his heart into it.  

His hands moved from her face to her hips, her arms locking around his neck. 

She was the one to deepen it, their tongues clashing and rolling over each other. A moan escaped her, and he began to walk her to the couch. 

"No," she stopped him, "The bed." She said. 

"Okay." He nodded and they headed down a flight, she held his hand as they entered the bedroom. 

She backed up to the bed as he stalked forward, a heated look made him look like a bad boy. She smirked, "Since you touched me last time, it's only fair I return that favour." 

He gripped her hips, pulling it flush against his. She moaned at the feeling, "You don't need to. My pleasure is seeing you cum by my fingers." He kissed her hard and she yanked off his shirt. 

He took off hers and lifted her up and threw her on the bed, she let out a gasp as he moved on top of her like a cat. He kissed down to her neck, sucking on a spot and leaving a mark. 

"Mmm." She shut her eyes as he moved lower, his lips wrapped around her nipple and she whined. Her nipples were always so sensitive when they were touched. 

He sucked, tugging on them gently with his teeth which caused another moan to escape her. He then moved to the other, doing it rougher and it made Gabrijela cry out in pleasure. 

"I'm going to taste you, Gab." He said roughly, his lips moving down her stomach. The feeling made a skittering feeling run through her, her core heating and throbbing. 

"Yes." She sighed, nodding as her pants were thrown aside. She had no panties on. 

Cillian came to the apex of her thighs and pulled back a little, her treasure was glistening and a pretty pink. She had waxed, leaving a tuft at the top. With a hand, he brought up he dragged a finger down from the hood to her entrance. 

"Oh... God..." She sucked in a breath, looking down at what he was doing. Her cheeks were flushed, he was just... staring at her. "Am I okay? Cillian?" 

He brought the finger up, then with his thumb, he parted her folds to reveal the petals of her core. "You are more than okay, Gabrijela. You are... serene." And he brought his mouth on her. 

She threw back her head, eyes rolling in the back of her head as he worked on her with that fantastic mouth of his. He sucked on her clit, rolling the bud between his lips and teeth. He felt her hand on the back of his head, the other gripped the sheets. 

"Oh fuck, Cillian. Fuck." She breathed fast, her toes curling as the sensations of getting head ran through her nerves. It was a wonderful feeling, the soft moist feeling of his lips peeling her apart and getting deeper. His tongue sweeping up then back down to her entrance where it prodded her. 

"Relax, lovely. Relax for me." His hand were on her abdomen, feeling the fast-rising of her stomach. She relaxed as best as she could, and tried to stay relaxed as his tongue pushed into her. 

He wiggled it around, tongue fucking her as he brought a thumb to her clit. He wanted her to feel the utmost pleasure he could give her with his mouth and hands. 

So he ate her out like his personal feast, not being kind to her either. He held her squirming hips down as he was in full control of the situation, he would make sure all she remembered was his name as she came. He would imprint himself on her body, her soul. But when he was to take her... he would make sure it was a perfect day, all dedicated to her. 

She was in utter ecstasy, all she could think of was him, of what he was doing to her. He knew where to get to, what to press as two fingers slipped into her. 

He pulled back to watch how he fingered her, to see how she took him. "Fucking hell, Gabrijela." He rasped, she was drenching his fingers, his chin was coated in her wetness. "You going to cum soon?" He could feel how her walls clenched around him. He could only imagine how amazing if he was buried in her. 

"Yes, Cillian. Oh god yes. Don't stop." She whined, her breathing ragged and deep. Moans and curses fell from her parted lips, she was close. "Harder, oh fuck!" 

Cillian obliged and began to finger her harder, pushing in a third finger. God, she was tight. But he wasn't going to stop, he curled his fingers in a come hither motion and she cried out when he found her sweet spot once more. 

"Cillian! Ah! I'm close! Fuck!" She bucked her hips, trying her best not to move too much around. 

He went as hard as he could, he would bring her to the edge before he would finish her off with his tongue. And so he would, pulling his fingers out and tongue fucked her. Her cried grew louder as she thrust her hips up and hollered in bliss as she climaxed on his tongue and lips. She thrust a few times before she eased off as her high came down. 

He lapped her up, sucking and licking her clean before he kissed up her body then to her lips. She moaned sweetly as she tasted herself on his lips. 

"Mmm Cilly," She pulled back, touching his jaw and his lips. "Lay back baby, I want to touch you now." She kissed him. 

"You don't-" He groaned when her hand gripped him. 

"I do. You are so hard." She pushed him back and he eased on to his back as she now knelt beside him. "Cillian, oh goodness." She tugged on the strings of his sweatpants and eased them off with his help. Boxers and all. 

Her eyes fell on his hard length, he was a good size and thickness. She could easily just ride him right there, lube was not needed as she was soaking. 

Slowly she looked up, meeting his eyes, "Perfect." She murmured, not taking her eyes off as she wrapped her hand around. A muscle twitched in his cheek as his jaw was clenched hard. "Mmm, you feel good." She moaned as she rubbed him, holding him in a good tight grip. 

"Ah... Ah, shit..." He whispered, holding himself up by his arms. "Gab..." 

She smiled, happy that she was making him all huffy and blushing. She rubbed him faster, he was rock hard. "I'm gonna take you in my mouth," She moved between his legs, laying down on her stomach. She leaned in and licked his balls, sucking them and he let out a strange groan that was deep then a curse followed. 

"Minx." He shook his head, watching her move up his shaft, sucking and kissing to the tip that had a little diamond drop. 

She licked it before his cock was guided into her mouth, and he watched with pure amazement as she took him right to the base. "Fuck!" He placed a hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair. 

She moaned, muffled by his cock before she began to bob her head. She took her time, savouring his velvet hardness with her tongue and lips, soft gagging sounds came from her every time he touched the back of her throat. 

She was a goddess, she worked him so well, her sucking was slow and hard, almost pulling. It felt divine. 

Gabrijela began to go faster, her hand moved to cup his balls once more and fondle them. She squeezed them and rolled them a little in her palm, he grunted, "That's it, oh fuck yeah. Gab you damn perfect woman." 

She smiled a little as she continued to do her thing, and it wasn't long when he became fidgety as his cock twitched. He was going to cum very soon. 

"Mmmm." She moaned around him, squeezing him again. 

"I'm gonna cum. Fuck, in your mouth?" She nodded, "God you fucking- Fuck! Ah! Ah!" His brows furrowed and he laid back, his hips bucked and she gagged as he shot his load into her mouth. 

She pulled back a little, he filled her mouth and he pulled her head back as the remaining went on her face and his stomach. 

She gasped for air and laughed once she swallowed his load, "Cillian! Oh!" She bit her bottom lip as she pumped him once he was finished. 

He looked at her, his release on her cheeks and lips, "Shit, sorry. He laughed as he handed her a tissue. 

"No need." She wiped his cum off with a finger and cleaned them up with a smack of her lips. "Delicious." She giggled and leaned in, claiming his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. 

He wrapped his arms around her as she laid on top of him, they kissed for a bit before she pulled back. 

"Thank you," She murmured, her smile soft. 

"What for?" He ran his fingers up her spine. 

"For sticking with me and making me happy." She traced his jaw then his cheek and lips. 

"I will do anything to make you smile again. It broke my heart to see you cry." He kissed her gently. "Don't cry ever again." 

She scoffed lightly, "Don't break my heart then." 

"I won't. Safe within my heart, tucked in warm." He kissed her nose as she laid her head down on his chest, her fingers running over the smooth skin of his biceps and shoulder. 

"Safe." She whispered, her smile never fading. 

"Safe." He repeated, his fingers gently running through her hair. 

For the rest of the day, Cillian and Gabrijela spent their time indoors. They showered and shared another passionate kiss before they went to the living room downstairs to watch some classic Christmas movies. They ordered take away via UberEats and sat before the fire as they stuffed themselves with pizza and garlic bread and ice cream he had in the fridge. 

They laughed from bad jokes and danced again, another movie before night fell. She was going to stay the night again, they got into bed and she had asked him to read her a favourite book of his to her. 

He happily obliged, and read till she fell asleep. He set the book side and his glasses, turned off the light and pulled her into his chest. She slept peacefully, their legs tangled and he wasn't ever going to let her go. 

Not this time he wasn't.

Whatever was blooming between them, it felt right. And he would work hard to keep her happy and content. He tried not to think about the whole age gap thing or that she was going to leave at the end of the month. He wouldn't.

He would cherish her, and see what the future would hold for them. 

[turtle-steverogers]

Summer Nights

HOLY SHIT ME??? POSTING A FIC??? wow.....

warnings: alcohol, smoking, abuse mentions...would y’all believe me if i said its actually really fluffy? also, the use of ‘pal’ as a term of endearment because i’ve been reading way too much stucky

ship: sprace

editing: actually, yeah

word count: a whopping 4038

-

May 

“So where’d you get your fake ID?” Spot startles and chokes on the glass of Jack and Coke that he had been nursing.  His throat burns as the vile liquid travels down his esophagus much faster than he would have liked and he looks with watery eyes at the person who had spoken to him.  

The guy is tall and somewhat lanky with blonde hair that seems to shoot out in various directions.  His eyes glint behind a pair of black framed glasses and are highlighted by the bags that hang underneath them.  His face is set in a permanent smirk, but there’s a tired essence about him.

“Excuse me?” Spot manages, trying to suppress the coughing fit that threatens to overtake him.

“There’s no way you’re older than me,” The guy scoffs, “So I’m wondering how you managed to get your drink.”

Spot’s gaze travels down to the cigarette perched between the guy’s fingers, nose scrunching as the smell hits him and his neck tingles with desire.  

The guy seems to notice his stare and he scoffs, “You want one?”

Spot shakes his head, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you do want one,” The guy says slowly, raising his eyebrows, “Don’t you?”

Spot gives him a half-hearted shrug, raising his glass to his lips and taking a small sip.  

The guy chuckles, “Suit yourself,” he takes a drag, settling on the stool next to Spot.  Spot gives him a side glance as a bartender swoops past, asking to see the guy’s ID, before sliding a glass of rum and Sprite over to him.

“Where’d you get yours, then?” Spot asks, eyes flicking down to the glass as the guy snubs out his cigarette in one of the provided ashtrays.

“Hm?” The guy doesn’t seem too bothered as he knocks back half of his drink in a single gulp.

“Your fake ID.”

“Oh,” The guy says, swallowing, “A friend.”

“Oh,” Spot pauses circling his drink around for a few moments, peering at its contents, “I’m almost 21.”

The guy looks at him, eyebrows raised, “Yeah? How old are you, then?”

“Twenty,” Spot says, “My birthday’s in December.”

“You’re still like,” The guy furrows his eyebrows, thinking, “7 or so months out then.”

Spot shrugs, “Close enough.  How old’re you?”

“I’m nineteen, turning twenty in August.”

“Cool,” They fall into an awkward silence, although the guy looks generally at ease.  Spot clears his throat, motioning for the bartender to bring him another drink.  Another glass is passed to him and he brings it to his lips, intoxication swirling in his gut.

“You live around here?” The guy asks.

Spot nods, “Just got home from school.”

“Ah,” The guy nods, understanding flashing across his face, ���S’that why you’re here?”

“What?”

“Well the last semester just ended, like, last week,” The guy points out, “At least it did for me, so we haven’t been home very long.  Are you already sick of it?”

“Sick of what?” Spot squints at the guy, dumbly.

“Being home,” The guy’s voice had turned from jovial to unsettlingly serious.  He fixes Spot with a hard, knowing look.

Spot squares his shoulders, turning to face the guy all the way, “Why,” he demands, “are you?”

The guy seems to shrink in on himself a little bit and Spot feels a pang of guilt shoot through him before he remembers that the guy had started it.

“What’s your name?” The guy asks, shaking out his shoulders, his smirk returning to his face.

“I don’t even know you,” Spot says, warily.

“Hi,” The guy sticks out a hand, which Spot shakes briefly, “I’m Race.  There, now you know me.  What’s your name?”

“Spot.”

“‘Cause of your freckles?” The guy, Race, blurts out.  His eyes widen and he backtracks, stuttering over his words, “Unless that’s not, like, a nickname and-”

Spot quirks an eyebrow, amusement playing on his lips, “No, you’re right,” Race’s shoulders sag in relief, “My old foster brother started calling me that when we moved in together.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Yeah,” Spot says, “Race?”

“Yeah?”

“No,” Spot shakes his head, “Why Race?”

“Oh,” Race blushes, “I don’t really know.  My dad always told me I was racing to catch up with my head and it kinda stuck.”

Spot nods, tucking the information somewhere in the forefront of his mind, but not answering.  The silence that stretches back out between them is welcome this time, a new sort of familiarity in it.  Something dynamic in the pause strikes a chord with Spot, a rare understanding bounding between them.  Race’s presence no longer renders a threat, although the mischief that seems to emanate off the other boy doesn’t go unnoticed.  But as they sit there, idly sipping their drinks, Spot becomes increasingly aware that the mischief isn’t directed at him.

“Well,” Race grunts, sliding his glass away with a sigh and checking his watch, “I’m outta here,” he hops off his stool, briefly stretching his shoulders, “see you ‘round, Spottie,” he pauses for a moment, eyes boring into Spot intensely before lightening, “try not to commit arson in your home or something.”

Spot barks out a startled laugh, “Same to you, pal.”

But Race is already gone.

XXX

“I quit last year.”

Spot skips the pleasantries, gesturing to the cigarette that Race was currently working to light.  His head is buzzing minutely, nothing to be entirely concerned about, but the alcohol didn’t fail to make its presence in his system known.  He’d lasted a few days sober in his home before he gave into the seedy bar’s beckon call and strolled out the front door, looking for an escape.  

Spot couldn’t necessarily say he’s surprised to see Race back- he seems the type to frequent the place- but his presumptuous aura is absent as he startles, wide, red-rimmed eyes fixating on Spot’s.

Spot’s eyebrows furrow, but Race looks away before he can speak. 

“Fuck off, I don’t need shitty life advice right now,” He grumbles, pocketing his lighter and inhaling a tangy lungful of smoke.

Spot raises his hands in mock surrender, “No life advice, got it.  You okay?”

Race scoffs, gaze still cast to the side.  Spot can see the misty lamplight twinkling in his eyes, but the playful light that had been there last time is nowhere to be seen.  It’s disconcerting.

“You wanna talk about it?” Spot asks casually, moving to lean against the damp, brick wall next to Race, “Believe it or not, I listen pretty well.”

Race doesn’t look at him as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long, thin line, “I don’t even know you.”

“You know my name,” Spot smirks, “that was enough for you the other day.”

Race doesn’t seem to have an answer to that.  He takes another drag, then holds his cigarette up to the light, studying it with a resentful eye. 

“I don’t like smoking,” He concedes, “It’s just the only thing that can ever-“

“-Keep you sane?” Spot guesses, knowing all too well what he meant. 

Race spares a glance at him, “Yeah.”

Spot skips letting him know that he gets it.  Hell knows Race probably doesn’t want to hear it.

Instead he asks, “Does anything else keep you sane?”

Race scoffs again. He seems to do that a lot.  Like the world is sad and laughable.  It kind of is. 

“Uh,” Race scrunches up his nose, dropping his arm to his side, cigarette still secure between his nimble fingers, but momentarily forgotten, “Writing.” 

Spot carefully avoids letting his surprise slip, “What kind of writing?”

Race shrugs, fingers going loose.  Spot eyes flick to the falling cigarette.  Something sort of like pride wells in his chest.  The hardest part is already done.  Letting go.  

Not that quitting is going to be easy in any respect from here on out, but that initial admission to the notion is key.  And it looks like Race has given in. 

“Anything.  Stories, memoirs, thoughts,” He trails off for a moment, thinking, “just not poetry.  I suck at poetry.”

“Poetry is overrated, anyway.”

A moment of silence.  Race carefully stomps on the butt of the cigarette, “I guess.”

June

“I haven’t smoked for two weeks.”

Spot looks up from his bottle, something he could almost mistake for fondness swelling in his chest.  Race slides onto the stool next to him, waving over the bartender and gesturing for a beer.  The bartender hands it to him and sidles away.

Spot allows his gaze to scan over his new friend, noting that while he looks exhausted, there’s a healthier quality about him.  The bags under his eyes have let up a bit and the sallow, stretched skin of his cheeks have become fuller- redder.  He catches sight of the notebook that’s cradled protectively in Race’s grasp, but doesn’t say anything.  If Race wants to show him, he will.  

“I’m proud of you,” Spot says genuinely, taking a sip of his beer and facing forward again.

The now expected silence settles over them again.  

“And I’ve been writing more again,” Race admits, sheepishly holding up the notebook.  He delicately opens it, flipping through the pages slowly until he lands on one that has been bookmarked by an old movie ticket.

“I don’t usually let anyone see it, but…” He turns it towards Spot and thrusts it into his grasp, “If you want, uh, you can look.”

Realizing the underlying establishment of trust that accompanies the gesture, Spot takes the notebook, being careful to keep his expression judgement free.  He reads the passage- a short, choppy piece that doesn’t entirely make sense to him.  It’s a memory, that much is clear, but key details are missing.  It’s more of an imagery work, bringing Spot to an old park somewhere in Race’s childhood.  He isn’t sure exactly what importance or deep-felt symbolism the park may hold, but it’s obvious that it’s special to Race.  And if it’s been keeping Race from smoking, well, that’s a win then. 

“That was brilliant, Race,” Spot says genuinely as he carefully closes the notebook and hands it back, “Has it helped?”

Race looks at the notebook, a small, half-smile on his face, “So far.”

XXX

“Wanna take a walk?”

This time, Spot isn’t surprised to see Race standing expectantly next to him.  The notebook is back in his grip, but it seems to be more of a comforting presence than anything else.  Race is fiddling with the movie ticket bookmark that peeks out the top, running his thumb over the worn, leather bounding.

“Sure,” Spot answers before he can give too much thought to the notion.

Race’s face breaks into a wide grin and Spot finds himself mirroring it.

“Awesome, c’mon,” Race says, taking the glass out of Spot’s grip and replacing it with his hand.  

He pulls Spot out of the bar and doesn’t let go as he leads him down the street.  It’s decently late and as they venture further away from town and closer to the surrounding neighborhoods, the company of people surrounding them ceases.  They take a sudden turn into a little cul-de-sac and Race slows their pace as they cross to the other side of the street.  In front of them sits a small playground.  It looks old.  Everything is made of wood or metal and Spot can see pieces of paint chipping off the sets.

“Oh,” Spot murmurs, mind venturing to the passage Race had shown him the other day.

“Yeah,” Race says, leading Spot to the swingset and nodding for him to perch on one of the swings.  They sit, rocking back and forth in companionable quiet, “Why did you decide to quit?” Race asks after a moment.

Spot thinks for a moment, tilting his head to look at Race.  Race is watching him intently.

“I was tired of not being in control,” Spot says, honestly, “I had lost my mom and my dad was being shitty and so I started smoking to help ease off the edge, but after a while it just made me feel more out of control.  So, I quit.”

Race hums, eyes shifting to his own hand clasped around the chain of the swing, “Was it easy?”

Spot watches him fidget with the chain for a moment, “Is it easy?” 

Race looks back at him, “No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“But it can be done?”

Spot smirks, “I quit, didn’t I?”

Race nods and Spot allows himself to smile, “Then there’s your answer.”

XXX

“I like you, Spot.”

Spot blinks, turning his head to look at Race.  They’re back at the park, this time in the early morning.  He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so close, but sometime between the last park visit and now, phone numbers had been exchanged and bonds tied tighter.  What they seemed to have was nice.  Never had Spot felt so real and raw with a person before, but in the span of a few weeks, Race had wormed himself into his life.  They didn’t talk very often about themselves, but the understanding of each other they seemed to have meant they didn’t have to.  They just got it.

“I like you, too, Race,” Spot says, bemused.

“No, like, I like you,” Race holds eye contact and Spot feels his stomach flip.  Race’s bluntness has always impressed Spot and he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to it.

“Oh,” Is all he can think to say.  It isn’t that he doesn’t like Race back, it’s just that he hasn’t given his feelings much thought.  He’s mostly just run with what feels good in the moment. 

“I think I want to kiss you,” Race continues, gaze never wavering.

Spot feels his heart leap to his throat and he swallows, “Okay,” he manages.

Race raises an eyebrow, “Okay okay? Or just...okay.”

Spot nods, “Okay okay.”

Race smiles and stands from his swing, closing the short distance between them until he’s directly in front of him.  He grips one of the chain handles and rests his other hand on the side of Spot’s face.  Spot stares at him, memorizing the movements.  His own hand finds the taller boy’s hip.

Nothing happens for a moment, then Race leans down, capturing his mouth in a tentative kiss.  Spot hums a little and it’s all Race needs to deepen the kiss.  They move in tandem, feeling out each other’s presence for what could be an eternity.  Then, Race pulls back.

Their foreheads stay pressed together and Spot smiles.

“Thank you,” Race breathes.

“For what?” Spot whispers back.

Race shrugs, “For being here.”

“Thank you, too.”

July

“Why do you like the park so much?” Spot asks one day as they walk away from the bar.  He’s always wondered, but asking seemed too personal.  But now that whatever they have has been solidified, it seems appropriate.

Race doesn’t answer immediately.  Spot didn’t expect him to.

“Went there a lot as a kid,” Race says, “always had been an escape.  Still is.”

Spot nods, “Neat.”

Race laughs, squeezing their conjoined hands, “Neat?  What are you, 50?”

“Maybe,” Spot teases, eyes crinkling as he looks up at Race, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Ewww,” Race whines, scrunching up his nose, “I do not want to think about kissing on an old man.”

“You brought it on yourself, pal,” Spot says, shaking his head.

“I know, but you- ugh, nevermind.”

They take their usual seats on the swings, hands still clasped together between them.  Spot smiles.  He’s happy.

XXX

The first setback happens a month after Race initially pledges to quit.  Spot had been expecting this.  Granted, lasting out a month without a cig was incredibly impressive, but it still wasn’t a surprise when Spot’s phone rang on a Tuesday afternoon.

He furrows his eyebrows, staring for a moment at Race’s contact photo before sliding his thumb across the screen and lifting his phone to his ear.

“Race?”  He sits up when he hears a jagged cough on the other end, “Hello?”

“Spot,” Race rasps.  He isn’t crying, at least, Spot can’t hear it in his voice, but he sounds miserable, “I fucked up.”

Spot purses his lips.  He knows what he’s talking about- it’s obvious enough- but he wants Race to say it.  Needs to have him talk it out.

���What happened?” He asks, already tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder and pulling on his shoes.  

“I smoked,” Race says.  His tone is dull, plain.  He sounds utterly defeated.

“Did something happen?  Or was it just urges, or-”

“My uncle hit me.”

“Goddamnit,”Spot paused in tying his shoes, taking a moment to draw in a measured breath.  Race didn’t talk much about his home-life, but Spot knew the basics.  He knew that his parents had passed in a car crash and Race had been sent to live with his aunt and uncle.  He knew that things had been good at first, but quickly physical abuse had reared its ugly head and Race was subject to things that no kid should know.  He didn’t know much, but he knew enough to make his blood boil.

“Sorry,” Race’s voice was still lifeless and Spot almost wished that he were crying.  This was just plain scary.

“I’m not mad,” Spot quickly reassures him, “I’m actually proud that you got this far without a smoke.  I’m coming, hang tight.”

“I’m at the park,” Race says, “In case you didn’t figure that already.”

Spot had figured, but he bites his tongue, “thanks, don’t go anywhere.”

He spots Race immediately, sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of the swings.  His head is turned outward, glazed eyes staring at the treetops.  There’s a nasty bruise forming on his left cheekbone, still red and glaring.  Spot’s shoulders sag.  

“Hey,” He calls carefully, not wanting to startle Race into falling.  Something tells him that wouldn’t be especially appreciated right now.

Surprisingly, Race turns towards him.  Spot had speculated that it would take a little coaxing to pull him out of his mind.

“Hey,” Race calls back.  His voice is scratchy and Spot vaguely wonders how many cigarettes he’s had.  Though, looking closer, there’s no sign of a pack or any stubs on the ground.

“I threw them in the forest,” Race mumbles, gesturing aimlessly, “S’why you can’t see any.  I didn’t wanna see any.”

Spot raises his eyebrows.  He’s got a million questions, a million concerns, but he elects to simply say, “I’m proud of you for throwing them.  How many did you have?”

“Only two,” Race watches him as he climbs up next to him, settling down on one of the bars, “only two…”

“That’s...not as bad as I thought,” Spot admits, “good job.”

Race scoffs, “Don’t praise me for messing up.”

“I’m not,” Spot says firmly, tapping his chin to get him to look at him “I’m praising you for realizing that it was a mistake and actively preventing yourself from having another.  I couldn’t even do that when I was tryna quit.”

“Oh,” Race looks down at his hands and Spot reaches out to grab one, “Okay.”

“Lemme see,” Spot says gently, lifting a careful hand as Race turns his head to the side, allowing for a full view of the abrasion.  Spot gingerly runs a finger over it, immediately stopping when Race winces, “Hurts still?”

Race nods, “He got me good.”

“Wanna talk about what happened?” It was probably a ‘no’, but Spot always offered, anyway.  Just to let Race know that he could.

“No,” Race mumbles.

“Alright,” Yep, as predicted, “Let’s get you some ice.”

He climbs down, waiting close by to help Race if he needs it.  A moment later, they’re walking towards town, hands linked together in Spot’s jacket pocket.

August

“Hey, happy birthday,” Spot greets Race with a smile, handing him a small parcel.  Race looks up at him from where he’s sitting at the swing and Spot is instantly reminded of their first kiss.  His smile grows.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Race says, biting his lip to hold back a smile of his own.

“Yeah, I did,” Spot rolls his eyes, stepping forward so that Race’s knees were resting against his shins, “Open it.”

Race blushes a little, bowing his head as he unwraps the gift.  Spot watches as his fingers slip underneath the tape, carefully unsticking each fold.  It always baffled Spot how meticulous Race is.  He emanates such boisterous chaos that Spot would have never pegged him for the gentle type.  But with Race, the surprises never really stopped.

“Fuck,” Race breathes, jaw going slack as he takes the new notebook out of the paper.  It’s a little bigger than the one he has at home and in much better shape.  He holds it to his nose, closing his eyes as he notes that the leather smells real, “this is beautiful, Spot.”

Spot’s grin turns into something a little more gentle, “I knew you were running out of pages in your other one, so I thought…” Spot takes Race in as he opens the notebook, running the pads of his fingers over the crisp, yellow pages, “Oh and here,” Spot digs into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of .5 mm pens, “these might be a little more fun to write with than a mechanical pencil.”

Race takes the pack and glances up at Spot before cracking open the lid.  He takes one out and uncaps it with his teeth, focusing intently on his paper as he writes out a short message.  His handwriting is surprisingly good and looks even better in the fine, black ink.  He tears out the paper and hands it to Spot.

Spot eyes him amusedly before reading the message,

Much love for you...thank you

Spot smiles, as Race pulls him down by the front of his shirt, “I love you, too,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes.  Their lips fit together like puzzle pieces.

XXX

Spot looks around at the boxes in his room, taking a deep breath as he goes over a mental checklist of anything he might have missed.  

“You all packed?” Race asks, wrapping his arms around Spot’s waist from behind.  He tucks his chin on Spot’s shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his pulse point.

“I’m 99 percent sure,” Spot says, turning to wrap his own arms around Race.

“Good,” Race leans down, pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“S’just college Racer,” Spot says, kissing his chin, “We’ll both be back for Fall and Winter break and shit.”

Race scrunches his nose, an impressive pout forming on his face, “But that’s so long, Spottie,” he whines.

Spot chuckles, “I know, I’m sad, too.”

“One day,” Race’s pout melts away, a smirk spreading across his lips instead, “I’m gonna marry you and college or anything can suck my dick.”

Spot laughs loudly, head tilting back, “You do that.”

Race pulls him back in, capturing him once more in a kiss, “Oh, I will.”

6 Years Later

“Racer, I got the garlic!” 

Spot pushes the door to their apartment closed with his foot, holding the grocery bags above his head as their dog, Linda, bounds up to him.

“Hey, hey, no, Linda- down, babygirl! This food isn’t for you,” He transfers the bags to one hand and shoves Linda off with the other.

“Thank god,” Race pokes his head out of the kitchen, “I was worried that this chicken would have to go herbless and our taste buds would suffer tragically.”

Spot shakes his head, plucking the garlic pod out of the bag and tossing it to his husband, “Drama queen.”

He puts the groceries away, then joins Race at the stove.

“This all smells really good,” Spot says, dipping a finger in whatever pasta sauce Race is making.

“Hey, get your fucking fingers out of my sauce,” Race chides, hitting Spot lightly with a wooden spoon and getting pasta water on the sleeve of his henley.

“Asshole,” Spot bites, but there’s no real malice behind it.

“Mmm, you love me,” Race says, turning back to one of the pots.

Spot gently grabs his elbow, turning him and leaning up to kiss him, “Indeed I do.”

-

hehe

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[seagullsausageswritingarchive]

fever

words: 1500 tws: fever/illness

-

Henrik strolls down the hallway, a black bag in one hand and a tall glass of apple juice in the other. Contained within is his collection of medicines, bandages, scissors and scalpels, a stethoscope, and the like. Things he supposes an actual doctor should have on hand. Technically, he only needs a few things for this particular check-up, but you never know. And anyways, he feels important carrying his stuff around.

He raps on Marvin’s door. No reply.

“Marvin? You awake? I need you.”

Still nothing, so Henrik pushes his way in anyways. As expected, all the lights are off, save for the glow in the dark stars Jackie put on the ceiling and the light dimmed by the thick curtains. A bundle of blankets and sheets just barely moves on the bed. Henrik sets down his glass and bag on the bedside table, along with an alarm clock, some pills, and some kind of gaming console.

“Hey. Marvin. Marvin. I need you for something.” Henrik shakes them lightly until they finally stir with a groan. Their head turns to him, black messy hair sticking out everywhere and their eyes barely open.

“Man, what…what time is it?” They grumble out.

“It’s one pm.” Henrik states matter-of-factly. Marvin makes a noise and sinks back down in bed. Despite the fact that the sun is well in the sky at this time, Marvin usually sleeps well past three every day, before going back to bed around nine. They sleep to cope.

“Hey now, I waited as late as I could to get you. It’s about Jameson. You said he wasn’t feeling well last night?”

“Yeah,” Marvin mumbles, shifting over to their back and throwing an arm over their eyes. “Poor guy, wouldn’t move or anything, felt kinda warm.”

Henrik nods, despite Marvin not being able to see him. “And that’s why I need to see him. But he’s not going to let me near him unless you come.”

Marvin lets out a long groan, but they know Jameson needs them. They practically roll out of bed, tugging on a slightly stained oversized hoodie, before slipping on some socks with little cats on them. “Okay. Let’s go then.”

The two shuffle down the hall, Marvin leading the way. “What’s the juice for?” they end up asking.

“For Jameson. If he’s feeling ill, he’ll need to be drinking lots of fluids.”

Marvin takes a moment to look behind them to give Henrik an appreciative smile. But they hesitate when the two get to the door at the end of the hall.

“What?” Henrik asks when Marvin just stares at the wood, fist half-raised.

“He shouldn’t…” they shake their head. “I don’t know. He–he’s been here, what, a little over two months? And he’s still scared of everyone. And everything.”

They turn to Henrik. “Shouldn’t he be at least a little better at this point?”

Henrik smiles sadly. “Healing can take a long time, Marvin. You may have seen a little bit of it, but we don’t know what he has been through. He may continue to struggle with readjusting for awhile. And besides, you aren’t exactly ‘okay’ either, are you?”

Marvin rolls their eyes. “Touché. But still. I just…don’t want him to be so sick forever.”

“He won’t be.”

Marvin looks into Henrik’s eyes, almost for reaffirmation. They do that a lot, look into people’s eyes. They’re very insightful. Henrik just stares back at them, confident. “You’re a good friend, Marvin. He trusts you. And we all want to help him, and he’ll eventually trust us, too.”

Finally, Marvin breaks eye contact. “Yeah…yeah.” They nod. “You’re right. He’ll–he’ll get better. He’ll be okay.”

They knock. “Jamie? Honey? It’s Marv. I’m coming to check on you, okay?”

Their voice is gentle, careful. Jameson doesn’t reply, but that’s to be expected. He doesn’t really “respond” to many things. The door is open and the two slip inside.

Despite Jameson’s lack of self-care or motivation to do anything, his room is relatively neat. Books are arranged neat on his shelf, even with bookmarks sticking out of them, his desk and nightstand are clear, and his clothes are either folded or put in the basket by his door. But his bed is always unkempt, with how much time he spends in it.

Marvin approaches the small, curled up form pressed up against the corner of the wall. “Hey, Jays, hey there. How are we feeling today?”

Jameson doesn’t move at all. Marvin’s eyes flicker nervously to Henrik, then back down.

“Uh, I’ve brought someone else with me. Just Henrik, the other guy who lives here.” They rub their hand comfortingly along his back. But this is enough to get Jameson to move, his body shifting so he can look up at Marvin, then to Henrik. He quickly tugs the blanket back over his head and curls up as tight as he can.

“Jamie, bud, you don’t have to be scared. He’s a good friend, and he’s a doctor. He’s gonna make sure you feel better, okay? I’m right here to make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

The man shifts slightly, but still doesn’t respond. Marvin looks at Henrik again, almost apologetically. He’s pulled up Jameson’s desk chair, setting his things on the table. He nods encouragingly at them.

Marvin sighs. “C’mon, he really needs to take a look at you, just super quick to take your temperature, okay? Here, you can sit in my lap the entire time, I’ll keep you safe.”

They don’t pull on him, but instead puts an arm around Jameson to try and encourage him. A small tuft of dark hair pokes out from the thick grey comforter. Marvin smiles down at him.

Very slowly, Jameson moves. Marvin helps pull the other man into his lap, where he immediately curls up against their chest and hides his face in their neck.

“There we go, there we go,” Marvin strokes Jameson’s hair. Henrik can see him shaking ever so slightly from here. He rummages through his bag and pulls out his thermometer.

“Okay, so Hen’s gonna stick something in your mouth for a minute, and that’s all. Nothing serious, alright?” But still, Jameson just shrinks in further.

“Jamie…” Marvin sighs. There’s a look of pain in their eyes, like it hurts to have to talk down to him like a child. Henrik can’t help but tap his foot impatiently, playing with the small device in his hand.

“Okay, uh…why don’t I just do it? No one else has to touch you. Just me. How does that sound?”

Very slightly, Jameson uncurls. Taking this as a conformation, they carefully take the thermometer from Henrik. “I’m gonna have to stick this in your mouth now, so you’re going to have to look at me.”

Jameson doesn’t move. Marvin sighs again, getting slightly impatient. They gently take Jameson’s chin to move his head to the side, letting him rest against their collar. Henrik can see his face, now. Dark purple circles rest beneath his blue, tired eyes, and his skin is pale and slightly sweaty. Henrik can smell the sick off him.

Carefully, Marvin slides the tip of the thermometer between Jameson’s lips, hidden beneath his unruly moustache, arranging it so it sits under his tongue. The three sit in silence for a moment, breathing, waiting. It’s a bit awkward, really. Marvin and Jameson stare at the walls.

Henrik tries looking out the window, but finds himself continuing to take peeks back at the man in Marvin’s arms. It’s not often he gets to see him. He never leaves his room, and always hides away whenever someone has to come into his room. Always distrustful of the world, always so afraid. Something in Henrik’s chest aches, ever so slightly, for the man. He’s been through too much.

The thermometer beeps quietly, breaking the silence. Marvin plucks the device from Jameson’s mouth and carefully hands it back to Henrik.

“Hm, yes, that’s a fever.” Henrik sets the thermometer on the desk so he can disinfect it later, and rummages around in his bag for some ibuprofen. Marvin is laying Jameson back down in bed.

“Okay, so he should take two of these now, then two more before bed. Lots of things to drink, lots of sleep.” He hands the pills to Marvin, who sets them by the juice on the nightstand.

“Sounds good to me.” They yawn, but still rub Jameson’s arm comfortingly. “I think I can take it from here. Thanks, Henrik.”

“Anytime.” Henrik smiles, standing up straight. He always loves an opportunity to help. He zips up his nice black bag before heading out the door.

He looks back to see Marvin help Jameson take a sip of his juice, washing down his medicine. He holds the glass gingerly, and lets Marvin take it from him when he’s done. His eyes flicker over to Henrik’s, still standing in the doorway, just for a moment. Henrik figures he should leave, now. But even heading back down the hallway, he can still feel the sick man’s gaze on him.

[builder051]

#77: Sorry I accidentally deleted your ask

But here it is. Tony trying to be the cool dad figure and let Peter taste alcohol... Obvious underage drinking and smoking, but in a controlled way. ------------------- Peter told May he was going to a weekend tech summit as part of the Stark internship. Tony told Peter they were going to round up some subway bombers. Well, he’d actually said the plan was to round up the motherfuckers and stop them from doing shit, but Peter’d googled some local news stories and more or less figured it out. Now he’s running in circles, webbing the two dorky college kid offenders together back-to-back like a pair of old western train robbers. FRIDAY’s talking Tony through diffusing the bomb. Or rather, “bomb,” since the explosives are of the caliber necessary to blow up a trash can and not much else. But still, the menace of subway delays is serious business, or at least it is to the transportation authority, and the greater New York public will be glad to see these dweebs in police custody. Plus, it’s good publicity for the superhero community. Of which Peter’s ecstatic to think of himself as a member. “Good work, kid,” Tony says, tossing the deactivated explosive device over his shoulder so it breaks into Lego-like pieces upon the impact with the tile floor. Then, “FRIDAY, call the cops.” “The emergency or non-emergency line, sir?” the AI’s accented voice asks. “Uh, let’s go with non-emergency,” Tony decides. “I think these jerks can hang around and wait a while.” The two bombers grit their teeth and glare. Casual subway riders are starting to stop and stare and take selfies. “Ok, good, we’re done,” Tony says once he’s finished placing the call. “Cops’ll come and them up.” “That was, like, really fast,” Peter comments. It’s still before noon on Saturday. He’d expected things to take a lot longer. “Yeah, this one wasn’t fun enough to draw out,” Tony replies. “Not enough aerial combat.” They climb the stairs up into the sunshine of Times Square. Tony hovers a few inches off the ground. He points at a glossy black SUV standing out from the sea of yellow cabs. “That’s Happy. Go get in the car. I’ll see you back in the lab in a couple hours.” “What, you’re not coming with me?” Peter asks, confused. “Me? Sit in a car and drive upstate? When I can fly there in a few minutes? Please.” Tony jets up another couple feet over the crosswalk. “Oh, ok. See ya soon. Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. But he wonders if he could possibly talk him into adding jet action to his next suit upgrade so maybe they can fly together sometime. Peter slides into the backseat of the car and immediately slips off his mask. “Hey, Happy,” he says. “Mm,” Happy acknowledges him. Peter’s done this enough times to know Happy isn’t thrilled to talk to him, so he just settles in for the long ride and reaches into his suit’s interior pocket to retrieve his phone. He checks Facebook, then plays overly-strategic games of Candy Crush until he’s out of lives. When they’re finally pulling up the long driveway to the Avengers facility, Peter has the side of his head pressed up against the window, trying not to be sleepy or carsick. “Alright. Get out,” Happy says as he stops the car near the building’s metal and glass front door. “Thanks for the ride,” Peter says, grabbing his phone and mask from the seat beside him and hastening out of the vehicle. Happy’s already speeding toward the separate garage by the time Peter’s opening the front door. He wonders if maybe Tony will let him take a car for a spin sometime… Then decides the answer is probably never in a million years. “Mr. Stark is in his lab on the ground floor,” FRIDAY announces as soon as Peter’s in the cavernous entryway. “Your room is prepared with clothes and toiletries if you’d like to stop off there first.” “Yeah, thanks,” Peter says to the AI. He hops in the elevator and rides it up to the 4th floor. He resists the urge to creep down the long hall and see if any of his neighbors are home. He’s dying to meet Steve Rogers in person, but the embarrassment that would certainly come from barging in on Captain America is a good deterrent. Once in his room, Peter strips out of his suit and grabs jeans and a t-shirt from his fully-stocked closet. He’s careful not to take any of his name-brand, Stark-provided wardrobe home with him so May doesn’t get suspicious, but he’s always up for the chance to put on the fancy threads. Peter heads into his impressively appointed bathroom to splash water on his face and investigate the collection of Axe body sprays lined up on the countertop. Once he’s confident he’s freshened up, Peter bounds back to the elevator to meet Mr. Stark in the lab. Tony’s bent over a long piece of red and blue fabric, using tweezers to adjust a line of miniscule sensors. He looks up when Peter steps out of the elevator. “Mr. Parker to see you, sir,” FRIDAY pronounces, a little belatedly. “No shit,” Tony replies. “Is that the upgrade to my suit?” Peter asks, peering at the project spread out on the lab bench. “Um, yeah,” Tony says, looking down at it, then back to Peter. “But, you know what, we’re gonna look at this later.” He lays his tweezers down like a bookmark and carefully folds up the fabric. “Oh,” Peter says, trying to hide his disappointment. “What are we doing now?” “I’ve been told by a few people that I’m a workaholic,” Tony says. “And a couple other –holic things that maybe aren’t as…positive.” Peter wonders where this is going. “So I’m gonna make an effort not to mess up with you.” Tony moves the project to a shelf of what appears to be other pending designs. “You’ve just been on a mission. The proper thing to do, for, you know, optimal mental health, is to debrief and relax.” “Ok,” Peter agrees, still a little unsure where this is going. “So, debrief,” Tony pronounces, slapping his empty lab bench with one hand. “You did good. You followed my orders. Uh. Suggestions, let’s call them suggestions. The mission was a success.” “Any, like, constructive criticism?” Peter asks, eager to improve. “Hm. You know when you were hogtying those kids together?” “Yeah,” Peter says, already picturing the moment. “It maybe would’ve looked cooler if you weren’t running in circles. You could’ve, you know, like, whipped creamed it, maybe.” Tony mimes the circular action of spraying Reddi Whip, then flips his wrist and tries it again. “I don’t know. Maybe bad for carpal tunnel. But at least you won’t look like a dog chasing its tail.” “Oh, yeah, ok,” Peter immediately agrees. “I’ll give it a try. Give me a web shooter. I’ll see if I can—” “Not working right now,” Tony reminds him. “Do that tomorrow. We’ve got all day.” “So…?” “So now, I’m teaching you how to relax. And keep from getting stressed out. And having panic attacks.” Tony opens a cabinet and pulls out two glasses and a bottle of scotch. Then he opens another and reveals a humidor. “I don’t know if I’m allowed…” Peter starts, curiosity and nervousness warring in his conscience. “You have adult supervision. You’re allowed.” Tony pours drinks and selects a couple cigars, then leads Peter to the couch and coffee table in a cozier corner of the lab. “Controlled exposure, I think it’s called? You see adults modeling positive use behavior, so you’re less likely to abuse. Or, you know, all the shit my dad never thought to do for me, so I turned out fucked up, and now I’m on a mission to make sure you don’t.” “Oh. Wow,” Peter murmurs. “That was…TMI. Sorry,” Tony says. “Here, come sit, and I’m gonna show you how to do this…” He shows the correct way to cut the cigar, then lights his and holds it between his teeth while he passes the cutter and lighter to Peter. “Yep, good, just like that,” Tony encourages while Peter chops off an end. “And, yeah, you got it. Ok, light it up now, and…” Peter places the cigar between his lips a little prematurely and inhales. He’s hacking when Tony says, “See, you don’t want to do that, otherwise that happens. So yeah, don’t inhale. Just kind of puff on it. It’s nice. Goes great with scotch.” Peter hesitantly lifts his glass and sniffs the alcohol. “I’m assuming you know not to chug that,” Tony says. “Sip. Puff. Chat. If you want. See? It’s relaxing.” Peter sees the appeal. Or, at least the appeal of being invited to partake in the ritual of possibly his favorite genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist. “So you, uh, do this after missions?” Peter asks, trying to alternate puff and sip without overwhelming his senses. “Yeah, when I get a chance. Sometimes it’s hard to remember to decompress…” Twenty minutes in, Peter’s halfway through his glass, growing a long ash on his cigar, and a little tired of both. The novelty’s worn off, and he’s decided he isn’t wild about either flavor. His head’s starting to feel a little fuzzy, and not in a comfortable, sleepy way. “How long do these burn for?” he asks, gesturing to his smoldering cigar. “An hour. Ish,” Tony replies, blowing a smoke ring at the ceiling. “If you’re asking how long till we get back to work, you’re missing the point of the exercise.” “No, I…It’s good,” Peter says. Lies. He takes another puff. The edges of his vision are starting to portray floating movements he’s pretty sure aren’t there. Unless the lab suddenly materialized on a boat instead of in a very sturdy building. But that’s absurd. Almost as absurd as the thought of him, a sophomore, smoking a fucking cigar. Another ten minutes pass, and Peter’s definitely dizzy. His stomach feels like it’s roiling around the liquor he’s swallowed. His fingers are sweaty and trembly on the cigar in his right hand. He abandons his glass on the coffee table and surreptitiously snakes his left arm around his stomach. Every functioning neuron in his brain, which is admittedly not many at this point, is saying he should give up on this attempt at relaxation. Peter definitely feels worse than he did when he started. He’s no less keyed up. It’s just that now he’s worried about being sick instead of about upgrading his suit. He does his best to ride out the silence and just breathe while his cigar smolders and shakes slightly over his lap. But when Peter’s brow starts prickling with sweat and his mouth fills with excessive smoky-flavored spit, he has to speak up. “Um. Mr. Stark?” “Yeah?” Peter fully intends his next words to be I don’t feel very good. He gets as far as, “I…” when bile explodes into his throat, and he hurriedly forces his remaining breath into, “I’mgonnathrowup.” “What?” Tony asks, maybe not understanding Peter’s rushed speech. He does understand the shuddering gag that sends Peter doubling over himself and nearly igniting his knee with his cigar. “Ok, here,” Tony springs to action. He snatches Peter’s smoke away and tosses it into an ashtray, then he gets a hand behind Peter’s back and shoves him in the direction of the lab’s bathroom. Peter stumbles under the weight of the dizziness and gets to his feet. His legs seem to be moving impossibly slowly compared to the speed of the sickness rising from his stomach. Peter can’t get the toilet lid up quickly enough, and he heaves on top of it once before his quivering fingers can slide beneath the heavy white plastic and push it open. Luckily it’s only a trickle of spit that comes up. The next few retches are just as hollow, echoing off the bleach-scented toilet water and making Peter’s tender head spin. “Hey, you alright?” Tony says from the doorway. “Nuh,” Peter manages. He finally manages to bring up alcoholic bile, and the taste makes him gag all over again. “Oh geez. I’m sorry. This is kind of all my fault,” Tony says while Peter tries to catch his breath. “No, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Peter tries to croak out, but he loses himself in another heave. “It’s not,” Tony says, seriousness creeping into his tone. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.” Peter uses a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth. He sits back on his heels and shakily flushes the toilet. “I just…wasn’t quite ready for…It’s kind of a shock to the system.” “Yeah, kid, you’re pretty shocked, there.” Tony’s sarcasm’s back. “Here, I’ll take you up to your room, you can crash out for a while.” Peter thinks of the elevator, and his heart practically drops through the floor. “No, I… really would rather stay here. Don’t…really want to move.” “Yeah, ok, you’re fried,” Tony chuckles. “Probably better to keep this between us anyway. If you can crawl your way back to the couch, I’ll clean up the evidence…”

[builder051]

Come to me now and rest your head part 11: 4th of July (MCU Captain America fanfic)

This is part 11 of a 15-chapter fic about Bucky’s return and recovery, as told through a year’s worth of rough holidays. Not every chapter will be emeto, but all have some form of physical illness or mental health struggle that could be categorized as sickfic or whump.

We are in powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure.

This is a remix of Stay with me, we’ll take the night, now all from Bucky’s perspective.

Contains migraine, ptsd/panic attacks, and vomiting.

_________________________________________________________________

On Steve’s birthday, Bucky’s desperate to be normal.  He wants to give Steve one day to celebrate and not be dragged down with Bucky’s problems.

They’d arranged to have a barbecue.  Nothing crazy, just their little circle of friends gathered at the townhouse for hamburgers and hotdogs and the view of the fireworks display on the National Mall. Though from their distance, it would be more like the view of a postage stamp.

Steve keeps saying kind things like you don’t have to, and Bucky keeps saying that he’s fine.  He’s well aware that, really, he’s not, but that’s beside the point.  Bucky’s been feeling alright physically.  The nightmares are no more or less than usual.  He hasn’t had a panic attack since May.  When Sam gave him the brief low-down on depression, he’d said it’s common.  It happens to a lot of people.  And it probably doesn’t keep them from hosting birthday parties for their significant others.

Steve’s taken off on his bike to pick up provisions from the grocery store, and Bucky’s making himself lunch.  He spreads mayonnaise and mustard on bread, carefully lines up turkey slices, and adds a piece of iceberg lettuce.  Bucky assembles the sandwich and cuts it in half before washing the knife and giving the kitchen a tidy.  Finally, he takes his plate to the table to munch while he re-reads the article on Egyptian mummies he’s bookmarked in his newly-subscribed Smithsonian magazine.

Bucky only gets through half his sandwich before a headache starts stealing his appetite and screwing his concentration.  He’s peering at a photograph of hieroglyphics from the inner walls of one of the pyramids, but somehow his mind’s showing him visions of busy Arabic-speaking marketplace folks falling at the end of his rifle.  And the sound…it’s as if he’s right there, hearing the shots and feeling the recoil.

But, no.  He’s in the townhouse.  Eating lunch.  Reading his magazine.

Bucky’s not hungry anymore.  He takes his plate to the counter and digs in the drawer for a roll of cling wrap.  He tears off a sheet with hands that are starting to shake and is halfway to draping it over the sandwich remnants when Bucky’s mind fires him another gunshot and he jerks to one side, the plastic sticking to itself and becoming useless.

He’s opening the cupboard under the sink, but can’t remember why.  Then Bucky reaches for the radio, but he doesn’t know the number for the station he wants.  His head’s throbbing and his vision’s blurry and he’s not sure how he makes it to the couch, but it’s a relief to have the soft upholstery under his face.

Eventually, there’s the sound of the front door scraping open.  The rustling of plastic bags.  The fridge opening and closing.  Then, Steve’s voice.  “Buck?”

Bucky exhales loudly by way of response.

Steve’s footsteps approach, and he murmurs, “Hey.”  Bucky can feel his hand hovering millimeters from his own fingers.  “Can I touch you?” Steve whispers.

Bucky breathes out again to give consent.

“Ok,” Steve rubs his back.  “You’re safe, ok?  You’re with me.”

Feeling somewhat grounded, Bucky rolls to face Steve and squint at him.  It seems a lot brighter in the living room than it was when he first lay down.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“Hey,” Bucky echoes, trying not to let pain leach into his voice.

“What’s going on?”

“Head fucking hurts,” Bucky says.  “And I keep hearing shit…”

“Aw, babe,” Steve whispers sympathetically.  “It’s the kids across the street.  They’re shooting off their fireworks already.  Probably breaking a million city ordinances…”

“Yeah, I figured,” Bucky says.  Internally, he’s raising his eyebrows with sudden comprehension.  He’d forgotten that people…do that.  He doesn’t want to sound stupid, so he says the first (stupid) thing that comes to mind.  “I think I broke the radio.”

Steve looks back to the kitchen.  “It might be ok,” he says.  “The tuner’s just knocked off, I think.  Were you looking for your station?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters.  “Every station’s playing fucking Justin Bieber.”  It’s his standby joke for why he prefers classic rock to pop hits.  He’s not actually sure what the speakers are spitting under the fuzz.

Steve laughs, but it’s drowned out with another sizzling boom.

Bucky curls into a fetal position, trying to discern whether the sound came from outside or inside his head.

“It’s ok,” Steve soothes.  “It’s those damn asshole kids.”

Bucky nods and keeps his eyes shut.

“Do you still want your music?  Or would that bother your head?”

“Yeah.  Music,” Bucky grunts out.  That’ll give him something to focus on.

“Ok, I’ll get the radio fixed up here…”  Steve pats his shoulder.

A few seconds later, Patty Smyth is filling the room.

Shootin at the walls of heartache

Bang, bang

I am the warrior…

“This ok?” Steve asks

“Fine,” Bucky says.

A second later, “Can I put this away?  Your lunch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers.  “Cling wrap’s broken too.”

He lays there, slightly dazed, mentally repeating each word of the song to keep himself focused on something he knows is real.

Then Steve’s back beside him.  “Hey, Buck, we don’t have to do this.”

“Hm?”

Steve sighs.  Explains it could be better to cancel the party.

“No,” Bucky says, propping himself up on his stump arm.  “It’s your birthday.  I’m gonna be fine.”  His head throbs, and he scrubs his hand over his eyebrows.

“Hey, if you’re not feeling good—“

“I’ll be fine.”  Bucky comes up to a seated position and slouches into the couch cushions.  “We’ve got time.”  He squints at the clock, but he can’t read the numbers, so he flicks his gaze out the window instead.

Another loud pop sounds, and Bucky feels the color drain from his face as pain and nausea solidify into a lump in his throat.  “Yeah, maybe I’ll just go to bed for a while.”  He gets unsteadily to his feet and heads for the stairs.

“Can I get you anything?  Excedrin?” Steve asks.

“No, just keep on, whatever you’re…” He loses his train of thought.  “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky closes the bedroom door and flops onto the mattress, curling onto his side and burying his face in Steve’s pillow.

Maybe he sleeps for a while, but Bucky can’t be sure.  He does know that the next time he’s aware, he’s struggling to flee.  He’s under fire, he can hear the enemy gunshots, and somehow he’s weaponless…

Bucky pushes the window open, pops out the screen, and parkours his way down the dusty white siding to the ground below.  He dashes behind a bank of bushes for cover and tries to decide whether the desire to run or vomit is more urgent.

I need to go back home.  Back to Steve, Bucky thinks.  But then suddenly he’s in the park and all the Frisbee-playing dads look like enemy operatives, so he gives in to the distraction and jumps a fence to take cover.  But then he’s in somebody’s yard, and he has to jump the fence again, and by that time he’s so fucking dizzy he has to sit down on the edge of the sidewalk until he hears another loud noise and the cycle starts again.

It’s almost dark when Bucky finally can’t go on anymore.  He's standing in the vacant lot beside a strip of stores and restaurants, holding the wall of the pizza place and puking into the dirt, almost blind and completely concussed.  He’s about to fall (and probably lose consciousness) when all of a sudden there’s a little high-pitched voice bobbing around his waist and interfering with his hallucinations.

“Are you sick?  Are you ok?  What’s wrong with you?”

But Bucky’s got the song stuck in his head, over the backbeat of explosions…

Shootin at the walls of heartache…

“Do you need a doctor?”

Bang, bang…

“Does your arm hurt?”

I am the warrior…

What was the question?  “No, my fucking head…”  Wait, he’s not supposed to cuss around kids.  Is this a kid?

“Is that why you barfed?”  Definitely a kid.

God, how do you explain a goddamn migraine to a kid?  It turns out, you don’t.  “Yeah,” Bucky croaks, jamming his thumb into his eye as if that will actually bring his vision back.

Somebody’s yelling.  Bucky cringes.

“What’s your name?”

“James.”

Somebody else is yelling.

I am the warrior…

No, somebody’s talking.  He missed something.  “Huh?”

“Are you a homeless vet?” the kid asks.

Bucky doesn’t get it.  He inches his head around to look at her, but he can only get a silhouette.  She repeats herself, and Bucky cobbles together an answer.  “No.  Well, kind of.  I have a home.”  He really feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“You should go home,” she suggests.

“Yeah, well…” It turns into a muddled explanation of the birthday party and Steve and…things.  Bucky's sensitive about his relationship, but to the little girl, blissfully growing up in post Obergefell v. Hodges America, everything seems fine.

Another explosion sounds, and Bucky cowers under his arm.  "Jesus...Fuck."

"It's just a firework," the little girl informs.  

Bucky's overwhelmed with relief that she can hear it too.  "God, I know.  But it hurts.  Makes me remember bad shit.  Stuff."  It's painfully obvious he doesn't know how to behave around kids.

"Like, war?" the girl asks.  She rattles off an incomplete list of different historical military events, none of which captures Bucky's past.  But, the sentiment and baseline knowledge are definitely there.

Bucky nods.  

Then she pipes up again, but more somber this time.  "Is that how you lost your arm?"

Bucky can feel her hovering inches from his stump shoulder, and in a burst of confused inspiration, he says, "You can touch it."

He half expects her to recoil and run away.  But the little girl softly runs her fingers down the sleeve of Bucky's T-shirt and across the scarred flesh beneath.  Then they stay quiet for a few minutes.

Bucky can hear running footsteps.  Evacuating civilians?  Advancing enemies?  Bucky raises his head and peels his aura-stricken eyes open to see a couple of kids, maybe a little older than the girl, running around with sparklers.  He suddenly remembers Steve's explanation of "asshole kids with fireworks" from earlier, and Bucky's torn between oh, them and maybe they're not so bad.

The kid follows Bucky's gaze and explains that they're her brothers.  Then she asks, "What's your boyfriend's name?"

Bucky tells her.

"Does he love you?"  This is getting profound.

"Yeah..."

"With one arm?"

"...Yeah..."

"Then he's gonna love you even though you got sick on his birthday."  

It's so lame and cute and perfect that Bucky almost laughs when he says, "Yeah.  I know."

The big brothers are yelling at their sister again, trying to get her to come light a sparkler.  Bucky tries to shake her off, tells her to go play.

She goes for a moment, but then she's back with a sparkler for Bucky as well.

They watch the goldish sparks fly in the early darkness.  Then Bucky hears, from a ways down the sidewalk, "Buck!"

It's Steve.  He's there in a second, and Bucky gives the girl his sparkler so he can stand up and stumble into Steve's chest.

Steve makes sure he's ok, then holds Bucky while he calls Sam.  Bucky remembers again that they have houseguests.  Shit.

Bucky tries to apologize, and the little girl tries to explain to Steve all of what's happened, and then Sam and Nat and Clint and Laura and Tony and Pepper and seemingly everyone Bucky knows is gathered around him saying soothing things and patting him on the back.  Laura manages to grab Bucky by the shoulders, feel his temperature, and force him to admit he still feels like shit.  She makes him sit down, take Excedrin, and drink some water.

They all sit in the dirt, like they're around a nonexistent campfire, and giggle at nothing for a while.

Then the booming starts up again, but it's more muted and distant.  Like rolling thunder.  It's the fireworks display on the National Mall, tiny and far away from their suburb.  Steve pats Bucky's shoulder and asks him if he needs to go home.

Bucky does, but not right away.  He wants to watch the show.  And wish Steve a happy birthday.

The first time Bucky and Steve host a party, they end up sitting in a vacant lot late into the night.  And they can't say it's completely not enjoyable.