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deblklesb · 4 months

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[Phantoms of Past — Abby x Reader]

[AFAB!reader, friends to lovers, Christmas themed, br!reader, angsty, MDNI]

a/n: well, is this late for Christmas? yes. but do i care? also yes bc i'm paranoid and have some need to make stuff on time, so imagine my despair when i couldn't finish this. but i ALSO know that I'm doing my best, and for that i have to pat my own back. anyway, this is for my brazilian besties out there!!!

cw: reader is brazilian, usage of phrases in pt-br with the translation after and between parenthesis, owen mentioned (this man is a cw by himself idc this is not a owen appreciated blog), mutual pinning, Abby understands portuguese and even talks some. let me know if i forgot something.

not proof read | word count: 3,274

reblogs are highly appreciated!!

While you drive through the recently cleaned streets of the neighborhood you grew up, thanking the heavens that it stopped snowing for now, the radio plays a seasonal song and your murmur along. The traffic on the main roads were chaotic, almost as congested as your uncle's arteries, but now the decorated rooftops and doorsteps replaced the headlights on your peripheral vision. In front of a house stood a snowman, or at least his body stripped of arms and face.

You park in front of a house with simple adornments and flashers around the main door, a LED deer standing next to it and a small table with fake cookies and milk on top. All the energy was so reminiscent of the years you'd spend a whole day decorating the house with your mom, mainly inside, just so your father and sister could take care of the outside. Now that you both were grown and away, the couple occupied itself with the house interior and resumed the exterior with a simple approach. It never failed to take a smile from you, though, especially seeing the way they would adhere to simple things just because it looked cute, even if it had nothing to do with their native traditions.

Coming from Brasil, for the first part of your life you had hot weather and sunny days on Christmas. Maybe a night of rain, but never snow. Fireworks and catholic mass were on the list, but your parents went just to go along with the rest of the family and friends. They weren't religious, so in the end Christmas was simply another holiday, but with presents and - as all the other holidays - a family gathering. The main difference now was that you were studying in another city, becoming one of the absent relatives; you know, the ones that mainly go home for the holidays and vacations. It wasn't bad, but they definitely missed you a lot and the feeling was mutual.

Using your key to get in, the sounds of Simone’s “Então É Natal” (“And So It Is Christmas”), a brazilian holiday song, hit you immediately. You chuckle, taking off your boots and coats. From the front corridor the ornamented tree is visible, carrying innumerous lights and details. There's probably not a single empty wall, the seasonal decoration filling every inch of your field of vision.

“There she is!” Your father shouts as you appear in the living room smiling. The man goes into your direction with open arms, holding you tight. You smell that same cologne he wears since you can remember anything, and along with the warmth of the house, it truly feels like home. Some of the tension from university and work just falls on the carpet, leaving your body to receive all the good things inside that place.

“Carlos, you'll smash our child and I cannot have another one”, your mom yells somewhere from the kitchen direction, making you laugh.

“I can get another one anywhere, Marília”, he finally lets go, an arm around your shoulders. “Won't be as nice as this one, though”

“Of course not, she's irreplaceable”, your cousin Felipe says, approaching. “Prima, você tem feito falta!” (“Cousin, you have been missed!”) He holds you sideways with an insane amount of exaggeration, taking an embarrassed chuckle from you. Felipe was a lawyer with a lot of charisma, but inside he was just your cousin that your mom liked a lot. You both used to play together growing up. “From some people, a little too much”, he whispers playfully before running away, not letting you scold him for bringing up something you were not prepared to deal with this earlier, especially when the person implied wasn't even around. Yet.

Your father doesn't seem to notice, now talking with your mom again.

“Hey, Alice”, you wave to Felipe’s wife sitting on the couch, drinking something on a Christmas themed mug.

“Hey, sweetie! How's uni?”

“Tiring”, you shrug. “How about the kids?”

Your name is once again shouted through the house, and as you turn around three kids are running into you. Camila, Jorge e Rayana hold your waist, almost making you fall with a laugh. Camila is the oldest, at five years old, but the others are at the age of three. They're simply the most precious people in that family.

“Meus pestinhas!” (“My little brats!”) You start messing their hairs and pinching their ears playfully.

“Eu perdi um dente, olha!” (“I lost a tooth, look!”) Camila smiles widely, showing the first little window on her mouth.

“Ela tá ficando banguela e feia” (“She's getting toothless and ugly”) Jorge points out, and by Camila's reaction this isn't a new saying.

“Well, that's too bad. Because you'll get toothless and ugly too, just wait a few years”, Rayana and Camila laugh as the boy pouts at your response, looking at their mom.

“Vamo, vamo, abram espaço. Preciso abraçar minha filha” (Come on, come on, clear the way. I need to hug my daughter) Your mom’s voice finally reached the living room before her arms were wrapped around your torso. It's warm and familiar, you've missed her so much.

“Oi, mãe” (“Hey, mom”)

“Você tá tão magrinha, filha. Aposto que não anda comendo direito na correria, né?” (“You're so skinny, child. I bet you haven't been eating well in all the rush, right?”) The caressing she does on your back is reassuring, and by that you can tell you're going back with bowls filled with food. “Sua irmã vai chegar só mais tarde, seu pai vai buscar ela na estação” (“Your sister will arrive just later, your father will pick her up on the station”)

“When will uncle Jerry get here? He said he would get me new crayons”, Rayana mumbles while playing with one of the numerous ornaments on the lit up tree.

You try not to react to what that phrase implies, going with your mom to the kitchen to busy your hands and your mind with something else. She would probably kick you out of there soon anyway, she never liked having other people in the kitchen with her unless very necessary. But the need to act normal, smile and not think about family friends coming over it's bigger than the prospect of being scolded out of a room.

While the conversation continues in the living room and the song plays to never leave an empty place in your audition, you hover around the place talking with your mom about the neighborhood news and her routines in the morning walks group. It's comforting to know about what's going on, even if it doesn't really affect your life.

You help her cut the bread to make rabanadas (french toasts), looking forward to finally eating them. It's one of your favorite things of this season, even though you could actually find it anywhere at any time of the year. But the memories of having a plate of those on the supper table, covered in sugar and cinnamon, it's one of your favorites. So you're dividing your attention between the chore of slicing the bread and listening to your mom speaking, when a name being yelled in the living room catches your ear and you almost cut the tip of your thumb.

It's Jorge’s voice. “Abby!”

It's a blessing your mom didn't notice it, but now you have a bigger motive to stay inside the kitchen and never leave it.

No matter how much your mother talked, or the music filled the air, or the people in the other room got into different conversations within the group; her voice seemed louder than any other thing to you. You would swear she was next to the table you had the cutting board on, chatting with the children and playing with them.

You could swear you could listen to her whispering to you about lonely nights and missing pieces of a puzzle.

“Tia!” (“Auntie!”)

Your mom stops speaking just to turn around and look into the tall woman's direction. “Abigail!” Her comforting, mothering arms hold the strong torso, and the blonde needs to be in a not very straight posture to fully embrace your mom. What could you say, hightness wasn't in your family's genes.

“One of these days you'll be able to carry me around, with how big and strong you're getting!” And they both laugh as if Abby didn't live at the end of the block and they saw each other constantly.

All the while, you're trying to avoid the upcoming, inevitable moment. Your eyes glue on the bread, but you're not really looking at it. They're talking but you can't decipher the words, just assimilate the sweet voice making your cells tremble in vibrations. Cutting another piece, and another, then another, then-

“Puta que pariu-” (“Motherfucker-”), a drop of blood falls onto the cutting board when you pull your hand away, thumb red and hurting.

“What happened?” Your mom asks, concern in her voice.

“I cut my finger”, the running water of the sink makes the wound sting when you put the finger under it, the blood keeps coming out.

“I can take care of that if you need to”, Abby says, making you look directly at her for the first time of the night.

And you have to give the lack of air to the pain. You have to, because otherwise you would be admitting that looking at her takes your breath away.

“Yeah, Abby is working as a nurse in a school now. I bet she's used to this type of thing”, Marília goes to the cutting board, taking the pieces you've cut already.

There's nowhere to run over this. What will you say, that you don't want her to take care of your wound? That you can't be next to her, orelse all the coherent thoughts in your mind will fade away, leaving room for her voice? That your fingers ache to touch her?

You look to your still bleeding finger under the open faucet, then to the tall, blonde woman again. And while your mother wasn't looking, you both had a silent conversation about something, everything. She could see the doubt in your eyes, but you could see the pleads in hers.

“Sure, I think it wouldn't be much…” You try to smile, finally turning the faucet off and grabbing a towel to wrapp around your finger.

You both go upstairs, she tells you how there was a first aid kit in the bathroom and your stomach jumps at the realization that she knew your house more than yourself probably. Looking forward at all times and trying not to pay too much attention to her careful hand touching your arm like she was guiding you around the place.

“Go to your room, I’ll take the kit”, and you don’t even look at her to see how she was looking at you. You don’t know how that hurt her, mainly because you’re trying to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

The room is just like you always leave it after the breaks, bed neatly covered and books on the shelves. Some stuffed animals that you couldn’t bear to donate were aligned on a shelf next to a poster of a band you liked, the black and red contrasting with the creamy colors of a small giraffe. You saw the table where once you were pressed against, the lamp giving a soft light on the room as you felt a pair of lips so close to yours after all those years of yearning and silent pining.

“Okay, let’s give this a look” she was back using that voice, the one for the workplace. Tender, but firm; like she was trying to be secure, but reassuring.

Abby pulled the chair next to the table so she could sit in front of you, her knees together between your separated legs as she carefully took your hand and unwrapped the towel. Crimson drops started to flow down your finger, and the blonde woman never took the blue eyes away from the cut.

The distance wasn’t enough. Her scent would haunt the bedroom all night, making you dream about her just like it happened before, during your late school years, when she came to spend the day and left you numb and daydreaming. Her touches were so gentle, featherlight.

“It wasn't that bad, we can handle it”, she muttered like she was talking to one of the students from the school she worked at. “So, how's college?”

“It's okay, I guess”, with eyes glued on your own hand, you tried not to notice her thighs too much. “I've been working my ass off to write a paper while keeping up with classes and the monitoring thing”

“You'll get this, I'm sure”, you looked up just in time to see a smirk on her lips, but then returned to look down again before being trapped on that hypnotizing expression. “After all, you've always been very good with your words”

“It was easier in school, though”

“It always is”, she cuts the bandage before wrapping your finger with it. “But that's the thing, right? We start to realize how school was maybe easier, but then again, would you rather be back?”

“Oh, fuck no”, you chuckle as she finishes the curative. “I wouldn't change this for that”

“Yeah”, you finally look up more confident, meeting her indescribable expression. “I would change some things, actually”

“Like what?” You're just keeping the conversation, just trying to let it flow well enough for it to be bearable. You surely weren't expecting the next phrase.

“I wouldn't have dated Owen”, she sighs.

Owen was Abby's boyfriend. They started dating in the last year of school, and looked very much in love, for your displeasing. He wasn't a bad guy per se, but the fact that you already had a crush on Abby made you think that your feelings towards him were totally based on jealousy. So every single thing you had to say about him would be shoved down your throat immediately, and you'd just smile and nod to your friend anytime she mentioned him. You told her he was nice - couldn't bring yourself to say more than that - and supported their relationship with the most painful role in that whole story: the best friend with an unrequited crush.

By fall you found out she and Owen had broken up. Right after…

“Why is that?” Her eyes wander from the quilt to your hands, then back to your face. They were so beautiful, you could spend the rest of the night admiring them. Or the way her hair would fall around her face with soft lines, how her freckles were so attractive to the touch, especially on her arms.

“Don't think I was really into him… At least not in the right way”, Abby was the one not looking at you now, almost more interested in putting the stuff back on the kit box. “I could've been honest with him… And with you”

“Abby-”

“That's fine…” She shrugged. “He was a little bit of a dumbass anyway”

Silence falls around you both, filling the room with an emptiness.

The image of them both in your living room, last Christmas, haunts your mind as soon as you remember how you knew nothing and was too caught up in your own thoughts at the time. The way she laughed at his jokes, making your stomach turn as you smiled politely. Or how you saw them kissing next to the coat holder by the front door, and all the food you ate wanted to come back in awful bitterness.

You never told anyone. Never said a word, as always, rather keeping the green feeling on the back of your mind in order to not do something stupid - like being rude or start crying.

But then, you came home for the summer break. You dad was making barbecues in the backyard, you mom decorated the house with all the stuff your cousin brought from Brasil on his last trip, and you'd listen to pagode in the living room while the kids were playing and running, waiting for the meat to be properly roasted so they could finally eat.

Internally, you were ready to deal with that same gut-rotting feeling all over again. The plan was to sustain the fake expression until the time allowed you to pull the tiredness card on everyone and go to your room to watch some old telenovela.

Abby showed up alone, greeting everyone as usual. And when she looked at you, you could swear that was something in her eyes that could make you shiver. How she took your figure in before hugging you, how she held you so tight and for a little bit longer. How she was always trying to be next to you. You couldn't decipher, though, and the whole day went by mixing the confusion of her being without Owen and not even mentioning his name, and the rush of being that close to her again.

That night, in your room, she kissed you. Right there, where you were sitting now, she held your face between your hands and your skin shivered, while her lips touched yours.

You waited for years. Kissing her was probably one of the only things you wanted to do every time she was around, flesh craving hers. And it finally happened… But she had a boyfriend.

So you never talked about it again. You went back to college and texted her less and less.

“Abby, Abby, Abby!” A childish voice came from the corridor, the door opened to show Rayana. “Come here, I need your help to defeat Jorge and papai” (dad)

“Okay, I'll be there in a second!” The blonde smiled before the girl ran back downstairs. “Well, it seems like a have a duty”

“Can't let her down, she'll never forgive you”, you both chuckled while she got out of the room, first to leave the kit back in the bathroom and then to go to the living room again.

Sighing, you laid back on the mattress. Just like that summer night, you were alone in your room trying to collect your feelings about an interaction with Abby. Heart beating fast and a familiar warmth on your chest, wanting to curse every single entity for putting you in this position.

You came down maybe 15 minutes later, mask back on to decorate your face with a smile. You saw the tall woman on the mat with the younger children on top of her, attacking her while laughs filled the place.

“Okay, okay, saiam de cima da Abigail” (“Get off of Abigail”) Your mom didn't have to say it twice before they were sitting next to her. “Abigail, I need a favor. Remember that bowl I lent to you last week?”

“Sure”, her arms seemed stronger now that she was supporting herself on the elbows. Why was she so gorgeous?

“I need you to get it for me, darling”

“Okay, I got it”, Abby got up and immediately went grabbing her coat again.

And you were about to go back to the kitchen to make yourself useful, but it couldn't be that easy.

“Filha, vai com ela. Está nevando bastante, não é bom dirigir sozinha nesse tempo” (“Daughter, go with her. It's snowing a lot, it isn't good to drive alone in the weather”)

“Oh, it's not necessary-” She really tried, but your mom wouldn't take a negative answer.

“I'm not asking, you won't go alone!”

You nod and start putting on heavy clothes. It was okay, all good. You both would get in the house, grab the bowl, and get back in no time. It would be fine.

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #tlou abby #tlou2 abby #abby the last of us 2 #christmas theme #deblklesb #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2

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gregorovitch-adler · 7 months

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Sock

"John this is ridiculous."

"I know! But it's fun, so let's go for it."

"Aren't we supposed to put the notes in some Christmas stockings?"

"Forgot to buy them," said John, closing his eyes momentarily. "Let's just use a pair of socks instead. They're perfectly clean."

"D'you think Father Christmas is real?" asked Sherlock, picking up a fresh, lone sock from the coffee table. "You think he'd fulfill my wish if I just wrote it on a paper and placed it in this stupid sock?"

"I don't! I realised long ago during my childhood that he isn't real. But Harry and I used to do it anyway. It just became a habitual thing," said John as he tore off a piece of paper from a small notebook and scribbled something on it. He folded that paper and placed it in the other sock - which was of the same pair as Sherlock's.

He looked up at Sherlock with expectation, who was just sitting there on his armchair, looking at the floor with his lips pressed together.

"Go on," said John and passed another piece of paper and a pen to Sherlock across the coffee table.

"If you know your wish isn't going to come true, this whole thing is a waste of time," Sherlock said and picked up the pen paper to write something anyway.

"It's not! Think of it as a type of manifestation." John stretched his legs and yawned.

They didn't have elaborate Christmas celebrations in 221 B, but John was still happy about tomorrow. Any special occasion spent at home - with Sherlock - was a day well spent.

"I don't believe in all that. Whatever's going to happen will happen. No matter how much you manifest."

John shook his head and sighed. "All right. Suit yourself then. I'm off to bed."

John got up from his armchair with the sock in his hand. He walked across the room to the fireplace and hung the sock over it.

His note inside it was short and simple: My Current Life.

He knew it was not a wish, technically, but he did not want any external factors to take Sherlock and his life at 221 B away from him. Again.

He'd had a deep and long talk with Sherlock about the staged suicide, and why Sherlock had to do it. John had finally started to see that incident from Sherlock's perspective too, and he really wished to keep his current life forever.

Besides, John knew that his feelings for Sherlock were unrequited, and things between them were going to be that way. It was not as though he could ask for Sherlock as his partner. He would rather keep his manifestations realistic.

With these thoughts, John went to the staircase leading to his room and started to climb up.

He entered his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and hopped onto the bed immediately. It didn't take him long to doze off.

John's eyes fluttered open in the middle of the night. He was thirsty. He got up and dropped his feet on the floor. After stretching his limbs, he got off the bed and stepped out of the bedroom to go downstairs.

John stopped in the middle of the staircase to take in the whole sitting room. They had decorated the Christmas tree a day before, and despite Sherlock's complaining now and then, it had been a pleasant time.

John noticed a pair of socks hanging above the fireplace - not just his own. He smiled. Sherlock had participated in something just because John had asked him to.

John went to the kitchen to grab a glass from one of the cabinets. He took it to the sink and opened the tap to fill it.

As he began to drink, leaning against the counter, John stared at the socks in the sitting room again.

He and Sherlock were not too dissimilar from a pair of socks, were they? Each completed the other; both were useless on their own.

He did not know about Sherlock, but John knew he was pretty much useless without him.

John closed his eyes and shook his head to get these thoughts out of his head again. He sighed. If only Sherlock felt the same.

Finishing the glass of water, he put it in the sink and wondered: What had Sherlock written in the note inside his sock?

John went to the sitting room and walked to the fireplace to reach for the other sock. He knew he shouldn't be looking into someone else's note - it was prying, and it defeated the purpose - but for some reason, he could not stop himself from doing it that night.

After all, what was it that Sherlock wanted in his life so much that he ended up hanging the sock with the note - when he didn't even believe in things like that? John felt like he needed to know.

John ran his fingers over the fabric of that sock, feeling the piece of paper from the outside.

John looked over his shoulder before finally taking out the paper. He swallowed as his heart began to race. He opened the paper carefully with his fingers, and his jaw dropped when he saw what the note said.

John.

Was he dreaming? Had Sherlock written that to mess with John? But no... he wouldn't have expected John to read the note. No, it was real!

Sherlock had wished for John this Christmas. It sounded unrealistic, so John turned around the note this way and that to see if there was more to it.

Nothing. Sherlock had actually wanted John, and that was it. Nothing else.

John couldn't control the huge grin forming on his face. But that grin quickly turned into a rueful smile. If only he had known about it sooner. Then again, John had not done a great job communicating about his feelings to Sherlock either.

Anyway, as he folded the paper to place it back in the sock, John made a decision.

The moment he faced Sherlock again in the morning, he was going to discuss this with him finally. No more misunderstandings. John was going to put an end to this pining tomorrow.

But tonight, he was going to sleep fine - cherishing the memory of Sherlock's note in that sock.

Tagging: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @missdeliadili @lookingforlifeoutthere @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @calaisreno @kettykika78

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes/john watson #sherlock x john #ficlet #new ficlet #fic writing #30 days of sherlock september 2023 #prompt: sock #fluff #Christmas theme #pining john watson #sherlockian #sherlock headcanon

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