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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

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My Superhero

MAIN MASTERLIST

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,500ish

Summary: You and Steve’s relationship is fairly new, so you haven’t told him everything yet.

Notes: I did a Tony Stark one about chronic illness called Invisible Pain. I wanted to do a Steve Rogers one as well.

Feeling completely well on any given day was a luxury. It never really mattered what medicine, diet, or amount of essential oil you put on, your joints hurt. End of story. Of course, it wasn’t completely random. You had Rheumatoid Arthritis, so there was a reason for it. You just sometimes wished that your arthritis was located in specific joints instead of all of them.

You were currently in your apartment getting ready for your fifth date with none other than Captain America’s, Steve Rogers. He was suppose to pick you up in a little more than an hour and, yet, you still couldn’t get out of your pj’s to shower. Your shoulders were causing you excruciating pain. Trying to take your shirt off was bringing you to tears, each try more unsuccessful than the next.

You were at a loss of what to do. You had yet to inform Steve about your chronic illness due to past experiences. Every other man you had dated, or tried to, quickly left you in the dust after finding out that you would forever be sick and that it would slowly get worse with age. So you had told yourself that you would tell Steve once you were official, even though there was still a chance of heartbreak even then. You just wanted to enjoy this while it lasted.

Steve was so sweet, kind, and gentle towards you. You two had met after he accidentally walked into you about two months ago on the side walk. This was only your five date in that span of time due to the missions he was constantly being called on. Though, the two of you texted or talked on the phone whenever you could.

You were currently sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at the typed up message just waiting to be sent. At this point, canceling the date was your only option. You couldn’t change and you had already maxed out on drugs for the night. You sighed, a tear strolling down your cheek, as you pressed sent.

You: Hey, Steve :) I’m so sorry to do this to you at such late of notice, but something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it today. Sorry :( Can we reschedule?

It didn’t take long for Steve to respond.

Steve: hey doll :) is everything okay?

You: Yeah, I’m just not feeling the greatest. But I’ll be fine after some much needed rest. How does next Friday sound?

Steve: Next Friday sounds wonderful. But are you sure you’re okay? Do you need anything? I could come over and we could stay in for the night. Order food and watch one of the movies I’ve yet to catch up on.

This man was too good to you. Almost too perfect. But you were too scared. You didn’t want to lose him just yet. You were enjoying it too much to be hurt already.

You: I’ll be fine, Steve. I just need some rest. You should probably get some too. I’ll talk to you later.

He didn’t respond. You sighed, laying back on your bed, tensing at the pain in your joints. You closed your eyes, trying to will your pain away, to no avail. Apparently, you had slightly fallen asleep because when a few knocks sounded at your door, you jumped up. Immediately regretting it because of the pain that shot through your joints.

Confused, dazed, and in pain, you shuffled over to the door. You didn’t even bother checking the peep hole before opening the door. Your jaw practically dropped to the floor at the sight in front of you. There was Steve, standing there in sweatpants and sweat shirt, your favorite flowers in one hand and two boxes of pizza in the other.

“Steve?” You questioned quietly, willingly yourself to stay put instead of run away embarrassed. You knew you didn’t look your best. “What—what are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” he responded with a gentle smile. “Can’t have my best girl feeling unwell now, can I?”

“Steve,” you shook your head, “you really didn’t—“

“Of course I did. Now, are you going to let me in or do I have to let myself in?”

Biting your lip, you opened the door wider, letting him walk in. Steve went straight to the kitchen, setting the pizzas down on the counter.

“Do you have a vase?” He asked, looking around. “For the flowers?”

“Under the sink,” you responded. “Um… I’m going to change.” You pointed over your shoulder, immediately regretting it and grimacing.

“Y/N, is something wrong?” His concerned eyes raked over you.

“No, nothings wrong. I just need to change. I-I haven’t gotten out of these all day.”

The look in his blue eyes told you all you needed to know, he didn’t believe you. You turned around as quickly as you could. You could feel his eyes following you as you disappeared into your room. You slowly pulled down your pj pants, holding in a cry as you did. Pulling up clean sweats was easier, thankfully. It was the new shirt, you knew would be the killer.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and tried to pull it over your head. Failing to conceal the whimpered cry that left your lips, you heard Steve’s quick footsteps stop at your door.

“Y/N?” He called outside the door. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you responded, clearly your throat. “I’m fi-fine.”

“Are you sure? Do… do you, uh, need help?”

“No! I’ll be right out.”

Steve didn’t move from his spot outside your bedroom door. In fact, he leaned in, pressing his ear to the door. He could hear you breathing deeply, like you were trying to calm down. Which concerned him. You had told him that you hadn’t been feeling well, but you looked like you were fine. So what was going on? He waited, keeping quiet at your door.

Inside, you were still trying to get your shirt off. You were riding it up, but you couldn’t get it past your breasts. You let out a louder cry, finally breaking. Steve couldn’t wait any longer, he came in to see you in tears on your bed.

“Oh, doll,” he cooed, heart breaking at the sight of you. He rushed over and sat beside you on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m so sorry, St-steve,” you cried. “I didn’t want you to find out like this… honestly, I hoped you would never find out.”

“Find out about what?”

He went to put an arm around you, to pull you into him. But when he put his hand on your shoulder, you winced and let out a small whine. His hand quickly was off your shoulder and the furrow between his brows increased.

“Y/N? What’s going on?”

“I… I… I’m sick.”

“Like, with the flu? Or… or worse?”

“I guess, you could say, something in between.” You looked at Steve to see him intently listening. “I… I have arthritis. Rheumatoid Arthritis. It’s where, well… my body is attacking its own tissue and joints. Even… even my internal organs. As I age, it will slowly get worse. Possible bone erosion and joint deformity… It’s painful, but I’ve been able to manage it. I still have good days and bad. Today… today’s—“

“A bad day. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because all the other guys I’ve dated have left me after finding out. I… I like what we have. And I don’t want to lose it. But… but I’ll understand if this is too much for you.” You looked down at the hands resting in your lap. “It is for everyone else.”

“Y/N… can you look at me, doll?” He carefully guided your head back up. “I am so extremely sorry that others have been so stupid. They obviously don’t know what they’re missing out on. And I guess that makes me lucky, cause now I get to know you and get to fall in love with you.”

“You’re… you’re falling in love with me?”

Steve nodded. “Yes. And I would like the opportunity to keep doing so, if you’ll have me?”

“Of course. Will you… will— you still want to date me?”

“The fact that you go through life every day, trying your hardest and pushing yourself, even though you don’t have to. That only makes me fall more in love with you.” He gently cupped your cheek. “You’re a real superhero.”

You giggled. “No, I’m just—“

“My superhero. You’re my superhero.” He pressed a short kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for telling me. Please know that you don’t have to hide from me. I really don’t want you to. I want to help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

He gave you another kiss. “Now, how about we eat the probably cold pizza and watch anything you want?”

“I’d like that.”

I have Rheumatoid Arthritis, but I would like to remind people that everyone who has it suffers from it differently. This story is based off of my own personal pain and struggles. I go through most days pushing through the pain that is constantly there without most people realizing. And I know that I’m not the only one.

Remember, everyone is going through unseen challenges. Please be kind to everyone you interact with/come across.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are always welcome!

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america

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uwuwriting · 3 years

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Breaking in pt.2 w/ Aizawa, Shinsou and Bakugou

Request: Hi!! SoooOO I recently found your stuff and it's safe to say I am ✨obsessed✨ I LOVED the post you did of the BNHA reacting to someone breaking in with Hawks, Dabi and Todoroki. I was wondering if you could do another one with like Shinsou, Bakugou and Aizawa. I feel like Baku would throw mad HANDS. love your work stay stuff and have a good day x - anonymous

Okay I too love rescue fics and being kidnapped or held hostage is one of my favorite tropes. Throwing your kids in the mix is immaculat at least for me because I’m a die hard fan of domestic AUs. So of course I’m gonna write this trope again with these three idiots. I enjoyed writing the previous one so hehheehehehhe. Love ya. 💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: some descriptions of violence, some crying but fluff/comfort in the end.

Aizawa Shota II a son (Kaito)

-He was running late.

-He hated running late.

-Today the class had extra training hours and it lasted longer than he expected, so much so that he had to call for someone to fill in his spot on patrol tonight.

-In reality he really wanted to spend the night at home with you and your 2 year old son, canceling his patrol because the kids didn’t finish training was just an excuse.

-He had shot you a text informing you that he would be home tonight but a little later than usual.

-You had just picked up Kaito from his aunt when you got Aizawa’s message.

-You were excited to spend some time with your husband.

-Between your time teaching and his midnight patrols, the only moments you truly got to spend with him were in between the classes or when he came home for dinner and then immediately left.

-You knew he felt bad leaving the two of you alone for so long and you knew he beat himself up for missing precious time with his son.

-Opening your apartment door you were met with complete silence which was odd.

-Usually your three cats, Mochi, Mocha and Coco would meet you at the door, mewing and purring at your feet, Kaito always wanting to be put down so he could pet them.

-Now though none of them came and you immediately knew something was up.

-Your spidey senses were tingling.

-Setting your stuff down you held Kaito closer to you as you slowly walked around your living room and kitchen.

-Nothing seemed amiss.

-Kaito let out a small whimper and shifted in your grip as something moved behind you.

-Just because you retired from being a hero doesn’t mean your skills have disappeared.

-Oh no, as a new mom you were hyper aware of your surroundings and you easily dodged the blow that was aimed at your head.

-Whipping around you came face to face with a hooded figure that seemed more like a burglar than a villain.

-The dude's eyes quickly landed on Kaito and he let out a shaky breath.

-They definitely weren’t villains.

-People were aware of Aizawa’s family and any villain who tried to get to him through you would have known about Kaito’s existence.

- “Shit…. Yo she has a kid!”

-Another one came pounding from the hallway, eyes quickly landing on the baby you had clutched to your chest.

-Letting out an exasperated sigh the second intruder rolled his eyes, grabbing an umbrella from the hanger and slowly making his way towards you.

- “Just knock her out and tie her up, put the kid in a crib or something.”

-You weren’t about to let them touch your son, they wouldn’t even be able to come remotely near him.

-Activating your quirk, thrumming filled the air as you were prepared to fight them, to keep them away from the crying child in your arms and that’s when you saw him.

-He is always so silent, his footsteps so gentle on the marble floor of your apartment that you have convinced yourself that he is indeed half cat at this point.

-Aizawa was burning holes at the back of their heads, hair up as he activated his quirk, cancelling theirs.

-You kissed Kaito as Shota let his capture tool fly across the room successfully trapping the two burglars.

-In six strides you were next to him, checking for injuries on each other while simultaneously trying *and failing mostly* to calm your 2 year old down.

-The police were called, naming this whole incident as a random burglary and not a scheduled attack, relieving both of you; you didn’t wanna move again.

-That night Kaito slept in your room, cuddled on Aizawa’s chest as you were nestled under his arm.

-Three fur balls were curled at the foot of your shared bed, purring away lulling you to sleep.

-You found those three locked in your bathroom.

-Apparently Mocha had scratched the living hell out of one of the burglars and they had locked all of them in the bathroom for safe measure.

- “I’m sorry for this.”

- “Burglaries happen Shota, it wasn’t your fault. I’m glad you came when you did, fighting while holding Kaito would have been kinda difficult. I think I might be getting kinda rusty.”

-He stroked Kaito’s plush cheek before letting out a sigh.

- “I have never seen him cry like that. When he sees me he always calms down but now-”

- “He was scared, Shota. He saw them before I did and the whole situation shook him up. But he’ll be fine, he’s got us.”

-Giving you a kiss and then placing another one on his son’s forehead, he closed his eyes, arms tightening around the both of you a little.

Shinsou Hitoshi II a daughter (Kei)

-Hitoshi had been to every single pharmacy in the area searching for Kei’s medication.

-She had gotten sick and you had asked him to fetch some antibiotics your pediatrician had suggested you give her if her fever didn’t go down.

-Now, Hitoshi was getting desperate.

-It was the flu season and almost all the pharmacies had emptied their shelves from this particular antibiotic.

-He was ready to pull his hair out.

-Apart from that, he also hated leaving you alone like this.

-You both needed him at the moment and he wasn’t helping at all.

-Kei was suffering from her fever while you were about 7 weeks pregnant and he was out here running around like a maniac.

-In one last desperate attempt he entered another pharmacy and to his surprise they had what he was looking for and he was out the door in a flash, leaving the store without giving the clerk enough time to say a single ‘thank you, come again.’

-Sprinting home, he dashed into your apartment complex and up the stairs, fumbling for his keys as he neared your door only to find it already ajar.

-Slowing down he looked at the open entryway; he was sure he closed it on the way out.

-Why hadn’t you closed it?

-Pushing it open he came face to face with a disheveled living room, Kei’s toys scattered everywhere while one of your armchairs was knocked over.

-A small whimper suddenly pierced the air and Hitoshi would recognize his daughter’s cries from anywhere.

-A deep voice told her to shut up which was answered by your angry voice threatening to beat the living shit out of them if they touched her.

-With silent steps, Hitoshi tiptoed to your daughter’s room where he could hear the talking only to stop dead in his tracks when shuffling came from your bedroom.

-Another figure emerged from your bedroom halting once they saw Shinsou.

- “What th-”

- “Sleep.”

-Without bothering to check if the intruder passed out, Hitoshi pushed open the door, his anger radiating all around him at the very thought that someone had touched his family.

-The second person whipped around at the sound of the door opening, eyes wide as they met Hitoshi’s, fumbling to activate their quirk.

-They made the fatal mistake of speaking though and soon they were unconscious just like their friend, laying on the pastel carpet of Kei’s room.

-In one swift motion he had Kei in his arms and untied your wrists, rubbing the irritated skin and checking for injuries.

-Kei wouldn’t calm down, her grip on his shirt turned to iron once the police dragged them out of your house.

- “I wish I could beat their ass.”

- “You know you can’t use your quirk right now kitten.”

- “Yeah but they pissed me off.”

-Your doctor had forbidden quirk use during the pregnancy and that’s why those two morons had managed to catch you.

-The scowl on your face had become almost permanent and Shinsou couldn’t decide if he should find it cute or terrifying.

-Kei became attached to Hitoshi’s chest.

-Hitoshi refused to let her go just like she refused to let him go, staying in his embrace for the rest of the day, any attempt to get her away from him resulting in tears.

-You are kinda salty but some ice cream will fix that.

Bakugou Katsuki II A son (Tatsuo)

- “Okay kids, you have a nice weekend and don’t forget to finish your family portraits for Monday. Tatsuo and I would love to see them.”

-A multitude of goodbyes came through the screen as your kindergarten class, some of your students even opened their cameras to wave at you and your son who was sitting on your lap.

-Tatsuo babbled back at them, little byes leaving his lips as he too waved back at your laptop.

-Being in quarantine wasn’t that bad for a kindergarten teacher.

-Your online classes weren’t difficult to manage and you got to spend more time with your two year old son.

-The class loved seeing him and would ask if he was joining them each morning.

-Closing your laptop, you hugged your mini Katsuki as you started heating up his milk.

-You were humming, gently rocking him as you waited for the milk, giving him stray kisses here and there just to see his little nose scrunch up reminding you of Katsuki more and more everyday.

-Checking your phone for any new messages, you let out a sigh at your husband’s message saying he was coming home; that was thirty minutes ago.

-Hero work didn’t let up despite the quarantine.

-Bakugou was as busy as ever, leaving first thing in the morning and most of the time returning home late in the afternoon sometimes staying out even after midnight.

-Today though he had managed to get off earlier than usual, promising to cook for both of you tonight.

-You knew he wanted to spend more time with Tatsuo and the fact that he was gone for the majority of the day was eating him up.

-He was so worried that he was neglecting his son; he even convinced himself that Tatsuo would soon come to hate him.

-Your son on the other hand was attached to Katsuki’s hip, always searching for his dad in the morning and beaming when Katsu came home.

-He could never hate him.

-The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your little Katsuki infused dream state.

-Turning around you expected to see your husband in the living room, arms stretched out as he smiled at the two of you.

-But you were met with three strangers; three hooded strangers holding a crowbar and two bags.

-It was a staring contest for a solid five minutes before either of you moved.

-One of them noticed Tatsuo and nudged his “coworker” who then informed the leader of the trio.

- “Better not make a sound sweetheart, I’d hate hurting that pretty little face of yours.”

-He took a step forward only for you to take a step back, until your back hit the cupboard.

-He let out a chuckle and motioned for his rookies to search the place as he continued walking towards you.

-Tastuo was gripping your shirt, eyes trained on the man, his brows downcast in anger.

-Your phone lit up on the counter and in one swift move you grabbed it, pressing your emergency call button as the intruder rounded the counter.

-You sprinted for the front door just as Katsuki picked up only to be grabbed by one of the other two and dragged back inside the house, Katsuki’s yells echoing through the phone.

-Now you are aware that your husband is one of the top pro heroes.

-You know that in order to rise to the top charts in this industry you need to have certain attributes like strength, tactical thinking ….speed.

-You felt him more than saw him.

-You were wrestling to get the hands of the intruder off of you when you felt the windows rattle.

-And before you knew it, your husband had tackled the man holding you to the floor, knocking him unconscious with a single punch before pouncing on the other two.

-Tatsuo was letting out small hiccups as tears rolled down his cheeks, his grip on your shirt never wavering but he refused to sob.

-He had his father’s pride okay? Even at the age of two.

-Katsuki had you both in his arms in a flash, calling the police before checking both of you over for injuries and what not.

- “Did they hurt you? I swear I’ll kill them if they did.”

- “We are fine Katsu, just a little shaken.”

-The moment Tatsuo was in Katsuki’s arms he began to cry, burying his face in his dad’s chest still holding on to your shirt.

-It took an eternity to calm him down and even longer to put him to sleep, even though he was sleeping in your bed.

-The next morning Katsuki was on the news for marching to the police station and beating the living hell out of the burglars.

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official-weasley · 3 years

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It's Positive (The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley AU)

Warnings: nothing but fluff

Word count: 3,051

Characters: Charlie Weasley and my OC Nova from TICW which you can find here

A/N: Okay, so! I want to clear the confusion that some of you might have. Specifically, those of you who have read my TICW and know about something that happens in Part 8.

After I wrote the alternative ending my mind went crazy realizing that the story doesn't have to end now but I stuck to it anyway. I had some of you in my private messages asking me to continue the story with chapter and parts but I didn't envision it like that, sorry.

However! I did start getting one-shots ideas a few weeks back that are basically stories from their lives in the alternative ending. So because I miss Nova and that version of Charlie so so much and I can't help myself and is honestly keeping me from writing anything else I decided to create an Alternative Ending AU where I would have the liberty to write stories about different events in their lives.

This one is happening a few weeks after the Sanctuary was attacked by Death Eaters. I will try to keep the timeline as clear as possible and try not to jump up and down a lot. Keep in mind that Nova is safe and sound in the alternative universe.

There will be no stories before this point - meaning no more school days for them but everything from this point on.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh, it's good to have Nova back. 🥺💙

Charlie

“I can't believe we did it.” The biggest grin painted Andrei's face. “I mean, the trees are still burned, but it's better and in time for your wedding too.”

“It took quite some time but I didn't have the slightest doubt that we wouldn't restore the Reserve.” I bestowed him with a smile.

“It's never going to be the same is it?” Andrei asked after a few seconds of silence.

“No.” I shook my head slightly, the smile disappearing from my face. “Listen, Andrei, are you sure you are okay with us having the wedding here?”

“Of course! Why would I mind?” Andrei's brows furrowed. “You needed long enough to arrange everything.” He joked.

“Yeah.” I forced a laugh. “You know what I mean. The events that happened here not even 3 weeks ago are still leaving a bitter taste in a lot of people's mouths. We lost a lot of people. I don't want to rub it in everybody's faces how happy Nova and I are.”

“Charlie,” Andrei turned to me slightly, putting a hand on my shoulder, “that is exactly what everybody needs. Love brings people together and it gives them hope. You have been at the healing station and you have helped me out the most, so you know that we need something positive.”

“You sound like Felix.” My lips curved a little.

“Yeah, that won't go away anytime soon.” Andrei shook his head and looked at the ground trying to hide the fact that tears gathered in his eyes.

“Andrei, if you ever need anything... you know that Nova and I are here for you. I don't know what I would do if I lost...” I bit my lip, stopping myself from saying anything else.

Just the thought of something happening to Nova or me losing her like Andrei lost Felix, broke something in me.

“I know.” He gave out a small smile. “You two are my closest friends here and one of the few who knew about me and Felix.”

“One more reason for you to come knocking on our door when you need some company.” I pulled him into a hug despite him being my boss and us never doing that before. I knew he needed one even though he would never admit to it.

“So,” Andrei gestured for us to start walking towards the cottages, “what do you two have planned once you get married?”

“We barely planned the wedding and you are asking me that?” I chuckled.

“Are we going to see any fiery-haired little Weasleys running around?” His face beamed.

“Oh, no!” I shook my head quickly. “We're not that fast. We want to enjoy our marriage before we start working on having little Weasleys.”

“Whatever you say.” Andrei sighed, pretending to be disappointed as we stopped in front of my home.

“You'll be begging me to not make you babysit so be careful what you wish for!” I giggled.

“How is Nova feeling, by the way? Any better?”

“She has been fine for two days now but she said that she'll stay in for a couple of days more just to be sure the stomach bug is really gone,” I explained.

“That's great news. Say hi to her for me and I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie.” Andrei waved and started walking away.

“Nova?” I called her name as I stepped through the door.

I took off my shoes and listened for movement to find out in which room she was.

“Love? Are you still sleeping?” I checked the clock on our kitchen wall. It was a little past 11, there was no way she was still in bed even though she never was a morning person.

“Bath...room.” I heard her say before she flushed the toilet.

“Are you alright?” I knocked on the door and pressed my ear on it, concern in my voice.

“No.” She whispered. “It's back.” She gagged and I could hear her pushing the toilet lid back up.

“Can I come in?” I asked gently, frowning.

I was getting more concerned each day. While I was out and about helping Andrei and the others after the Sanctuary attack, Nova has been spending most of her time in our bathroom. When the Death Eaters fled, we were both sent to the healing station for a check-up despite Nova saving us both with that protection spell. They deemed us healthy with minor scratches and I feel completely fine. Nova, however...

“Yeah.”

I slowly opened the door when she granted me access. She was leaning over the toilet. One hand wrapped around her hair to hold it back, the other hand hugging the toilet.

“Nova, you have to stop being stubborn and let me take you to the healers.” I couldn't hide the firmness in my voice.

“I'm fine.” She swung her hand.

“You have been spending more time with that toilet than with me.”

“You jealous?” She tried to chuckle but pushed her head closer to the toilet again and I jumped to her to hold her hair.

“Please, love. This isn't normal. A stomach bug doesn't take this long.” I pleaded.

She kept saying that she has the stomach flu and at the beginning, I thought so too. But she didn't have any other symptoms besides vomiting every morning.

“What else could it be?” She asked weakly, after flushing yet again.

“I am no expert in these matters, that's why I am begging you to go see a healer. Our wedding is less than 14 days away. If you won't be alright by then we are canceling the whole thing!” I tried threatening her but a mocking smile gave me away.

“Less than 14 days away?” Nova didn't react to my threat at all in the way she usually does.

Usually, she rolls her eyes and lifts one of her brows, and gazes at me with her arms crossed over her chest until I tell her that I'm joking. Now, her face lost all its color and her eyes widened as if the most terrifying creature was standing behind me.

“What date is it?” She asked, panic in her voice.

“27th,” I answered, puzzled.

“Twenty...” Nova's jaw dropped before leaning over the toilet again.

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” She got up, flushing again, and exited the bathroom.

“Nova, what is going on?” I rushed after her and stopped when I saw her pacing around the coffee table in our living room, her hands in her hair.

“I think I know what's wrong with me.” She said more to herself than to me.

“Love, you can't just diagnose yourself with something,” I said calmly, trying not to irritate her as she seemed to be seconds away from a panic attack.

“No, Char, listen to me!” She entwined out fingers, brought us to the sofa, and sat us down.

“Okay, I'm listening.” I brushed a lock of hair off her face.

“I...” Before she could continue, she put her hand over her mouth, looking green again.

“Should we rather have this conversation in the bathroom?”

“I think that would be better.” She nodded and before I could help her up, she was already running.

“Okay, so what do you think you have?” I asked, brushing her hair back after she was done.

“I don't want to say.” She was biting her lip nervously, us kneeling in front of the toilet.

“Love, we have been best friends since we were 11 and we celebrated our 5th anniversary in May and you can't tell me something?” I chuckled, trying to brighten up the mood.

“May!” She gasped and her eyes widened again. “Our anniversary!”

“Nova,” I blinked at her confusingly, “you have to give me more details. What is going on? What about our anniversary?”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath and waited for a second just to see if she will have to vomit again, “do you remember what we did after a very romantic dinner?”

“Yeah.” My cheeks turned scarlet, reminiscing on the moment.

“Do you remember what we usually do before we do that?” Nova pressed her lips together.

“We use the protection spell.” I nodded.

“Mhm, yeah, so...” Nova scratched the back of her head. “...do you remember how we could barely keep a conversation up in that restaurant because we didn't have the time to have sex for like 14 days and we couldn't wait to get home and once we did we were so caught up in the moment that we forgot something?” She squinted her eyes, her cheeks burning.

“Forgot someth...” Before I could ask what she was trying to say, my eyes mimicked hers from before. “No!” I said incredulously.

Nova nodded and hummed.

“No, we can't be. You can't be. It was one time!” I was pretty sure I was getting green in the face now.

“It's a possibility,” Nova mumbled. “This stomach bug of mine could be morning sickness.”

“I...” I suddenly forgot how to speak. “But it was one time.”

“Char, it doesn't need more than one time to get pregnant.” Nova giggled.

“So what do we do now?” I tried hiding the fact that I was getting more nervous by the minute.

“Well, I think that now I actually have to listen to you and go to the healer.” I tilted my head at Nova.

How was she so calm? This was huge! If she really is pregnant and we're going to have a baby...

I blinked. I didn't know how I feel about this. Ever since we first talked about having a family it has been our secret guilty pleasure. We both want a family and move somewhere where it would be safer to raise the kids but we want that in a few years. We are not prepared to have a baby!

“Let's go then.” I offered her my hand.

“Now?” Nova glimpsed at the toilet.

“Should we wait for another hour, just to make sure you're done for the day?”

“Yes, please.” Nova gave out a sheepish smile.

—

“Well, if you are vomiting and feeling nauseous every morning and your period is late and you forgot to use the protection spell, it's pretty safe to say that you're pregnant.”

Madam Finch had a slight smirk on her face saying that. The second Nova felt better we went to the healing station and found her at once.

“But, how can we be sure?” Nova asked.

“Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for you here. We don't have any equipment like that, since we are in the middle of a Dragon Sanctuary. I am afraid you will have to go to St Mungo's or go to a Muggle drug store to get a pregnancy test.”

“A pregnancy test?” I furrowed my brows. “How does that work?”

“It's a plastic stick on which Nova would pee and if the window displaying the result would have a plus in it she is pregnant and if it would have a minus she's not pregnant.” Madam Finch replied.

“And how reliable are these tests?” Nova wanted to know.

“If your period is late and you think you conceived in May it would be about 99% reliable.”

Nova and I looked at each other and nodded. I knew she had the same idea as I did. We need to get to a drug store at once.

We walked to the Sanctuary gates in silence. Nova was biting her lip and looking at the ground, while I tried to calm down my nerves. It was obvious that we felt too awkward talking about this because we were both afraid of what the other person would say. I didn't want to tell her that I'm nervous, I needed to be there for her and appear strong even though I was pretty sure that the same thoughts were crossing her mind.

The second we walked outside the gates, we locked arms and apparated to the nearest Muggle town. Nova spotted the store and grabbed my hand, dragging me behind her. She tried hard to appear as if she wasn't trying to rush this but I knew she wanted to get it over as soon as possible.

“There are so many of them. How are we supposed to choose?” Nova's eyes were scanning all the different boxes, while she was biting the inner side of her cheek.

“Which one does seem the most reliable to you?” I tried helping her even though I had zero experience when it came to this.

“I wish my mum was here,” Nova whispered and I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to hear that.

I bowed my head. I felt so useless. She was nervous trying to find out if she had a baby in her belly and I was just standing next to her, helpless. I wish this would happen when we were more ready and I wish I was more knowledgeable about this so I could advise her.

“I'm sorry I am so helpless.” I put my hand on the small of her back. “What?” She looked away from the boxes and locked eyes with me.

“I feel so useless. I should be able to help you with this.” I pointed at the boxes.

“Char, stop it, now. I am as clueless as you are about this stuff and you don't see me apologizing to myself. We are going to manage just fine! We are in this together.” She bestowed me with the biggest reassuring smile, grabbed my hand, and pressed it hard against her chest.

“You're right.” I nodded and turned my head to the shelf with the boxes. “How about this one? It says that it's quick and 99.9% reliable.” I took the box and showed it to her.

“Sounds good to me. Let's take it!”

—

“I am so nervous, I can't believe I was able to pee!” Nova exclaimed as she came out of the bathroom, her eyes on the pregnancy test in her hand.

“I am proud of you for peeing, love.” I gestured for her to sit down on the sofa next to me.

She put the stick on the coffee table and positioned herself in my arms. I tightened the grip on her as much as possible because I knew how much it calms her down. I took a deep breath, neither of us taking our eyes off the test.

“So,” Nova swallowed hard, “we didn't talk about how we feel about this.”

“About what?” I kissed the top of her head.

“About how we would feel if a plus shows in that little circle.”

There was a moment of silence. I could feel Nova's heartbeat against my arm.

“Well, we didn't plan this,” I said carefully. I knew she was nervous but I didn't know what she was hoping for.

“Yeah.” Was all she replied.

“And we aren't even married.”

“Yeah.” “And we said we wanted to enjoy being married to one another for a few years before we start a family.”

“Yup.” Nova nodded.

“And we wanted to find a nice cozy home where we could envision us raising our little rascals.”

“That we did.”

“And we are currently at war.”

“Mhm,” Nova mumbled.

“It's the worst possible time to have a baby.”

“Yeah, I couldn't agree with you more.”

“But how I wish that we would get a plus.”

“Me too.”

Nova shifted in my arms and we both sighed in relief when we saw the biggest grins painting our faces.

“I know it's not ideal but is it ever the right time to have a kid?” Nova pressed her lips hard on mine.

“Is it okay if I say that I don't care when the right time is? I am so excited to see the result, hoping that we're pregnant that I can't think of anything else.” I admitted.

The second we started staring at that test and I thought to myself that I hope we are having a baby I forgot about all our worries.

Was the timing good? No. But do I think we are ready to have a family? Yes. We might not know everything and we have a lot to learn but every parent is clueless at the beginning, right? If Nova got pregnant in May, we have quite some time to learn all the necessary things for us to be great parents.

“I feel the same. I want to have a baby with you, Char.” Her voice was so soft and her eyes were so hopeful that I couldn't stand it anymore.

I gently pushed her away and kneeled in front of the coffee table, trying not to peak at the test.

“Has it been 2 minutes yet?”

“I think so.” Nova kneeled next to me, her eyes going from the clock on the wall to the test.

“Should we turn it around?” I put my arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

“Let's do it together.”

We grabbed the pregnancy test, one on each side, and turned it around.

“What does it say?” Nova asked.

“I don't know. I have my eyes closed!” I giggled.

“Me too!” Nova started laughing.

“Okay, we both look in three, two, one!”

We both opened our eyes, our gaze on the little circle in the middle of the stick.

“Love...” I whispered.

“It's positive.” Nova breathed.

“We're having a baby?” “We're having a baby!” Nova exclaimed, picked up the pregnancy test, and brought it so close to her face that it was almost touching her nose.

“We're going to be parents!” I helped her get up and we started jumping up and down around the living room.

“We're pregnant, Char!” She crushed into me, giving me the tightest hug. “And we're not even married.” She looked up at me, trying to see my reaction.

I couldn't stop smiling. Her being so happy and excited about it and me wanting to have a family with her ever since we got together, made this moment so perfect. I pressed a kiss on her forehead and one on each of her cheeks before I cupped her face and kissed her tenderly.

Before I could enjoy our pleasantly surprising news more, a thought came to mind and my eyes widened as Nova's did before.

“My mum's going to kill us.”

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silverhandy · 3 years

Text

House call - chapter 2

Chapter 1 I ao3

Through his career, he’s been to a lot of places of varying degrees of decay, from the long-abandoned hotels subjected to evergoing gang disputes to the city’s garbage dump stretching miles upon miles outside of the city, a sea of trash and metal, often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, piling up into mountains, where every step meant a very real risk of slipping and impaling himself on a rust-bitten shard. Hidden in between were those unfortunate enough to end their journey in a place like this, abandoned by their rivals or hitmen too lazy to attempt hiding a body within the guts of the city. If they had a working car, and almost all of them did, it was way easier to just drive whatever was left of their target and dump it to be devoured by rats and whatever else evolved enough to survive in a place like this. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check if the person they were leaving there was actually dead, hence the reason why he’d sometimes get calls begging him to fish a guy (or lady) down on their luck out. He found himself digging through trash more often than not, futile in his attempts to pinpoint his awaiting patient’s location. When he was starting out, the thought of giving up his search wouldn’t even cross his mind, he’d spend hours looking, even dragging along metal cutters with him, figuring they’d come in handy. They probably would’ve if not for the fact that he often wasn’t even able to find the person who called him, localization data too patchy to give him a solid lead on where he should even start.

After a while, when he established himself and lost some of his rookie idealism, he put in a disclaimer that he wouldn’t go trash diving anymore, no matter the pay. A small step, but even at the beginning he tried to have standards.

V’s apartment was far from Night City’s biggest trash dump, but something about the chaos within it reminded him of that when he switched on the lights. As if the hurricane had swept through the place, some of the furniture was tilted over, a pile of clothes, dangerously balanced on an overfilled laundry basket, threatened to collapse and spill over at any moment. A half-finished box of noodles laid abandoned on the counter, accompanied by a mosaic of pills from a knocked over bottle.

Viktor found V curled up on the floor next to her bed, wearing a washed-out Samurai t-shirt and sweatpants, covers dragged along with her halfway between the linoleum and the mattress. He could barely see her face from the way she was bundled up. V didn’t move upon hearing his footsteps, didn’t even flinch when he kneeled next to her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

The ripper dropped the heavy bag at his side and gently cupped V’s face in his hands, wincing at how burned up the woman’s skin was, and turned it so he could take a quick glance. V’s eyes were rolled far back into her skull. Viktor started to have an idea of what he was dealing with here, has seen the wreckage that offensive hacking can cause many times before. They usually started out slow, identical to a bad case of flu but then, if dismissed, proceeded to stir fry one’s brain until not much was left.

Viktor opened his bag and pulled out a small, remote biomonitor. It took a few seconds to fully calibrate, but eventually, the screen lit up.

‘V, can you hear me?’ he asked, not counting on her to answer. 'I’m going to connect your personal link now and see what’s going on in there, okay?' he reached for her wrist, already feeling her racing pulse, and connected it to the device. While it was loading, Viktor propped it up on the wall and grabbed V to lay her on her back to make the job easier for himself, and pulled out a few small gel-filled Ice-Pax. He knew she probably needed more, but those will have to do for now.

Just as Viktor placed two under her arms and another on her groin, the monitor beeped. He reached over her to grab it and swiftly ran a basic diagnostics program, but save for the things he already knew, it didn’t spew out anything interesting. She was vastly overheated and her blood pressure shot up to a point where an angrily red window kept popping up to inform him of a 72% percent chance of an incoming cardiac event, but he dismissed it for now. Instead, Viktor chose a different angle and ran a more advanced version of the program, letting it comb through V’s frontal cortex and RAM.

‘There’s the rub’ he hummed to himself as the program kindly highlighted the results. He let out a long sigh. If V had come to see him a day earlier, he’d fix it in five minutes and she wouldn’t even notice, but now she’ll be out of commission for at least a week before she can even get out of bed. He’ll have to tell her a thing or two about responsibility, not that she’d listen to him anyway. Patients never did, but it still might be worth a shot.

Viktor typed a few commands to enclose the scrambled code from her RAM and before pulling out V’s personal link, copied her real-time vitals chart onto his interface. After it appeared within his field of vision, he pulled out a worn-out connecting cord that he’s been promising himself he’d replace for ages now and inserted it into the neural port at V’s nape to get a better working field, now that he knew what the problem was. RAM damages were problematic in their very nature but pretty easy to fix once caught, not much of his medical knowledge needed. Viktor simply fired up what ripperdocs tended to call a “palate cleanser” and let it do the work, putting back together what the bug has managed to break.

While the program was fixing up V’s tech, Viktor got to work on her body. Flipping the ice packs, he took a quick glance at her temperature and was glad to see that it had started to slowly go down, followed by her pulse and blood pressure, all three leaving the life-threatening territory. None of them were quite to his liking just yet, but at least now Viktor was sure V would pull through. Reaching into his bag, he eventually found an IV set, but decided it’d be better to move her onto the bed first, sparing himself all the gymnastics with the tubing and cables. Minding the biomonitor still plugged into her, Viktor leaned down to lift V and put her on the bed. She was quite heavy, the dead weight of her limp body adding to the feeling, but he didn’t even break a sweat carrying her. Taking the covers from the floor, he put them on her, straightening the wrinkled material intuitively.

Having done that, Viktor grabbed her arm and carefully inserted the needle. To his relief, it went in on the first try. Glad he didn’t need to poke her any more than necessary, Viktor looked around and realized that V didn’t have anything even remotely resembling an IV stand, but when he looked up, he noticed a small hook, probably remains of a poster frame, conveniently placed over the bed. Stepping up on the edge of the bed frame, he placed the bag there, and after making sure that everything was in place, let it drip. That should do the job, maybe paired up with a shot of dopabenzamine if she won’t improve in the next few hours.

Viktor let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s been holding his breath ever since V called. Biomonitor’s estimated time kept shifting but eventually settled on six hours and twenty-three minutes. Viktor nodded to himself and turned around to take another look at the mess that V’s apartment has turned into. He leaned down and reached under the covers to grab the unpleasantly warm ice packs, and throw them in the freezer, wondering if he should clean up, just a little bit. Would V get mad at him for snooping around? Then again, she’ll need a few days to recover and this ever-growing mess around her surely won’t help. Or should he ask Misty? They were closer, he was pretty sure that she’s been over at V’s place at some point.

Maybe he shouldn’t be overthinking this. Just a little bit, he told himself as he gathered the pills spilled on the counter, inspecting the label while he was at it. Strong shit, impossible to get by simply waltzing into a pharmacy. Viktor made a mental note to ask about it later, just to make sure that V doesn’t swallow these like candy. Of course she doesn’t, he reprimanded himself. She’s an adult, a stupid, reckless one, but an adult nevertheless. It still won’t hurt to bring it up, though.

He put it back into the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen to deal with the noodles, and since they were on the verge of no longer being edible, he just tossed them into the trash can, along with other unfinished takeout he found in various places around the apartment. He didn’t want to snoop through V’s things, so he just folded the clothes that were sprawled all over the floor and couch and put them in a neat pile. When he was done, the place looked somehow presentable, so he settled on the couch opposite V’s bed.

She appeared to be sleeping, although far from soundly. No longer completely unconscious, she kept tossing and turning, her face grimacing as her recovering brain no doubt served her a concoction of fever dreams.

Just as Viktor leaned down to relax a little, he heard a ping of an incoming text message. He pulled it up

Misty

>that lady from Biotechnica is here to see you again, but you don’t seem to be in, what should I tell her?

>Tell her to fuck off

>I’m at V’s and have to stay for a few more hours, she screwed herself up real bad this time

>oh no what happened>

>I’ll tell you all about it later, I got it covered for now

He fully expected Misty to call him, alarmed, but apparently, he managed to reassure her just enough. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a second, but must’ve dozed off at some point, exhausted after over twenty hours without a chance for a shuteye. When he woke, a groan escaped his lips as the stiffness of his neck hit him with full force.

That’s what you get for sleeping sitting up, old man, he told himself as he reached to grab his glasses off the floor. They must’ve slipped off at some point during his nap. Viktor stood up and stretched until he heard his joints crack. Still tired, he rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to wake himself up and walked up to V’s bed to check on her. When he reached for the biomonitor to check the progress bar and see how long he’s been sleeping, V moved slightly. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, looking right over him, and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she looked up and saw Vik standing next to the bed and her expression went from blank to confused.

‘Vik? What…’ V cleared her throat. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

‘You don’t remember calling me?

‘Not quite’ she bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. I was feeling like absolute shit after that last job, thought I could just sleep it off.’ she said quietly, propping her head upon her elbow. ‘I didn’t expect it to grow into...whatever that was.’

“A neurogenic cybervirus is what that is. Invisible until it starts to fry your brain. You gave me quite a fright.’

“Fuck. I knew something was off about that netrunner, after she...eh, nevermind. Vik..how long have you been here anyway?

‘Uh,’ Viktor took a quick glance at the biomonitor ‘seven hours, give or take?

‘Fucking hell. I’m..’ she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’m gonna pay you back. What’s your house call fee again? I don't remember it being listed…’

‘Nah, it’s okay. I usually don’t do house calls, so consider that a favor. Just promise me that when you feel something’s off after a job, you’ll come to see me right away. There’s a lot of real vile stuff out there and you won’t even know until it gets you. That’s what you have me for.’

‘Sure, dad. You can spare me the lecture' she chuckled. ‘But for real, Vik. Thank you.’

‘No problem, really.’ he grabbed the biomonitor. Four minutes left. ‘You’re gonna feel like you were hit by a truck for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I’ll check up on you in a few days and send in Misty or Jackie in the meantime to help you out since I’d rather you didn’t get out of bed more often than necessary. Next time you see me, consider getting that new set of optics and a gun grip. Might save your ass next time someone attempts to do you dirty like his.’

Something akin to a smile appeared on her face. ‘Doctor’s orders?’

‘Doctor’s orders.’

#viktor vector #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fic #victor vector #my writing

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

Text

How many bank accounts do you have? One. Have you ever been falsely accused of starting drama? In like elementary school there was some BS with some “friends” and one thought I said something that I didn’t. How old are you? 30. Do you attend church regularly? Not at this time, but a local church uploads the sermon every week from that Sunday’s service. That is the church I will be attending. Have you ever found a song that describes your whole life? There’s definitely those songs that just hit right in the feels as though it were written especially for you.

What time did you wake up this morning? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, but lately I’ve been sleeping in until like 1 in the afternoon so I’m sure today will be no different. What time do you plan on waking up tomorrow morning? ^^^ What kind of car do you drive? I don’t drive. What kind of car would you like to have? Have you ever been to Dairy Queen? Yeah, but not since I was a kid. It’s so weird whenever I see a commercial for it cause I’m like, ‘wow, they’re still around and thriving. Huh.’ ha. It just doesn’t seem like a popular place. If so, what’s your favorite thing to eat from there? How old did you turn on your last birthday? 30. D: Ever felt like falling apart? Oh, I fell apart. Been trying to pick up the pieces for the last few years, but I’m like Humpty Dumpty and can’t seem to be put back together again. Have you ever been in an ambulance? Yes. Do you tend to worry a lot? All the time about everything. How old were you when you lost your first tooth? I think like maybe 6 or 7. Do you remember your first time on the internet? Yeah, I was 9 years old. I remember signing up with AOL and making my email and stuff. AOL had message boards and chatrooms for kids and teenagers, which I went on all the time. Which website do you email from? Yahoo. Do you enjoy receiving souvenirs? Sure. I’m the girl who buys like keychains, shirts, or hoodies from the touristy shops whenever I travel. Do you get angry with people easily? I'm more easily frustrated than angered. <<< That’s me, too. I’m also very irritable. Do a lot of people dislike you or is it the other way around? I’m just irrelevant. Have you ever had the flu? Yeah. The last time I had it was last year around this time. :X That, and bronchitis, knocked me down on my ass HARD. What about strep throat? Yeah. It’s been several years, though. I honestly can’t even recall the last time. Have you ever been to a psychologist? No, but I need to. What’s the worst part about school? I was always very easily overwhelmed, stressed, and burnt out. Do you normally have a lot of homework, if you’re still in school? -- When was your last vacation? Last July for my birthday. Would you ever consider going on a cruise? No. The ocean terrifies me. <<< SAME. What did you last buy from the store? Food. Would you say you enjoy being single or in a relationship more? It’s best that I’m single for the time being and the foreseeable future. I really don’t have much relationship experience either. Do you try to stay busy a lot? I’m not busy by any means. I’m at home in bed majority of the time doing the same few things. What’s your favorite quote? “I don’t know.” --Me. Do you lie a lot? No. I downplay a lot, though. Do you still act childish most of the time? -- My behaviour is often childlike, but not childish. <--Same. <<< Yeah, I like that. Did you ever enjoy gym class? Nooo. What is your biggest insecurity? Oh ya know, just everything about me. Have you ever painted a room alone? I’ve never painted a room. Speaking of which, when did you last paint your room? I've never painted my room. What’s for dinner tonight? I have no idea, yet. It’s 5 in the morning. Do you ever drink alcohol? No. I haven’t had alcohol in almost 7 years now. Have you ever had a terrible hangover? Ugh, yes. Do you ever get migraines? No, but I get horrible tension headaches. I can’t take anything for headaches either D: Do you know how to garden? I’ve been interested in gardening. What was the last thing you plugged into an outlet? A wallflower thing from Bath & Body Works. Do people consider you to be a funny person? I have my funny moments once in awhile, ha. Do you have any bad habits? Yepppp. Do you like children? I don’t have an issue with children, I just personally don’t want to have any. If not, why is this? What is your favorite snack? Pasta salads. Do you own any gaming systems? Yeah, I have a Nintendo Switch. I also use my brother’s PS4 sometimes. How old were your parents when they had you? Early and mid 20s. Is there a big age difference between you and the person you like? I don’t like anyone in that way, currently. Do you trashtalk people a lot? No, but I can’t say that I never do. What is the most amusing thing on the internet, in your opinion? YouTube. Tumblr can be as well. Does the future excite you or scare you? Terrifies me. Do you try to spend a lot of time with family? Yes. How often do you shower? Every 1-2 days. What would you say is your favorite genre of music? I like variety. Do you need to clean your bedroom? Ugh, yes. D: It’s so cluttered right now. My room never used to be like this. It’s driving me insane, but I just don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything with it. I’ve been putting it off for a long time. What do you plan on doing with the rest of your life? Oh jeez, don’t even come at me with that. Do you enjoy Chinese food? It’s never something I crave, but yeah I like a few things. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve had Chinese food. What is your favorite movie from the nineties? Oooh, that’s tough. Which decade were you born in? The 80s. It was halfway through the last year of the decade, though. Are you good at giving advice to people? I used to be. I was the one friends would always come to for advice or just needed someone to talk to. I’m not that person anymore, though. :/ You don’t wanna come to me for advice. How many huge secrets do you have? It’s a secret. How many people know these secrets? How many times a day do you brush your teeth? At least once. Do you ever floss? Not regularly. Have you ever been in a long-term relationship? No. Ever considered suicide? Yes. If so, did you try to commit suicide? No. Is there anyone out there who makes you feel completely useless? No, but I do feel completely useless. Do you like texting or calling people more? Text, but I rarely even do that. Definitely that over calling, though. What’s your favorite band? You guys know me and favorites. Do you have a lot of friends? I have zero friends. I have my family, though, and that’s enough for me. Have you ever painted something and been impressed by it? No. Would you rather go out to eat or stay in? I like to get takeout and eat at home. When did you last babysit, if ever? Not since my brother and cousins were kids. They’re adults, now. My brother will be 21 next month. :O I’m so olddddd. Do you have any younger siblings? Yeah, my younger brother. ^^^ Have you ever thought of someone as useless? Myself. Have you ever considered bleaching your hair? I do. Only twice a year, though. In between that I just get the color touched up. Do you drink vitamin water? I haven’t in years. I was really into it at one point when I was younger. Are there any old movies you absolutely love? Yeah, several. Have you ever had a Big Mac before? Many times. Do you think you attract the opposite sex at a reasonable rate? Nope. I’m sure I never do. Where is your favorite place to travel? Beachy places. What is your goal for the next few months? I need to work on a lot of things. Can you count to ten in another language other than your own? Yeah, Spanish. Do you own a lot of shoes? No, just like 5 pairs. Have you ever played on a sports team before? No. If you have, what was that sport and when? -- Have you ever filed a lawsuit on someone? No. Do you think you’re a good singer? I’m not a good singer, but I still like to sing along to myself anyway. Would you rather wear jeans or sweatpants? Sweatpants out of the two, but I’m a leggings gal. Do you think you have a good sense of style? It’s good for me and that’s what matters. I like it. Do you enjoy reading often? I love to read, but it’s been too long since I last read. I really want to start up again. Have you ever had a deadly illness? No, thankfully. Ever had food-poisoning before? Yes. D: Where did you last eat dinner at? I get takeout pretty regularly, but the last restaurant I went to for dinner was IHOP last month. Have you ever shot a gun before? Once. I went to a shooting range with some friends years ago.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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jaybear1701 · 6 years

Link

A/N: I stole the phrase "Make your peace... on Earth" from @haughtbreaker who has been kindly beta reading this story for me. lol

Waverly exchanged texts over the next week with Nicole, as well as a couple of phone calls. Sometimes, Nicole stopped into Shorty’s for dinner or a quick drink. No flirting. All strictly platonic. At least, that’s what Waverly told herself. So what if she kept checking her phone for new messages from Nicole, from the moment she woke up to the time she went to bed? What was the big deal if their conversations, both in person and over the phone, seemed to stretch longer and longer? Where was the harm if she wanted to invite Nicole as her +1 to Perry Crofte’s annual holiday party? It was all perfectly normal for new friends getting to know each other. Right? Right.

They agreed to finally get a hot cocoa that Wednesday night. She would ask Nicole about Perry’s party then. It wasn’t a date, Waverly told herself even as she tried on her fourth outfit, evaluating her reflection in a full-length mirror with a critical eye.

“So it’s a date,” Wynonna observed from the threshold of Waverly’s bedroom, shoulder leaned against the door frame. She shook her head. “What did I tell you about dating the law?”

“It’s not a date,” Waverly insisted, tugging the lettuce hem of her pink, long-sleeved crop top.

Wynonna eyed the stack of discarded clothes on Waverly’s bed, her ransacked closet, and the scattered array of foundation, lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara, blush, and eyeshadow on her dresser. “Uh huh.”

Alice ran into the room and leaped onto the covered mattress. “She’s gonna Netflix and chill with Nicole,” she said matter-of-factly, as if commenting on the weather.

“Did I mention how much I love that you taught her that phrase?” Waverly shot a pointed look at Wynonna, who snickered. “And no, Alice, we aren’t going to do that.” She was quite pleased at herself for maintaining a neutral expression. “We’re just getting some hot chocolate. Friends get drinks. Nicole is my friend.”

“With benefits?” Wynonna asked innocently.

Waverly growled and kicked both of them out of the room so she could finish getting ready in peace. She settled on pairing the crop top with her favorite pair of black leggings and fuzzy boots. As she put the finishing touches on her makeup, Nicole called, extremely apologetic because she had to cancel. Lonnie caught the stomach flu and the already short-staffed department needed her to cover his shift. Nicole promised to make it up to Waverly.

It wasn’t a big deal, Waverly told herself. And yet, her heart still sunk in disappointment.

She made her way downstairs where Alice, Wynonna, and Dolls (of all people) were busy making cookies. Waverly used the term “making” lightly. Although the kitchen smelled wonderful, like buttery sugary heaven, it looked like a war zone. Flour and sugar coated nearly every inch of the countertops. Alice had splotches of yellow batter all over her Santa Claus apron.

“I’m telling you, Peacemaker is not an appropriate shape for a Christmas cookie,” Dolls argued as he placed a box of cookie cutters on the kitchen table.

“It literally brings peace on Earth,” Wynonna contended, waving an aluminum cutter that, sure enough, looked like her Colt Buntline Special. “What’s more Christmas-y than that?”

Dolls let out a long, weary sigh. “Back me up here, Waverly.”

“Where did you even get that?” Waverly asked, lowering herself onto an empty chair that somehow remained unscathed from the culinary explosion.

“Mattie,” Wynonna answered. “She owed me one. Now,” she held the Peacemaker cutter up, “won’t this make the coolest Christmas cookie or what?”

Waverly glanced at Dolls, who had one eyebrow raised, and Alice, who merely shrugged and giggled. She reached out and took the miniature gun from Wynonna.

“Make your peace…,” Waverly aimed at the oven, “...on Earth. It does have a certain ring to it.” She handed it back to Wynonna, who fist pumped while Dolls shook his head and muttered, “Earps,” under his breath.

“Why are you still here?” Wynonna asked as she turned the oven light on to check on the cookies. “Aren’t you going to be late for your not-date?”

“She had to cancel,” Waverly said lightly, hoping her disappointment didn’t show. “Taking another shift at the station.”

“Maybe she’s secretly helping Santa,” Alice whispered.

Wynonna scrunched up her face. “Huh?”

“Officer Nicole is one of Santa’s elves,” Alice placed a finger to her lips, “but we can’t tell anyone.”

Dolls looked at Waverly. “Officer Nicole as in Nicole Haught?”

“That’s right, Dolls,” Wynonna said, “the one you threatened with treason the other day.”

“What!?” Waverly exclaimed.

Dolls shrugged up on shoulder. “She shouldn’t have entered my office without permission.”

“For the last time, she did knock, Dolls.” Wynonna rolled her eyes.

“But I didn’t say, ‘Enter.’” Dolls leaned back and crossed his arms, chair creaking. “So you have a date with her?”

“It’s not a date!” Waverly stood up and walked to the refrigerator, partly to pour a glass of water and partly to get out of the interrogation spotlight.

Dolls eyed her outfit the same way Wynonna had sized up her room. “Mmhmm.”

Waverly fought back a blush.

“Why don’t you bring her a hot chocolate?” Alice suggested, swinging her legs. They were still too short to reach the floor.

Waverly paused, considering it. “You know, that’s… not a bad idea.”

“And then when she’s done, you can Net…”

Waverly put up a finger. “Do not finish that sentence, young lady, if you want any presents under the tree.”

Alice giggled but made a zipping motion across her lips.

Waverly wasted no more time and began collecting all the ingredients she needed. She chopped up a few blocks of bittersweet chocolate, then placed a saucepan on the stove to heat up some milk, heavy cream, sugar, and salt until the mixture steamed. While the others decorated their cookies, Waverly stirred in the chocolate and a few drops of peppermint oil. She poured the cocoa into three mugs and her favorite thermos, which she placed inside an insulated lunch bag along with some miniature marshmallows, two candy canes, an elf-shaped cookie made by Alice, and a strange, green-colored one from Wynonna. It had a cluster of red blobs to the side.

“What is this?” Waverly squinted at the so-called “cookie.”

Wynonna puckered her lips and smacked them. “Mistletoe.”

Dolls peeked over Waverly’s shoulder. “Mistletoe has white berries,” he said before Waverly could smash the cookie in her sister’s face. “That’s just a poor rendition of holly.”

Waverly smirked at Wynonna, who punched Dolls hard in the shoulder. Waverly left the cookie on the counter and was finally off.

About half an hour later, Waverly parallel parked her Jeep outside the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department. She walked carefully to the entrance. Even with her boots and the salt on the sidewalk, the path was still slippery with snowy slush made more treacherous at night. Just as she reached the station’s door, someone else pushed it open from the other side, with enough force that the glass almost slammed into the building’s brick siding.

A woman nearly ran into Waverly; the same beautiful woman who had approached Nicole at the mall a week ago. She was even more gorgeous up-close, dark hair cut straight in a sleek bob, looking sharp in a long, cream-colored wool coat.

“My apologies,” she said, doing a double-take when she saw Waverly, recognition in her eyes even though Waverly was sure they had never met.

“No problem,” Waverly squeaked out. “Be careful, the ground’s pretty slick.”

The woman spared her a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.” She continued down the way more carefully until she reached a black Mercedes Benz and drove away down the darkened street. Had she come to see Nicole, Waverly wondered. Were they friends or, Waverly swallowed, something more?

Entering the building, Waverly was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice that the station’s epoxy flooring was wet. Before she knew it, her feet flew out from under her and she fell down face first, pain erupting from her kneecaps and the heels of her hands. She dropped the lunch bag she had been holding. It skidded a few feet away.

Nicole’s voice called out from down the hall. “Shae, is that you?”

Shae, Waverly thought as she listened to a rush of footsteps. Was that the mystery woman’s name?

“Waverly!”

A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders. Waverly looked up into concerned brown eyes and instantly flushed with embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” Nicole asked as she helped Waverly back to her feet.

“Yeah.” Waverly’s knees stung something fierce. “I’m fine.”

“Your knees say otherwise.” Nicole glanced down and Waverly followed her gaze. Sure enough, the impact had been hard enough to tear holes through her leggings and skin her knees. Blood oozed from the shallow wounds. “Come this way.” Nicole took Waverly’s hand and led her back toward the reception area, stopping briefly to pick up Waverly’s bag. As they passed a yellow caution cone, Waverly swore the falling stick figure was taunted her.

They bypassed the front desk and went straight to the break room, which had a few modest holiday decorations. Someone had strung silver tinsel around the cabinets in the tiny kitchenette and added green and red hand towels by the sink. Nicole brought Waverly to a circular table with a small Christmas tree in the middle, placing her bag on the surface and encouraging her to sit.

“I’ll be right back,” Nicole said, heading toward one of the cupboards.

“Nicole, I’m all right, really…”

“Just sit tight.” Reaching inside one of the cabinets, she pulled down a first aid kit and brought it back. “So,” she crouched down in front of Waverly and opened the box, “I believe your sister and the deputy marshal have the evening off.” She took out alcohol wipes, antibiotic ointment, and two bandaids. “What brings you here this fine evening?”

“You, actually.” Waverly had already made a fool of herself. No use beating around the bush.

Nicole’s hands stilled. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Waverly said simply. She unzipped the lunch bag and placed the thermos, marshmallows, candy canes, and cookie on the table. Or rather, cookies. Plural. Somehow Wynonna had managed to sneak her damn cookie into the bag. “I’m gonna murder her,” Waverly muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing!” She would have shoved Wynonna’s cookie back in the bag, but Nicole was already staring at the offerings in awe. “Since you couldn’t come out for cocoa, I thought the cocoa could come to you.”

“You didn’t have to do all that, Wave.” A flattered smile spread across Nicole’s face as quickly as warmth spread through Waverly at hearing Nicole use her nickname.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Waverly said. In all honesty, the need to see Nicole lately had been overwhelming. And she was grateful Alice had given her the perfect excuse. “I hope you like peppermint cocoa.”

“I love it, actually.” Nicole resumed her task, tearing open one of the alcohol pads and using it to clean Waverly’s scrapes. Despite her gentleness, they still stung on contact and Waverly hissed in response.

“Sorry,” Nicole said, quickly blowing across the skin to lessen the pain.

“Alice made you the elf cookie.” Waverly winced as Nicole carefully applied ointment to the wounds.

“It’s adorable.” Nicole’s eyes slid to Wynonna’s green monstrosity. “Is that supposed to be mistletoe?”

“God,” Waverly groaned. “My sister made it.” To torment me.

Nicole bit her bottom lip. “Does everyone know about the mistletoe?’’

“Honestly? The whole town probably knows.” And wouldn’t let Waverly forget it. Not that she could even if she wanted to. That damn kiss had been replaying in her mind on a continuous loop for weeks now.

Nicole chuckled. “It’s holly though.”

“Yeah.” Waverly nodded. “I guess it’s the thought that counts.”

“You know, someone, who may or may not be your sister, has been hanging ‘mistletoe’ up around the station, possibly in the hopes of catching us underneath with Nedley or someone similarly frightening.” She pointed upward and, sure enough, someone had hung branches of prickly green holly from the ceiling directly above them.

Waverly shook her head. The prank definitely seemed right up Wynonna’s alley.

Nicole nudged Wynonna’s cookie with a finger. “Better tell your sister to stick to her day job.”

Waverly giggled. “She was never the best at baking.” Or any domestic chores, really. Wynonna had bigger demons to fry, literally. “She always used to leave that to me and Wlla.”

“Willa?”

She was sure that Nedley had told Nicole about what happened to Willa and their father all those years ago. If he hadn’t, then the grapevine would have eventually filled her in. But Nicole’s expression was politely curious, not the look of someone who knew Waverly’s father and sister had both been killed.

“Our older sister,” Waverly explained. “She… she died a long time ago.”

Nicole covered Waverly’s hand with her own and lightly squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She hardly ever talked about Willa, not even with Wynonna. The memories of the eldest Earp sister were still painful, and with her gone, Waverly saw no need to dwell on them. But something about Nicole and her gentleness made Waverly want to open up.

“She’s actually the reason I don’t really skate anymore,” Waverly continued as Nicole carefully placed a bandaid on her left knee. Nicole paused to listen. “I used to love skating. In fact, I wanted to be Michelle Kwan.” The corners of Nicole’s eye crinkled in a smile and Waverly playfully shoved her shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.” Nicole rocked back slightly. “I think you’re,” she cleared her throat, “that’s cute. Go on.”

Smiling, Waverly’s stomach flipped pleasantly. “There’s a pond a few miles from our house. In the winter, when it froze over, our mom used to take us there to skate.” Her smile faded slightly. “When mom left, Willa… she changed. I mean, I was never her favorite to begin with. But sometimes, she was just… mean.” Cruel, Waverly thought. A side-effect of Ward’s ever growing expectations and volatile temper. “I had a stuffed bunny that my mom gave me for Easter one year. Mr. Rabbit. He was old and dirty and one of his ears was falling off. But he was my favorite. Willa took him one year and threw him onto the lake, just after the first freeze of the season.”

Nicole’s brow furrowed.

“I went out onto the ice to get him. But, of course, it wasn’t solid enough yet. I fell through.”

“Jesus, Waverly…”

“But, obviously I’m still in once piece.” Waverly spread out her arms, as if to prove she was alive and well. “Wynonna saved me.”

“I suppose I owe her a whiskey.” Nicole shook her head, eyes full of sympathy. “So you’ve never been skating since?”

Waverly shook her head. “I guess I’ve been afraid of getting hurt again.” It was an irrational fear, she knew, but one she couldn’t help. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Nicole gently stuck the other bandaid on Waverly’s right knee. “One great things about wounds? They always heal with a little TLC, if you let them.” She leaned down, surprising Waverly as she tenderly kissed both knees.

When Nicole smiled back up at Waverly, her heart felt like it was expanding inside her chest, spreading warmth throughout her entire body, all the way down to her fingertips and toes.

“There’s no mistletoe,” Waverly whispered, gaze dropping to Nicole’s lips.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Nicole murmured back.

Waverly scooted an inch closer on her seat. Nicole mirrored the movement.

And just as Waverly was about to surge forward, friendship be damned, a loud crash came from the bullpen.

Nicole stood immediately, cursing underneath her breath, and sprinted to the commotion. Waverly quickly followed. When they got to the front desk, two officers were there with a drunk and disorderly man thrashing between them, clumsy and wild.

“If it is fisticuffs you want, then it is fisticuffs you will get!” He slurred, thick mustache twitching in agitation.

Waverly’s mouth dropped open. “Doc!?”

He calmed almost instantly, squinting at Waverly from beneath the brim of his black hat. “Well, well. Waverly Earp, as I live and breathe.”

Nicole pointed between Waverly and Doc. “You two know each other.”

“This is John Henry,” Waverly introduced. “Wynonna’s, um…” One of Doc’s eyebrows disappeared into his hat. “Alice’s dad.”

“Oh,” Nicole said. “But aren’t Wynonna and Dolls…” She shut her mouth when Doc glared at her.

Waverly winced. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always.” It wasn’t a question and the way Nicole said it made Waverly think of Shae the mystery woman. Nicole chucked a thumb toward the cells. “Get him to the drunk tank, boys. Let him sleep it off.”

This time, Doc didn’t struggle as the deputies led him away, sharing one last look with Waverly before he disappeared.

“I’d better get his paperwork started,” Nicole sighed, turning toward Waverly. “Thank you again for the cocoa.”

“Sure thing.” Waverly couldn’t stop herself from wondering about what might have happened in the break room if they hadn’t been interrupted. “I’d better go and tell Wynonna, I guess.”

“Okay.”

Waverly hesitated briefly, then turned on her heel. “Oh,” she whirled back around.

“Yes?” Nicole asked expectantly.

“Perry Crofte’s holiday party is this Saturday. I was wondering…” If you’d be my date.

“Oh! I’ll be there.”

Waverly’s eyebrows shot up. “You… you will?”

“Chrissy Nedley invited me the other day when she was visiting her dad.”

“Great,” Waverly said, trying to contain her excitement. She was gonna owe Chrissy big time. “Then I’ll see you there.”

“Count on it.”

Waverly waved goodbye and rounded the corner back into the hall. When she was out of Nicole’s line of site, she wanted to dance. She almost twirled in place until she saw the yellow caution cone. Not wanting a repeat of her earlier fall, she sobered instantly and carefully walked out of the station.

#wayhaught #waverly earp #nicole haught #wynonna earp #mistletoe au

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sian22redux · 7 years

Text

He followed me home, chap. 3

Title: Hew followed me home, For @theycallmebecca

Chapter 3 Beginnings:

Rating: Has gone up a bit. Oopsie., grin.

Summary Chris and Y/N adopt a puppy to keep Dodger company and can’t settle on a name.

Based on a prompt by @theycallmebecca because her Bosox took a series with my Indians. Ah well they are both out of contention now :( And because of that, to cheer her up, here’s a little of their backstory. And the fulfillment of every Bosox fangirl’s fantasy date.

You can find Chapter 1 He Followed Me Home, and 2 here: here. There will be one more after this. Unbeta’d this time cuz it’s so overdue. Will try to update and correct any glitches as I get the chance.

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You never planned on falling for Chris Evans.

Nope. Nuh-unh. You were not gonna go there.

You had just ended two years of heartbreak. Sworn off of dating another working actor because self-absorption is really not your thing and you have no interest in a man mobbed by eager skirts (the perils of that scene you’ve learned the hard and public way).

But then on a bright, hard blue Atlanta morning, like most things in your life, it just sort of happens accidentally.…..

Anthony Russo stands frowning down at his phone, thumbing his newest text away before sliding his glasses up on his head.

He’s frazzled and unusually irritated: already sweating even though it’s five am. The city is in heatwave and the production team are trying to get filming up and going before the sun makes the actors’ lives too miserable. In half an hour they are due to be on Infinity Wars’ sprawling set.

“Oh christ, not another one,” he mutters, shaking his ahead and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. It is too early. You are all wiped after months of location filming—coping with Murphy’s law and Mother Nature’s whim and as per usual every little thing that can go wrong has spiked the wheels.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning your attention from marking up a message board.

“Shiree’s got stomach flu.”

Ugh. Shiree, a bouncy and fresh-faced CalState undergrad, is the sixth person on the crew to go down with a bug. Not an auspicious sign. You’ll have to check in with catering. It might simply be the unrelenting heat or there might be a real problem with cross-contamination.

Either way, you are now unhelpfully another Runner down.

You swipe your ipad, pull up the day’s crew call. It’s a mess of strike-outs and red-lined arrows. Everyone is already replacing someone else.

“I’ll sub,” you offer quickly and Anthony looks up, grateful but hesitant. It’s not your job. Getaway Productions still needs you for continuity but after ten years in you are pretty sure you can multi-task.

Blindfolded and walking backwards.

“You sure?”

“Yup. Totally. I am a master at pouring brown bilge water into too thin paper cups.”

Anthony grins. Both of you have been there, way back in your resumes. It’s part of the biz. “Thanks, Y/N.”

This is how you wind up an hour later with hot coffee dripping off your hand, apologizing to the film’s tall bearded lead.

The actors for the morning’s scenes are gathered in an unusually bleary group. Quiet but intent, listening to Joe’s breakdown of the sequencing. You are just about to tap on “Steve Rogers’ shoulder and offer him a cup of joe when Dave Bautista, that mountain of a man seemingly wide as he is tall, shuffles in a little late.

He crosses too close behind you, bumps his massive bulk against your shoulder and you are knocked straight forward.

Into Chris Evan’s broad and muscled back.

“Fuck, what?” Chris exclaims, turning around, surprised and startled as half a cup of black no sugar (ugh why was the lid too loose?) seeps into the dark Nomad suit.

You stand there, appalled, shaking the liquid off your hand and trying to ignore the sting. The coffee was hot. Too hot. Fresh out of the canteen and hopefully hasn’t burned his skin. Oh god.

“Mr Evans, I am so, so sorry!” Your words are almost tripping over each other in your haste to apologize. “Are you ok?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” he says, craning his neck and rubbing at the dark wet patch that spreads from his lower back to his buttocks. “Just wet. Don’t worry about me. Are you …??” He looks up and his tawny brows tug together. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

You’re not surprised. There are literally dozens of people on the set and no reason for you to have met before. You spend your days mostly holed up inside the production trailer.

“Y/N,” you answer as Chris grabs the dripping cardboard tray and reaches for your wrist. It’s red. He’s frowning; holding it incredibly gently in fingers twice the size of yours. “You’re burned.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply automatically, although it really isn’t. The skin is bright red and stings a bitch; the sharp pain getting worse by the minute. You don’t have time for this. Your job is to keep filming rolling, not slow it down.

Gingerly, you wiggle your phone from your jeans back pocket, more worried for the moment that wardrobe needs a call. Chris has Nomad’s tan gloves tucked into his belt. God you hope that they aren’t trashed. It would ruin close-up shots. “I’ll get Lena to come down with a dryer, Mr. Evans. I hope the stain won’t show.”

“Fuck the stain,” Chris counters softly. He steps nearer to get a better look at you. The furrow on his brow gets deeper. This close he is even bigger than you thought, smells like coffee and wet leather and spice, anything but threatening. In the shade, his sapphire eyes look darker, mysteriously match the blue star stitched above his pec.

“You need this checked. It might blister. And get infected.” The litany of possible negative repercussions trails off mercifully but before you can protest he signals to another runner with a microphone. “Call the paramedics.”

Shit. That does it. The alert goes out and you both stand, waiting for the medical people to arrive when both Anthony and Joe muscle through the group. The speech is finished. You realize that around your little world, Falcon and Winter Soldier, Star Lord and Dax have melted away, back to the Milano mock-up.

Joe looks anxiously between you and Chris, at first uncertain who is the patient, but then he notices your hand cradled in Chris’s larger one. “Y/N are you ok? What happened?”

“Accident,” Chris says immediately and you flush, embarrassed to have caused a ruckus and acutely aware of how unprofessionally close you are. You pull back a little farther, but he doesn’t let you go.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Russo. I spilled coffee on Mr. Evans’ suit.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt. And call me Chris, will you please?”

He smiles, lopsided and half-bashful, absently rubbing cool and soothing fingers next to your stinging skin and that’s all it takes. A few awkward, fleeting minutes before the cavalry arrives and your heart will be lost— tumble down between life’s cushions where you don’t think to look—but in the moment you stand mesmerized, vaguely aware that Anthony’s talking quickly into his mike, motioning for the goulishly curious to be kept at bay. Most oblige, except for a thin, fresh-faced and way too earnest guy in a Nasa hoodie and headset. He’s hovering, trying to get Chris’s attention, because Nomad’s needed on set in twenty, but Chris insists on waiting until the call comes to actually take his mark; stands watching patiently while a blue-gloved EMT pronounces it “only low second degree”.

“Second!” Chris looks ready to freak out but the gentle-voiced paramedic explains that there are only a few small, pinprick blisters coming up. Nothing that won’t heal quite quickly if you keep it clean and dry.

“Mr. Evans?”

“Mr. Evans?” Nasa guy looks so pained he might combust.

“Coming Matt.” The Russos, reassured it’s nothing serious, have already headed to the first scene set. Chris sighs and meets your gaze. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” you nod but he’s gone--a retreating smudge of sable in a sea of purple minions.

It feels like the morning’s sunshine has been covered by bank of high, dark cloud.

Good grief Y/N. Get a grip.

After that you sit in a hastily retrieved folding chair (Ms Saldana it says on back) feeling a little bewildered and a whole lot rattled. The paramedic slathers on a blessedly cool antiseptic cream; covers the burn loosely and orders you to get it checked tomorrow if it swells or oozes overnight. You take some painkillers, rest for an hour or two on Russos’ orders but after lunch carry on again. certain that Chris has forgotten all about the morning’s mess, but then at 3 o’clock Matt finds you in the producer’s huddle.

He hands you a note handwritten on a concession napkin.

I don’t have your number. Are you ok? -C

Your eyes bug out. Yes that certainly seems to be a phone number on the back.

Omg.

You pull out your iphone and, weirdly nervous, have to type the number twice.

<I’m ok. And thanks!>

Of course there will be no immediate response. The actors’ phones stay mostly in their trailers when they are on set. You try not to check for a reply, keep mostly occupied with updating the afternoon scene list, when a telltale buzz fires at your hip.

You swipe the screen with your other hand.

D’s is Dene’s, the pub around the corner from the mini city of Getaway’s Atlanta hub. The cast and crew often hang there at the end of a long hot day, for the Sweetwater homebrews and the chicken biscuits. It’s tempting, though honestly you’d thought of nothing more than going home; lying down and just putting the day behind you.

But Chris. Has asked. himself. And it would be good to say thanks again: you weren’t sure he had heard you, having run off so fast. The call sheet might say you start at the usual ungodly hour but Anthony had ordered you to rest.

Come on, Y/N. What would it hurt?

You gather up your satchel, toss the gauze and polysporin the medic gave you into the zippered pocket and sling it over your shoulder, drive the two short blocks to Dene’s to make it easy heading home

Once in the high ceilinged, noisy space you pull up a seat at the bar and get a soda—you are driving and took pain meds--striking up a chat with Will, one of the best steadicam operators you’ve worked with. The two of you shoot the breeze a while before he downs the last of his bourbon, grabs his keys, mumbling something about his baby girl.

A minute later you feel someone looming just behind. It’s Chris. Freshly showered, in wet hair, grey shorts and t. A cascade of butterflies ripple through your stomach. You’ve hardly spoken to him before now, but being focus of that gaze—wow. It’s even better than the hype.

He leans on the polished wooden top, eyes worried and intent. “Hey Y/N,”

“Hey.”

“How’s the hand?” He reaches out and punctuates the question with a caress on your elbow. It gentle, easy, part of the casual way he touches everyone, and no big deal. Chris Evans, real life Captain America, is reputed to do this with everyone. Is handsy. Hugs as easily as breathing.

Shut up stupid butterflies. “Just stings,” you shrug. expecting him to make few minutes chat but somehow you both wind up deep in conversation. The state of the union and all things Trump are covered, work travel and mindfulness. He’s thoughtful. And articulate. Down to earth and inhumanly attractive. There’s something a little wicked behind the almost-bashful smile.

Your internal warning klaxons silently begin to blare.

He’s not for you. Chris is known to be the world’s nicest guy. Golden-hearted (as Jenny famously announced) and worried about everything and everyone.

“It’s fine. Really,” you insist when he offers to walk you to your car, fretting that you haven’t planned for the next day off. It is fine. You will take it a little easier. Show up at 7, instead of 4:45. but nothing puts him off.

Underneath a flickering streetlight, Chris opens your car door, sets a hand on your lower back to lean over and say goodnight and a warmth that has nothing to do with Atlanta’s humid swamp begins to pool low in your belly.

Oh oh.

Of course in the weeks to come Chris’s golden retriever level of enthusiasm wears you down.

First it’s “do you play charades?”; then it’s “we’re having a cast/crew baseball game…” All correctly platonic and entirely above board. No pressure. First a Condessa latte shows up on your desk. Then lunches with Mackie and Joe morph into casual dinner dates with just him. Standing plans to watch MLB at Dene’s pop up because, if anything, you are more obsessed than he with Boston’s fabled Sox. He’s a perfect gentlemen when he escorts you to a Pats game in the Falcon’s Nest.

His fanboying over Brady makes you grin from ear to ear.

As you get to know each other better so many things get shared. You open up about your crazy gypsy life as an air force brat, how hard it was to be constantly on the move; how you love spontaneity because your dad ran your home like a fighter wing. He talks about the pressure of being in the public eye; how hard it is to meet someone who understands that life but how much he craves some stability. How much he misses Dodger when he’s away.

The first hint it could be something different dawns when you find two ALDS passes and tickets for Logan airport clipped onto your white board.

Anthony raises an eyebrow and just grins as you stand in shock.

Oh.

My.

God.

(Boston is having an okay pennant run even with David Price on the DL list.)

You bolt from the set and arrive just in time to take your seat in the private box, smiling up at Chris as he hands you an icy Sleeper Street IPA.

The bottle is covered in condensation. It makes your fingers slide a little bit.

“Watch that beer,” he grins, ocean eyes twinkling as he leans over to cover your hand with his. He whispers “If you spill on me again this time I might have to take off my shirt.”

Oh Lord. He’s isn’t. He’s not…

He’s flirting, yes he is but you dismiss it. Doesn’t mean a thing. Chris Evans flirts with everyone. Constantly. You know this—it’s part of his innate charm. He’s single, playing the field, rumoured to be with everyone from Scarlet to a newly-available Ana Paris. And what would he, a star, want with you, second assistant producer and chief-fixer of whatever Anthony and Joe need done? No way. You’re just one of his many buds. Filling the gap during the long months away.

You both are thrilled to a see game. Chris Sale, Boston Cy Young contender, is not at his best but you don’t care. The food and drinks don’t stop. You have the best view of Fenway you’ve ever had and you laugh, and laugh; the two of you teasing each other from the 1st inning to the 9th.

On the red eye flight back that night you fall asleep with your head upon his shoulder.

The fall winds quickly on. Filming goes on hiatus, you both head west to home, say keep in touch but of course he’s just being nice. Somehow (Anthony?!) Chris gets your private private number. Friendly texts once a week give way to trash chats almost every day during L.A.’s World Series run. Boston’s out but that does not mean you will stoop so low as to root for the National League contender. He invites you over with fifty of his closest friends to watch the seventh game. It’s loud and raucous, and of course in the sea of people you hardly get a chance to talk.

You’re on your fourth whiskey sour, a little woozy and light-headed, stomach tied in knots because the Astros are down a run, when you feel the couch dip down.

It’s Chris. Big and warm, and little flushed, taking a ribbing from his pals. The two of you are quite possibly the only Houston fans in a sea of Dodger blue but neither of you care.

Josh Reddick is at the plate. 3-2, bottom of the ninth. Clayton Kershaw winding up.

You lean forward, eyes on the screen when he grips your hand for reassurance. Your heart is fluttering. It’s the thrill the game, nothing more-- he feels it too, because beside you his leg is vibrating at hundred miles an hour—like a greyhound in the gates.

(Afterward, you convince yourself his slightly fuzzy kiss is only because Reddick hits a walk-off home run.)

In the weeks to come you find yourself simply checking in; texting to ask how his family are; how Dodger’s coping with his schedule. It’s nice. Easy. No biggie because you’re just good friends.

Your schedules stay stubbornly mixed up—you’re in L.A., tied to the editing booth and he’s in Dubai, Milan, or Boston every chance he gets. Like the entire world you’re glued to his twitter feed: laughing at another video of ridiculously drunken enthusiasm when the Pats win again; fangirling every time another picture of Dodger shows up.

You both manage dinner once or twice but there’s no time to seriously hang. You miss it. Intensely. Somehow you’d become used to having him always there but there is nothing you can do.

Ridiculous, Y/N. You’re simply friends. You’ll catch up when there’s time.

The holiday season rolls around and it’s time for the annual Getaway crew party. You splurge on a kickass dress (red because it brings out the highlights in your hair) and Manolo Blahniks that make your legs go on forever, get your hair and makeup done just for no reason (honestly). After a quick hi to Anthony and Joe, you collect a flute of champagne and drift through the crowd, winding up after many hugs on the deck beside the pool.

The lights twinkling in the blooming fuschias cast a hazy blush in the air. It’s gorgeous and the perfect place to hide when you are trying to not too obviously peruse the crowd.

You hear Chris before you see him. His booming laugh echoes up from the lower terrace. He’s there-- tanned; neatly trimmed and striking in a silver shirt and dark black jeans--- with Pratt and Mackie. They’re out on the grass underneath the stars, surrounded by the bevy of blonds from accounting, joking and pounding tumblers of Chivas back.

He looks incredible. More than half-cut. And occupied.

You take a gulp of the exquisitely dry Cava and will your pulse to settle down. He hasn’t yet noticed that you’re there. Of course not. The daily texting dropped off weeks ago but your stubborn, stupid heart can’t help but wish that he’d come looking for you.

Sweep you up in those huge strong arms and say he’d missed you too.

Because that’s what good friends do.

Yeah right.

You’re just telling yourself what an idiot you are when he throws back his head and laughs, wraps an arm around Jeanine (petite, perfect and probably enhanced) and your stomach twists.

Oh god. You hadn’t realized your ‘problem’ had got this bad.

“Go on, Y/N. Go over.”

The words are whispered near your ear and you whirl, just barely keeping the bubbly in your glass.

Jeremy Renner is smiling, mouth quirked to one side, kind eyes glinting in the glow of Christmas lights. He’s not one of the cast you know that well so you stand, a little stunned while he waves his glass in the direction of the noise.

“I mean it. Go get him. Chris is crazy about you. I told the idiot he was wrong but he’s convinced that you aren’t interested.”

Aren’t interested? But that means that he….

You slowly shake your head, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. Crazy about you? Sure he’s flirted. Kissed you once. Kept in close touch but that had fizzled lately. Jeremy can’t be right. You know they’re close, but he has have misunderstood something that he said.

What you and Chris have is not that kind of thing.

The sound of laughter carries across the water. You stare into your glass, hoping to find a little help but you know it won’t Your normally spontaneous and ebullient self has been body snatched by a timid mouse.

“It’s not my place. I’m not.. ” you mumble when you finally get your tongue to work.

The flush that stains your throat and neck tells otherwise.

“Really?” Jeremy chuckles. “Then why have your eyes been glued on him non-stop?” He frowns down at the group for a moment before looking back up to you. “Y/N, I’ve watched him dance around you now for months. He’s trying to take things slow. Not rush headlong for once into something new and keep it out of the press’s eye. I told him he’s being too discreet; that he’s so careful you can’t tell what’s in his busy head but he won’t listen.”

Your mouth is flapping open like a fish. Jeremy smiles wide and slow, nods when you can’t help yourself and look back down into the yard. What if he’s wrong? What if you make a fool of yourself? What if he’s ready to move on?

“I can’t…”

“Sometimes you just have to take a leap.”

The waiter drifts past again. Jeremy silently pulls your empty flute from your trembling fingers and hands back a fresh round of dutch courage. You raise it to your lips, swig the bubbly like water. The knot of people around Chris has changed again, condensed to the two Chrises, Anthony and Sheletta, his wife and childhood sweetheart. You’ve met her on set. She’s lovely. Not too scary.

Jeannine is nowhere to be seen. .

From beside you a piercing whistle makes you jump. “Evans!” Jeremy calls and oh fuck he’s done it—Jeremy has rolled the dice.

Chris looks up, finds Renner’s wave and then his eyes go wide. His handsome face flushes and he bites his lip. Shakes his head wonderingly and mouths ‘You look beautiful”.

To you. The girl he’s been crazy about all these months.

Oh god. OK. That’s it.

You walk down the terrace steps and into a new life.

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

MLB is Major league baseball and ALDS is American League Division Series :)

tags. @sweet-empowerment @miss-cap21 @brooklyn-to-battlefields @inkwellsandmagicspells @maggieskeleton @imagine-cats96 @mewsiex @yourtropegirl @its-forevermore @dirajunara @s0eul @our-sharona @avaalons @lumelgy @mycapt-ohcapt @mypatronusismrpricklepants @3dsaunt @mrchristopherrobert @our-jasmine-universe @rayleyanns @s8sense @tinaferaldo @callamint @emilyevanston @interstateofmind @lilnerdy @666themarkofthebitch @thestarlighthotel @doloreschanel @pegasusdragontiger @zkkn ; @missfirstavenger

#he followed me home #sian22redux #writes #baseball #chris evans #reader

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thfrustration · 7 years

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Crossing Knives, Chapter 10: Secrets, Surprises, Sauvignon Blanc

TITLE OF STORY: Crossing Knives CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Chapter 10 AUTHOR: missviolethunter / missviolethunterwrites WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: AU Tom / Chef Tom GENRE: Romance, Comedy FIC SUMMARY: Tom Hiddleston is the brilliant executive chef of Band of Brothers, a London restaurant with a Michelin star. He also has a reputation for being arrogant, cocky and difficult. Hallie Harrison is a former home cook who has just won Masterchef US. Luke Windsor is a restaurateur who is tired of constantly looking for new sous-chefs because Tom keeps making them quit. In a desperate move to save his restaurant, Luke offers Hallie a job as a sous-chef… and maybe also a chance to meet the man of her dreams in the least likely of places: the kitchen of Band of Brothers. RATING: Explicit WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: None FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Links to previous chapters: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9

CHAPTER 10: SECRETS, SURPRISES, SAUVIGNON BLANC

Monday mornings marked the start of the work week at Band of Brothers. Planning menus, receiving deliveries, scheduling any special events… all those things had to be done on a Monday so the rest of the week would be properly organized.

Every day Tom was the first one to arrive. Sometimes a bit hungover, or wearing the same clothes as the night before (there was a shower in Luke’s office, and Tom always kept a change of work clothes in the car). But, no matter what he had been doing during the long weekend, he was always in the kitchen when everybody else got there.

Which is why Birdie and Kumal, the cooks, who were neighbours and usually caught the same tube, were so surprised to find the back door of the restaurant firmly closed. And locked. Birdie searched in her large handbag for her set of keys, that she barely had any occasion to use. She also grabbed her phone, wondering if she should call Luke or if she was worrying about nothing. It was half past eleven, and they didn’t have to start until noon, so it wasn’t really alarming that Chef Tom had decided to oversleep a little.

She was so concentrated, mobile phone in one hand and keys in the other, that she almost didn’t hear Luke’s voice behind her.

“Morning, Birdie! Hey, Kumal!” He turned off the engine and got out of the car, smiling brightly, with a cup of Starbucks in one hand and some donut crumbs on his otherwise immaculate suit. Luke Windsor was definitely a morning person.

“Morning, Mr. Windsor. Is Chef Tom with you?”

“Tom? No, I haven’t seen him since Saturday; I’ve got several lost calls from him, so I thought I’d come early so we could talk.” He glanced at the door, then at the two people in front of him, and finally at the door again. “Is there anything wrong? Why are you out here?”

Birdie sighed. “It’s locked. And empty.”

Luke frowned for a brief moment. “Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. He must have been partying until late, I’ll give him a call and tell him to get his arse out of bed.”

They all got in; the cooks headed towards the kitchen and Luke to his office. He tried calling Tom, but the call went straight to voicemail. And again. After four tries, he resorted to messaging.

‘Hey, mate, are you alright?’

‘Tom, I’m sorry I couldn’t come over yesterday, I was at my parents’ in Oxfordshire and I didn’t get home until all hours.’

‘Hiddleston, it’s almost noon. If you’re down with the flu I can go by your place and bring you some chicken soup, but I need you to speak to me.’

No response. He headed to the kitchen, where Hallie, Connor and Alex had also arrived and were starting to prep all kinds of food for the dinner service.

“Good morning, gods and goddesses of the culinary world! How’s the week presenting?”

A chorus of cheerful voices assured him, all at the same time, that everything was perfect (and that chefs can be very, very loud people). Only Hallie didn’t say anything except for a deflated ‘Hi Luke’, and that made him worry.

He decided to try calling Tom again, and right in that moment he heard the main door open and close with a slamming sound. And there was the missing Chef Hiddleston, standing in the hallway, in his chef whites, pale and sulky like the Ghost of Canterville on a bad day (minus the chains. And the castle. And the undead thing, although he did have the ashy complexion).

“Finally! I was starting to worry. Are you alright, mate? I tried calling you…”

“I was driving. Fine. I’m fine.” His voice sounded at least an octave lower than usual, which made it hard for Luke to understand him.

“I know that tone, Hiddleston, and it’s everything but fine. Look, if you’re not feeling well and you need the day off, just…”

“You can’t send me home, Luke”, was the half-growled answer. “This place is as mine as it is yours, so spare me your ‘cool boss’ talk and let me get to work.”

Now Luke was absolutely sure that Tom was either sick or being an asshole on purpose. Or maybe both. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, thinking of the best way to find out the truth.

“Great. Do whatever you want. If at any point in the day you feel like talking to your business partner and oldest friend, and telling him what the bloody hell is wrong with you, I’ll be in my office.”

About twenty minutes later, a quick rap at the door made Luke smile triumphantly.

“It’s always open, Tom! Come in and share that sob story, whatever it is!”

The door opened slowly, but instead of Tom’s closely cropped curls what appeared behind it was a head of blond hair, neatly tucked in a bun under a white chef hat.

“Luke, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt you, but…”

“Hallie! I meant it when I said it’s always open. Please come in. Coffee?”

“Luke, Tom burnt a sauce ten minutes ago and went to the pantry. He… he’s locked himself in and he’s not answering when we knock.”

Luke got up from his desk, looking slightly murderous. “Okay, this has gone too far. I’m going to…”

“Please don’t be angry with him! I think… I think it’s my fault that he’s all moody today, but I can’t get him to talk to me.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Fine, let’s all calm down. I won’t kill him…yet. Now let’s go to the pantry and find out why he’s acting more like an idiot than usual.”

In the kitchen, everybody was trying to keep things normal. The pots were boiling, the pans sizzled, and the cooks… well, the cooks had one eye on the suspiciously closed door that connected the kitchen with the pantry. Nobody said a word, but they all turned to Luke in unison.

The increasingly worried restaurateur knocked on the door several times. “Thomas, this isn’t funny. Nor professional. Get your arse out of there!”

One or two muffled words came from inside.

“I can’t hear you, you sod! This is a fireproof door!”

Nothing. Seeing that Luke’s efforts were in vain, Hallie moved to the front of the group and approached the closed door.

“Tom, it’s Hallie! Please, can we talk?”

Silence for a moment, and then they all could hear the sound of the lock being turned. Slowly.

It still didn’t open, so Hallie grabbed the handle. Luke put a warning hand on her forearm.

“Whatever you do, get him out of there. I don’t want to appear in the Daily Mail as the evil restaurant owner who almost let two of his workers suffocate inside a closed pantry.”

“Suffocate? There’s a ventilation system in there.”

“You clearly don’t read the Mail”, Luke sighed. “Just try and make him see reason, please.”

Hallie opened the door and got inside, closing it behind her without a noise.

“Now you want to see me.”

The Band of Brothers pantry was a spacious and well organized room, with cabinets and shelves to one side and a row of industrial sized freezers to the other. Tom was sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall and a can of beer in his hand, looking so miserable that Hallie almost had to fight back tears.

She thought of the best way to start the conversation; Tom seemed to be in a highly dramatic state, so she decided that maybe he would react if she dialed up the drama.

“Tom, if you want me to resign and leave, just say so and I’ll be out of here in a minute”, she stated in a clear voice.

“What?” He clearly wasn’t expecting that. He left the beer on the floor (unopened, Hallie noticed) and stood up with the help of the wall behind him.

He didn’t seem drunk, just extremely hungover and a more than a little angry. He walked up towards Hallie very slowly, as if he was walking under water.

“Did you have fun with your boyfriend Harrington the other night?”

Hallie went red as a beet. “Tom, I went to…”

“I know where you went. For some reason you decided I wasn’t good enough for you, so you staged your little freak-out and then Craig came to your rescue like a knight in shining armor. Well played.”

Hallie crossed her arms and frowned. “Tom, that wasn’t staged. I had to run home because I was feeling horrible, and then I got a text from Georgiana…”

“I see. So Georgiana was in it too, playing matchmaker for her little brother.”

“It was a birthday party! With at least fifty people in it!”

“I only saw two people in Harrington’s Tesla.”

Hallie took a step back. “Tom, were you following me?”

“Following you? Bollocks!” answered Tom, outraged. “It’s not my fault that in a city with nine million people you have decided to live right on my doorstep, Chef Harrison.”

“Well, it’s hard to see people’s faces from the balcony of your luxury penthouse, Chef Hiddleston, so you were either using a telescope or–”

“I don’t need a telescope to see when someone’s hiding something from me.”

She sighed. “Okay, this is ridiculous. We’re having a conversation in the stupid pantry–”

“An argument”, interrupted Tom.

“Fine, an argument. But this is not the time or the place to do this.”

Tom raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Right. We must look like a pair of bloody teenagers. But you didn’t deny you are hiding something from me, so don’t tell me I’m imagining things.”

Hallie closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them again, she looked very serious. “Can we call a truce for a few hours and talk after work? Yes, there’s something important I need to tell you… but it can’t be here.”

“Have it your way”, said Tom in a chilly tone. “I’ll take you home after work… but I don’t know what you want me to say, except that I feel like you’re gaslighting me.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen. And if you don’t like my explanation, tomorrow I will resign and you won’t have to see me again. Deal?”

“Fine.”

He opened the door for Hallie with an exaggerated flourish, and looked at the bunch of people who had congregated in front of the pantry door.

“What, don’t you all have jobs to do?”

Luke let out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to remove that lock today. No, forget about the lock, I’m having the whole door taken away.” He pointed a recriminating finger at Tom. “No more silly shenanigans in this kitchen, understood?”

Tom answered with a mock of a military salute.

“Splendid. Now, let’s all get back to work and forget the past thirty minutes of our lives. Back to cooking, everybody!”

At the same time Tom relived his personal drama in the Band of Brothers kitchen (and pantry), Harrington Craig was parking his Tesla right across the street.

He was in a bit of a hurry. Not exactly late, but he was anxious to try a couple of new and exotic ingredients he’d had shipped from Thailand the day before. Also, he had stayed at his parents’ brunch for a bit longer than he should.

According to the family chronicles, the Craigs had been doing brunch since before the word was invented. The only thing that had changed over the years was the date: what for centuries had been a Sunday event had been changed to Monday since his two elder sisters got married and started having children. Apparently, having all your weekends planned in advance is not practical when you have several little ones, so brunch was rescheduled and now everyone was happy (except for the aforementioned children, who of course were at school).

Whatever the reason, every Monday, Lord and Lady Craig had the table set for at least thirteen people: her eldest daughter Eleonora, her husband, and the youngest of their three girls (who was two years old, so no school yet); Georgiana, always alone because she pitied his boyfriends too much to make them endure the family event; Minerva and her husband with their two daughters (who were homeschooled, and loved being at the table with the grownups); Arabella, the youngest, who had recently became engaged to a young man and had earned the right to bring him to brunch; and, finally, Harry. Alone since his divorce… and frequently alone during his marriage, because his ex-wife Charlotte had hated his sisters with a passion (often reciprocated), and she always had an excuse to avoid setting foot in the Craigs’ Hampstead house.

On that particular day, brunch had been a bit uncomfortable for him. His sister Georgiana, always eager to embarrass him at family events, had told their mother about Hallie… and the hopeful Lady Craig had spent more than an hour trying to extract information from her son.

“My dear Harrington” (she was the only person who called him by his full name all the time). “If there’s a new young lady in your life, do bring her to tea sometime. I’ll be very glad to meet her.”

“That would be wonderful, dear Mamma, but despite what Georgie may have told you there’s nothing to write home about. I’ve met a girl I like, but unfortunately she only has eyes for Tom.”

“What a pity! Speaking of Thomas, I do wish you two would solve your differences. You were such good friends at school! You know, when you were younger I had the secret hope that he would end up marrying one of your sisters.”

Harry couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at this affirmation, and all the other people at the table reacted in a variety of ways: his sisters Nora and Belle managed to muffle a burst of laughter, while Georgiana, less used to hiding her impulses, laughed heartily. Only one of the sisters, Minnie, seemed very concentrated on her food, blushing furiously. She’d had a brief thing with Tom during their time in Oxford, and her sisters had teased her mercilessly for years about ‘the Hiddleston affair.’

As for the men who were also attending brunch, not one of them noticed a thing. Harry’s father was too busy enjoying his eggs Florentine; and all three of his daughter’s significant others were completely oblivious to the crossing of glances between the women and their amused mother.

“Anyway”, continued Lady Mountjoy once the giggling had stopped. “I haven’t lost hope of having a grandson yet. And apparently it has to come from you, because your sisters are exclusively occupied in having girls. Who I love very dearly, of course”, she added with a wink and a smile directed towards the three little girls sitting at the table. “But who’s going to inherit your father’s collection of toy soldiers?”

This time the laughter was general, husbands and father included. It was a running joke in the family, their particular genetic lottery. The elder sister, Nora, had three lovely girls; the second, Minnie, had two and was expecting twins… she had just found out that both of them were also girls. The youngest, Belle, wasn’t married yet, but she always joked that she was going to start buying pink furniture for her future home. And Lord Mountjoy’s collection of toy soldiers, enjoyed for the last time by Harry as a kid, had been collecting dust in the attic for more than twenty-five years.

Harry’s recollection of the family meal was suddenly interrupted by the sound of steps in front of him. He forced his attention back to reality, just in time to avoid a collision with a young Black woman carrying the largest Starbucks cup he had ever seen.

“Oy! Careful, Mister Daydreaming!” she said, holding the cup as far as she could from her leather portfolio and her elegant black and white suit. She never lost her smile, however, and Harry wondered how a person who was on her way to work, and obviously in a hurry, could be in such good spirits.

“I am awfully sorry… God, I hope nothing has spilled.” He surveyed the woman’s slender figure looking for a nonexistent stain, and then something clicked in his mind. “Wait a minute… don’t I know you? You work with Luke Windsor, right?”

“Exactly, I’m his assistant. Shirley Berry.” She managed to hold both portfolio and coffee in her left hand, and extended the right towards Harry’s offered handshake.

“Harry Craig. I’ve heard Luke talk wonders about you several times.”

“Well, he manages the restaurant, and I manage his finances, his schedule, and the rest of his professional life. Everything except Tom, of course. No one in the world can manage that man… but according to the rumours you already know that.”

Harry smirked. “You know, all this time I’ve been wondering how Band of Brothers is doing so well despite Tom not being able to keep his staff stable… maybe I should have looked into the business side of it. If you ever feel tempted to switch your allegiance, I’ll be right here with open arms”, he added with a shy smile.

“Awww, that may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in weeks. To be completely honest I have no intention to change jobs… but if you weren’t my boss’s best friend’s mortal enemy, I’d invite you to coffee.”

“Even if you are my mortal enemy’s best friend’s assistant, I will take you up on that invitation. I see you like Starbucks, but you may want to try a little café two streets away from here; they serve the best blends in London.”

Shirley’s smile widened. “That sounds great. And I promise Tom hasn’t paid me to poison your Cappuccino or anything.”

“Actually, I take it Ristretto… just so you know where to put the poison”, he answered with a wink.

“Duly noted.” She scribbled her personal mobile on a card and handed it to Harry, and they parted ways, hurrying towards their respective restaurants.

Harry put the business card in his pocket, and a second later he changed his mind and stored it in his wallet. Growing up in a house full of sisters had made him notoriously bad at flirting for many years, so he liked it when women took the initiative in a frank, carefree way, like Shirley had done. Even if it was just for coffee, and not a real date.

The workday at Band of Brothers ended almost at midnight. Most Londoners, except for the ones who partied really hard, were already asleep or getting ready for bed, so the light traffic allowed Tom’s Aston Martin to make the trip from Chelsea to Goswell Road in twenty minutes, instead of the usual thirty.

That meant twenty long minutes of sulky silence on Tom’s part. After the bumpy start of the day he had been more cooperative, but for most of the day he’d kept a stubborn silence. Hallie tried to lighten the mood making a couple of casual comments at the start of the drive, but noticing the lack of response she chose to concentrate on her phone. She texted her mother to let her know she was bringing Tom home, but Lorraine hadn’t answered her yet.

Finally, when they were only a couple of minutes away from the City, Tom broke his silence.

“Texting your boyfriend?”

Hallie huffed. “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again. And no, as far as I know I don’t have a boyfriend, thanks for asking.”

“Then what do you call the Honorable Harrington Craig? Just a fuckbuddy? A friend with benefits?” he asked between gritted teeth. “I bet he’s already planning to make you the second Mrs. Craig. He can be very quick when it comes to marrying other people's–”

“Will you stop with that, Tom? We’re almost… turn right, please, we’re almost there. You can park around that corner.”

Tom decided to go back to sulking in silence during the short walk through the front door, up the stairs, and finally through the door of Hallie’s flat on the second floor.

“Hallie? Is that you, cupcake?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m home.”

A cheerful looking woman got up from the couch and turned off the television. Tom thought she looked exactly like an older version of Hallie, only a bit shorter. And with glasses.

“Ah, you must be Tom! Nice to meet you, I’m Lorraine Harrison” she said, offering him a firm handshake. “Sorry I didn’t drop by the restaurant to meet you sooner, but I was a little busy with… with a thing that I’m sure Hallie will tell you in a moment.”

“That’s why I asked him here, Mom. To talk.”

Lorraine exchanged a knowing glance with her daughter, a glance that left Tom even more puzzled than before.

“Well, in that case I’m going to the kitchen to have a cuppa. The living room is all yours.”

Hallie led a very suspicious Tom to the living room and asked him to sit down. He did, looking around him as if he was expecting some kind of nasty surprise to jump at his face in any moment.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Am I going to need one?”

“Probably.”

He made an affirmative sign, and Hallie walked to the dining room table, where someone –probably Lorraine and her motherly powers of precognition– had set a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses. She offered one to Tom, and remained standing in front of him.

“Look, I’m not usually a person who shares all her secrets, but…” she paused. “What I mean is that there’s something I should have told you when we met, but it was…”

Another pause. Despite Tom’s resentment, it was actually painful for him to see Hallie struggle like that. He took a sip of his wine; very nice, not expensive but good vintage, whispered his restaurant-trained mind.

“Christ, Hallie, you look like you’re going to confess a crime”, he blurted. “I don’t mind hiring felons, you know. One of our line cooks stole a car when he was sixteen, and that didn’t keep me from giving him a job.”

“No, it’s not that.” Hallie blushed and started pacing up and down the room. “It’s just… a long story.”

“I have all the time in the world. Or at least until I have to open the restaurant tomorrow.”

She took a deep breath and almost emptied her glass of wine. “Okay. As you know, my family moved from here to California when I was a toddler. My Dad owned a small agricultural supplies company, that now belongs to my older brother. Eight years ago, I was starting my second year at UCLA, when–”

“Mommy, can you come say goodnight to Stuart?”

There was a boy standing at the door; a sleepy little boy with blond straw-like hair, wearing a Lighting McQueen pyjamas, and holding a Minion plush almost as big as him. With the corner of his eye, Tom looked at Hallie. She was paralyzed, all the blood having escaped from her face, so he tried to react in the less awkward way he could think of.

“Hello, mate! I’m Tom.” He extended a hand towards the kid, who shook it with enthusiasm.

“Hi Tom, I’m Max. Hey, my best friend at school also calls me mate! Is it an England thing?”

“You’re absolutely right, it’s an England thing”, Tom said with a very serious face. “It’s what we call our best friends here.”

“Are you Mom’s chef boss? She says you make the best food in the world!”

Hallie finally came out of her stupor with a shy laugh. She crouched beside the boy and hugged him.

“Oh, Max… What are you doing up, pumpkin?”

“I heard the door and I wanted to say goodnight. Is it very late?”

“Very very late. All the other children in London are in bed, you’re the only one awake. Aren’t you sleepy?”

“Yes…” as if choreographed, a giant yawn followed the word. “Yes, I think I’m going back to bed now. Goodnight, Chef Tom.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Hallie picked up the dozing child with one arm and Stuart the minion with the other. “I’ll be right back”, she said before disappearing into one of the doors.

During the following moments Tom sat motionless, in complete silence, listening to the distant sound of two voices wishing sweet dreams to each other. When Hallie reappeared he pretended to concentrate in his glass of Sauvignon Blanc, still full.

She sat down on the couch beside him, but not too close.

“Well, I guess the explanation I was giving you is kind of moot now. As you may have guessed, Max is my son… And he’s the reason why I’ve been hiding things and acting strangely. Part of the reason, at least.”

A light went up in Tom’s mind. “Hallie, are you trying to tell me that you’re married?”

“Of course not! I would never have gone out to dinner with you if I was married.”

“Trouble with your ex?”

“I don’t have an ex”, she said in a low, breathy voice. “I’ve never been married, Tom.”

Tom closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes again, the black cloud that loomed over him had started to dissipate.

“So… this was your terrible, horrible secret? Many single people have children. And I’m sure Max a handful, but… I like kids. You didn’t have to hide that from me.”

“I was scared.” Hallie reached for the bottle of wine, but Tom was faster; he grabbed it first and poured her another glass. “Thanks.”

“Scared of me finding out about Max? I already told you, there’s no reason–”

She placed her hand over Tom’s for a moment and then drew it back, as if his skin had burned her.

“Tom, this isn’t easy for me. I really need you to listen without saying anything for a couple of minutes, because I’m not used to talking about… personal things. Not with anyone outside my family or my closest friends, who are all girls.”

“I’m listening”, he said in the most reassuring tone he could manage.

Hallie repositioned herself on the sofa a couple of times, looking alternatively at Tom and at the wall in front of her.

“Max’s father… Dave… was my first serious boyfriend. We started dating on the last year of High School, and we weren’t sure what to do with the relationship after that… but then we both ended up in UCLA, so things went on.” She seemed to relax a little, and took off her shoes. “College was a lot of fun at first. I had a lot of friends, a popular boyfriend, I was in a sorority… I was going to get my BA in World Arts and Culture, and I loved it. I guess I wasn’t the most brilliant student, but I did well enough in class. And then, just at the start of my sophomore year… I found out I was pregnant.”

“Did you have a fight? Did he leave you?” Tom blurted without thinking. “Sorry, I just… sorry. No more interruptions.”

“No, he didn’t leave me”, she continued in a soft, sad voice. “He said he would do the right thing… his parents were very religious. Episcopalian. And as soon as they knew what happened they started planning our wedding. Quickly, before it started to show, because… you know. The scandal.”

She left the empty glass of wine aside, and held her knees to her chest.

“My parents told us to wait, to be sure of our decision, to see what happened with the way Dave and I felt about everything after the baby had been born. Mom was very insistent about that, she said we were too young and life was too complicated to throw our education aside and start playing house. But Dave’s parents wouldn’t even hear about that, and we were in love… or, at least, the kind of love you’re in when you’re nineteen and you haven’t experienced real life before. Dave started to work with his father at a real estate company; he came to see me every morning before going to work. My future mother-in-law let me borrow her wedding dress. She arranged all of it: the church, the flowers, the music… I don’t remember much of the preparations, everybody told me I had to rest and take care of the baby so I wasn’t allowed to help much.”

Hallie’s gaze was fixed on the wall now, and her voice was almost inaudible.

Tom opened his mouth to speak again and then he remembered in the nick of time that he wasn’t supposed to; he stopped fidgeting with his wine glass and moved his hand towards Hallie, just up to the point where only one of his fingers was touching one of hers. She looked at him again with a sad smile.

“Two weeks before the wedding I had my bachelorette party. Nothing crazy, not in my state, just me and a few friends. My Mom had the idea of making it British themed, and we had this afternoon party with tea and crumpets, and little Union Flags on the tables, all very Victorian; all my friends loved it.” She ran a hand through her hair, undoing several strands of her already messy ponytail. “Dave and his friends went out, of course. To a… a strip club. Everybody knew they were going there, after all it was his bachelor party. They spent the night dancing with the girls there… and drinking.”

A light went off in Tom’s head. He saw the painful truth coming from afar, digging its way out of Hallie’s memories before showing its ugly face in the present.

“They waited until I woke up the next day, because they didn’t want me to get upset at five in the morning. I remember my parents coming to my room… it’s strange, the things one remembers. My Mom had a cup of tea in her hands, a porcelain cup with pink flowers painted on it. And Dad hadn’t shaved. He was such a proper gentleman, I knew something was wrong the moment I saw he hadn’t shaved. But I don’t remember which one of them said that there had been an accident, that Dave wasn’t coming to see me that morning… that Dave was dead.”

Tom had heard enough. He crossed the small distance between him and Hallie and held her hand, delicately. He looked at her face expecting tears, but her eyes were dry.

“I’m sure you loved him very much.”

“I was completely infatuated with him, and losing him was the worst thing that had happened in my life. Suddenly I was a college drop-out, alone, terrified of giving birth, afraid of raising a baby without a father… I think I managed to survive that year thanks to my parents. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.” She looked at Tom again, at his clear blue eyes and his worried gaze. “I’ve been awkward around men since then. We should have had this conversation before our date, Tom, and I’m so sorry I freaked out. I was so scared!”

“Of me finding out about Max?”

“Not only that. I already told you Max’s father was my first boyfriend. Then after him I had a small baby and of course I couldn’t go around dating. When Max was four my Dad got sick… when he died, I had to lend a hand in the family business and I didn’t have a lot of time for anything. And then I had the silly idea of going on Masterchef, and with all the fuss of the contest, the win, the promotion, the cookbook…”

“Yes?”

“Tom, what I’m trying to tell you is that you’re the first man I’ve dated in eight years. Which, counting Max’s father, makes you the second guy I’ve dated in my whole life.”

Tom froze for a moment, and then hid his face in his hands. “Oh, bollocks. I scared you.”

“Just a little.”

“I’m a sodding brute.”

“No! You were just… Enthusiastic, I guess. And I was too confused to tell you that I needed to go a little slower.”

He nodded in silence and wrapped his hand around hers. They sat like that for a moment, until a sudden noise coming from the kitchen made them jump.

“Do you think your mother’s listening?”

“Of course she’s listening! She’s been in there for fifteen minutes. How long does it take to make a cup of tea?” Hallie laughed. “Mom, please come out and stop eavesdropping!”

Lorraine came out of the kitchen, holding a nearly empty cup of tea and a sugar biscuit. “Well, did you fix it?” she asked, staring intently at Tom and Hallie.

“Yes, ma'am. All fixed.”

“Good. I was getting bored to death in there, but I didn’t want to interrupt your little conversation. And now that I’m sure there won’t be another World War in my living room, this old lady needs to go to bed.” She finished the biscuit, left the cup on the table and hugged her daughter. “Sleep well, cupcake. Goodnight, Chef Hiddleston.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Harrison. Pleased to meet you.”

After Lorraine left they both stood in the middle of the living room, too tired to say anything, until Tom reacted.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”

Hallie offered him a tired smile. “Well, it has been a tough day. For both of us.”

Tom threw his arms around her, enclosing her in a tight embrace. “As much as I like doing this, I really need to go and let you sleep. Or tomorrow we’ll fall asleep in the kitchen.”

“And Luke will scream at us.”

“Luke was very close to having an aneurysm this morning…” Tom observed. “I think I owe him an apology. And another one to you, for behaving like an arse all day. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Tom. I’m sorry too, for not being honest with you earlier. I promise, no more hiding things.”

“And I promise to take things slow. I’m also out of practice doing that, so we can find our ideal speed together”, he said with a wink.

“I like the sound of that”, Hallie answered. “I guess for tonight we can start with something small. Like… one kiss?”

“Only one, Chef Harrison? It will have to be one hell of a kiss.”

“That’s up to you, Chef Hiddleston. Remember that I’m a silly sorority girl with only one boyfriend on my record who knows absolutely nothing about these things.”

Tom entwined one of his hands in Hallie’s hair, slowly stroking her cheek with his thumb. She smelled like red wine and powdered sugar.

“You keep getting it wrong, Chef Harrison. Wrong in two counts.” His breath ghosted on her cheek, and she shivered. “Number one, you’re not a silly girl. I don’t think you’ve ever been a silly girl.”

He pulled her even closer to him and brushed his lips with hers, slowly, giving her space to respond. And she did, leaning eagerly into him and into the caress of his mouth.

“And… and number two?” she said, feebly, once the kiss was over.

“Well… I think your count of boyfriends has gone up. By one.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #thfru #crossing knives #missviolethunter #missviolethunterwrites #au tom #chef tom #romance #comedy #hallie #ofc hallie #luke windsor #multis #mature #submission

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glassy28 · 7 years

Text

Under the weather

A/N: This is a Same age AU with KakaSaku. If you see any mistake, please tell me so I can edit it. This idea came to me after looking through some prompts during KakaSaku week 2016 (I am so damn late but who cares?). I was looking through my computer and found this goody and thought I’d share it. So without further ado, I hope you will enjoy this one-shot:

“Where is Kakashi?”, Sakura wondered out loud, when she noticed that Kakashi still hasn’t appeared. “How should I know? We should start training already,” a gruff voice grumbled, clearly annoyed by the question. “Sasuke! Don’t be so mean to Kakashi! It’s unusual for him to be late. I’m just concerned about him.” Sasuke just rolled his eyes and continued to throw his knives to improve his aim. Naruto-sensei didn’t have time to train with team 7, but the rest of their members wanted to at least train together. But now Kakashi was missing and Sakura was restlessly walking in circles. “I’m going to his place and search for him,” Sakura finally exclaimed and left without another word leaving an irritated Chunin behind.

When she arrived at Kakashi’s place she knocked on his door like a normal person, but she was tapping her foot nervously. What could have happened to Kakashi? Still not receiving an answer, she knocked louder until she tried to open the door. Surprised that the door was opened, she went inside and called for Kakashi. “Inside here!”, came a raspy voice out of a closed door. Seemed like someone didn’t even leave their room… Sakura slowly walked towards the voice and opened the door to see Kakashi lying in bed looking rather sick. His cheeks were red, his eyes were glazed and tissue papers were lying everywhere. “Are you sick? I never imagined that you could get sick.” Sakura carefully picked up some tissues and placed them in the bin, feeling Kakashi’s eye following her movement. He still had his mask on and it was irritating her that he would still wear his mask with a cold. Maybe it is more convenient to avoid more bacterias to get to him but it would be a hassle to blow his nose. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be training with Sasuke-kun who is, oh, so great,” Kakashi asked in a mocking and sarcastic way before he started to cough furiously. “This doesn’t look good. I think you got yourself a cold. Let me take a closer look.” She sat on the edge of the bed and thought about pulling down the mask without his consent. That wouldn’t normally be her style, but she made a bet with her teammates and everyone is just itching to get to see behind that mask. Whoever gets to see Kakashi’s face first receives all the money placed on this bet and she definitely needed a new desk chair in her hospital’s office. Her neck was always so stiff after a long day and even though she could give herself a message, she didn’t quite reach that spot and it was bothering her. “Sakura, what are you staring at?” Kakashi asked with a quizzical look. “Oh nothing… just wondering why you are wearing that mask. I still haven’t figured that out. Can you at least sit up?“ Kakashi nodded and proceeded to follow her request.

She was surprised that he wasn’t wearing a sweater or a pullover when he is clearly sick. But she couldn’t deny that his upper body was deliciously exposed for her eyes to feast on and she tried to stop her jar from hitting the ground. Without any luck. “Is something the matter?“, Kakashi asked innocently with an edge to his voice she couldn’t quite decipher. “Why the hell aren’t you dressed more warmly? No wonder you caught a cold,” she scolded and tried to talk herself out of this. “Why are you guys always so troublesome? It’s cold outside and you just happen to wear nothing. Fine, just let yourself be killed by a normal cold because you wanted to show off your six pack.” Sakura actually didn’t want to ramble but his torso was distracting her immensely. „Put on a shirt, will ya?“ She could see Kakashi smirking under his mask, but tried not to lower her gaze towards his abs. “Don’t you enjoy the view?” He was raising one eyebrow seductively when he saw her blushing. She could just imagine his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Shut up and get dressed!” she snapped and went to his dresser to get him a pullover. He was taking too much time and she would prefer to speed up the whole process. After searching around, she found a warm sweater imprinted with a cute puppy and threw it at him. “I don’t have all day, got that? We were supposed to train as a team. The next time you are sick you better call me immediately”, she scowled and returned to his bed side. “So since when have you been sick?” He looked away guiltily and mumbled under his breath. “What was that? 2 Weeks?!” Sakura exclaimed and nearly fell down on the ground. “You have been sick since the mission at Amegakure and you haven’t said a thing? Do you want to die?” Kakashi didn’t even bother to hide his eye roll and he shrugged because he didn’t care.

He hated hospitals like the plague and preferred to stay at home being treated by his favourite medic. But in the last few months he didn’t feel comfortable asking her anymore. She was always around Sasuke, admiring him and making love sick eyes at him. He wasn’t even that great… Sakura pulled him out of his thoughts when she put the backside of her hand on his forehead. “Your temperature is normal, no fever. Can you pull up your sweater so I can check your breathing?” Kakashi blinked for a minute until she nudged him. Slowly, he raised his sweater and she started to examine him. Kakashi tried to calm his heartbeat and breathing. His heartbeat always quickened when she was nearby and he felt his blush slowly creeping towards his cheeks when he saw her angelic features. Luckily, his mask covered more than half of his face so she wouldn’t be able to see it.

Sometimes he wondered why he felt like that, but he still admired her while she was working. Has she always been this beautiful? And damn those curves! He slowly felt the blood trickling down his nose. Thank you Kami for this holy mask! After she finished her examination of his health, she concluded that he had a normal cold but had to stay in bed for the rest of the week. “You are lucky that it’s only the flu and not something dangerous. But I’ll stay here and take care of you until you are healthy. Next time you go straight to me when you are sick or you don’t feel well. I don’t want you dying on me. Is that clear,” she lectured him. “Crystal clear,” he answered and lied down again. Sometimes it was annoying to have her worry about him, but right now he was just happy to have someone worry about him. It was endearing. “Can you make me some eggplant soup?”, he asked her shyly. Her frown disappeared and the corners of her mouth started to turn upwards. “Sure. Just lay down and I’ll have it ready in no time!”, she said enthusiastically and immediately made her way towards the kitchen. Kakashi was really happy to have her with him. He really did even though he was jealous. Sakura isn’t training with that dumb Uchiha but taking care of him. When Kakashi fell asleep he couldn’t be more happy about his cold. It really paid off being under the weather.

#kakasaku #kakasaku week 2016 #under the weather #kakashi hatake #sakura haruno #cil writes

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zrtranscripts · 7 years

Text

Season 6, Mission 25: 76 Trombones

Give an inch, take a mile

SAM YAO: Oh, come on, come on! Where is he? [sighs] It's too dark for my cams to pick anything up, even with all the flaming torches. Peter, what can you see?

PETER LYNNE: A window. The window of the gents toilets of Muddleton corn exchange. I'm using state-of-the-art infrared goggles to stare at a loo.

SAM YAO: But is there anyone coming out the window?

PETER LYNNE: [gasps] ... no.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We have time. The market square is crowded, which will make our escape easier. And Muddleton has only just gone over to Ministry control. Not everyone here will be loyalists. We do not need to fear each pair of eyes in a busy crowd like this.

SAM YAO: Clever of you to get the Laundry to arrange a midnight fair to celebrate the gift of the cure.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Sigrid was delighted with the tribute to her. If the woman has one fault, it's vanity.

SAM YAO: Mm, yeah, I think she probably has more than one fault.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: But vanity is the useful one. There are very few guards at this fair.

PETER LYNNE: And we're here to rescue a... trombonist? There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself saying.

SAM YAO: Yeah, it's not really about him. It's his wife, Dr. Kitsnis. Okay, listen. This is a bit complicated. Dr. Kitsnis used to work for Sigrid, but then she fled to Muddleton to be safe, right?

PETER LYNNE: With you.

SAM YAO: Before Muddleton went Ministry, Dr. Kitsnis was in Abel working with Veronica on an updated vaccine for that flu, Junin 2. It keeps coming back every year, and although it's not deadly anymore, it's good to keep the vaccine up to date.

Anyway, now Muddleton's gone Ministry, Sigrid wants to get Kitsnis back, but Kitsnis wants to defect to Abel. She has key information for us about weaknesses in Sigrid's staff, which we could really do with to try and give us some kind of advantage, but Kitsnis won't stay or tell us anything unless we get her husband out, too.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: They've been married 20 years, apparently. Still devoted.

PETER LYNNE: Yes, yes, it's all very heart-warming. Meanwhile, muggins here is stuck staring at the grimy window of a public bog while – no, wait. I can see a leg. He's climbing out.

SAM YAO: Five, that's your cue. You need to give him his border pass before he's spotted. Get across that square now. Run!

PETER LYNNE: Excuse me. If you could just – ah, sorry! Just, uh, just slipping through here.

SAM YAO: Kefilwe, do you think it's possible your plan might have created too much of a crowd? Like, so much of a crowd to hide you rescuing Jim, you can't actually reach him to rescue him?

PETER LYNNE: We're nearly there, Sam. Just need to get past this inexplicably popular corn dolly stall.

SAM YAO: You're out of time! Cams are showing me two guards coming around the left-hand side of the corn hall with torches. They're seconds away from spotting him. Quick, distract them! Uh, start a fight or something!

PETER LYNNE: Oi, mate! Yeah, you! Your nose is wonky, and your T-shirt's clashing with your eyes.

TOTAL STRANGER: I beg your pardon?

SAM YAO: I meant pick a fight with each other, not total strangers!

KEFILWE LOBATSE: How dare you be so rude, young man! [slaps PETER LYNNE]

SAM YAO: That's better.

PETER LYNNE: She slapped me!

SAM YAO: It's working! Two guards are looking over. Five, you do it!

[Runner Five slaps PETER LYNNE]

PETER LYNNE: [gasps] Et tu, Five?

SAM YAO: Great! The guards are both coming towards you. Jim's in the car. He's safe.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: But the guards are walking towards us.

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah. You'd better make yourselves scarce. Bloody hell, it was only a few weeks ago that Muddleton was safe passage for us. No more, eh?

PETER LYNNE: Yes. Janine's having to work out alternate travel routes for us every day as more settlements go Ministry.

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah, weird routes are the order of the day. The car will have to go around the one-way system. If you head left under the railway bridge, you can catch up with the car by the roundabout and give Jim his travel papers. Run.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: I believe that is the car, the red Honda Civic. There appears to be someone else in the car along with our man and the driver. Can you see her, Five, lying on the back seat?

PETER LYNNE: He's seen us. The car's stopping.

[car engine rumbles and comes to a stop, KEFILWE LOBATSE knocks on car window, window rolls down]

JIM: Thank God. I wasn't sure you'd be here. You've got the travel papers?

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We have the papers, yes.

JIM: I... don't suppose you've got a spare set?

PETER LYNNE: For that person lying on the back seat, pretending to be a coat?

JIM: Yes, exactly.

SAM YAO: Jim, who is the person lying on the back seat, pretending to be a coat?

JIM: That's Catherine. She's a second violin. It's just, she heard me talking about the plan, and now she's invited herself along, and it's not like I can say no, is it? Anyway, Abel wants as many people to join them as possible. That's what they said in one of those radio broadcasts, the northern chap and that sarcastic woman [?].

PETER LYNNE: Yes, we're really crying out for violin players at the moment.

SAM YAO: All right, listen. There are zombies approaching from the west. Peter, you lead them away. Five, you and Lobatse go east towards those potato fields. There's a guard station there that deals with passes. With any luck, they'll have a couple lying around.

You don't need anything high security. I don't think a trombonist and a violin player are likely to be on any Most Wanted list. No offense, guys. Jim, a new car's being brought for you and - ?

JIM: Catherine.

CATHERINE: Hi!

SAM YAO: Yes, right. Catherine. Switching vehicles ought to make you harder to track. Look out for a blue Ford people carrier. Climb in as soon as you see it, and wait for the others to come back.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Come along, Five. Let's go.

[crickets chirp]

KEFILWE LOBATSE: It's a beautiful night, isn't it, Five? The moon's so bright, you can see every cloud racing across the sky. Perhaps there will be a storm later.

Do you think that woman is Jim's lover? I think she probably is. The way she looked at him. And he blushed when he said her name, did you see, Five? I suppose he sees very little of his wife, with them so often apart, and these things... well, [laughs] they happen.

I think this is something his wife should know, don't you? But I suppose it's too late now, and we can hardly refuse to rescue him just because he's unfaithful. Ah, there is the guard station, and a young man in uniform guarding it. Good. I'll distract him, Five, while you creep into the station and pick up a new set of papers for us. Quickly, go!

[foliage rustles]

KEFILWE LOBATSE: [laughs] What a rogue you are. I knew it the moment I saw that twinkle in your eye.

SAM YAO: Wow. She is frighteningly good at that. [KEFILWE LOBATSE and GUARD laugh] The little lean in, the way she keeps touching his arm, the eye contact. She looks so sincere! Imagine what it's like when she actually means it. Oh, lucky old Steve. Anyway, give her a quick wave from behind the bush, Five. Let her know she can stop flirting now.

[foliage rustles]

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Well... alas, I must leave now, Jonathan. I hope we shall meet again. [kisses GUARD]

Five, do you have the pass? [paper rustles] Oh good, you took several. Very thoughtful. They could be most useful for the resistance.

SAM YAO: Or for you, Kefilwe? You could use one to come back to us.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We've had this conversation before, Sam. There's no need to repeat it.

SAM YAO: No, no. No, of course. I know you want to stay where you can do the most good. Only with -

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Sam.

SAM YAO: Right. Of course. Well, anyway, Peter's drawn the zoms off and headed back to the car where Jim – [sighs]

KEFILWE LOBATSE: What is it, Sam?

SAM YAO: Oh, for God's sake. Oh, no, don't worry. Just get back to the [lay by] where the car's parked, quickly.

PETER LYNNE: Hey! Welcome to the party! I think party's the right word for five people, isn't it, gang? Unexpected collection of musicians we can't possibly smuggle over the border?

KEFILWE LOBATSE: There are three more people.

MUSICIANS: Hello.

JIM: Sorry! It's just they were in the, um, room when me and Catherine were talking about the escape, and they decided to come, too.

SAM YAO: [sighs] This is ridiculous.

PETER LYNNE: On the plus side, now they can give us a rendition of Schubert's Trout Quintet when they get back to Abel.

JIM: Actually, one of them's a percussionist. And Sandra plays the euphonium.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Fortunate that Five took more passes, I suppose.

JIM: So... it's all right? They can come?

SAM YAO: Well, I suppose so. We can hardly send them back now without everyone noticing.

JIM: Good! Because... um... I might have mentioned it to a few other members of the orchestra when we were... relaxing together. [orchestral sounds] Listen! I think that's them heading our way now.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, for the love of God! [zombies growl] And now zombies, too! Why don't we take them over the border with us, while we're at it? Maybe they could fill out the brass section. They do tend to produce quite a lot of spit!

[device beeps]

JIM: Oh, what's that?

SAM YAO: It's a message from the Laundry via Jody's transmitter. The Ministry has noticed you're missing. I mean, they could hardly not notice! You brought the whole bloody orchestra with you!

JIM: I suppose it's too late to go back.

PETER LYNNE: Is it too late? Only if you all don't really want to get shot.

JIM: So how are we going to get away?

PETER LYNNE: And get away from all those zombies?

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We need a plan now.

#zombies run #zrs6 #s6m25 #76 trombones #zr transcript #zrs6 spoilers

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kdfrqqg · 7 years

Text

Of Course

Cas x Dean; with Sam

Word count: 4K

Warnings: Language, Smut, Destiel pairing

Summary: Cas and Dean lie next to each other while on the road but things don’t get physical until Sam catches the flu.

A/N: This is a pre-quel to Surprised. This has been in my idea box for way too long. And now it’s taunting me. Also Movie Night was not written to follow this but it is very much in line with the story.

Dean walked out from the bathroom at the motel Sam, Cas and him were staying at. He had grown custom to wearing pajama bottoms around the bunker and so he brought a few pair with him on the hunt this time. He propped himself on a few pillows to watch the late night news with Cas for a couple of minutes before the whiskey kicked in. He observed that Cas looked more constipated than normal sitting by himself at the table. “Hey Buddy, you ok over there?” Dean asked not expecting Cas to complain.

“It’s this chair, Dean. The bar hits my lower back and I am unable to sit comfortably.” Cas answered.

Dean thought about it for a second or two, and sighed, “Why don’t you kick your shoes off and grab that extra pair of flannel bottoms and you can lay in the empty spot next to me?” He suggested.

“Are you sure I wouldn’t bother you?” Cas questioned.

“Dude, you bother me all the time, how is this any different?” He responded.

Sam watched as his older brother danced around the subject and made jokes. Sam wasn’t blind, he knew when his brother liked someone and Dean really liked Cas even though he may never ever admit it.

Cas prepared himself for bed, having watched Dean repeatedly do it. He decided to lay on top of the sheets when he really wanted to feel the body heat of his hunter. “Just keep the volume down this time, I still need my four hours.” Dean chided.

Within a few minutes, Dean had turned on his side away from Cas and started to lightly snore. Cas turn the volume on low and turned the captions on. Throughout the night, Cas focused his gaze on the beautiful man he saved from hell. He wondered if Dean would ever feel the same way for him as he did. If his vessel was a female, he thought, they would probably already be together. Cas liked his vessel, it was strong and Jimmy sacrificed a lot for him. Even though he was now in heaven and he couldn’t just forget that and toss his vessel away for Dean. No, Dean would love me who I am or not at all, he asserted to himself.

The next evening of the hunt, Dean offered his empty side of his bed to the angel. Of course, the angel gracious accepted the offer. This went on for the course of the week. Neither, men touching just causally laying in the same bed.

Back at the bunker, Cas had his room back and there was no need to lay next to the one person who made his heart soar.

The hunts came and went. The bed arrangement stayed the same over the next few months when the guys were on the road. Dean didn’t want to be ungrateful for all that Cas has done for him and Sam so he just continued to extend the offer, until it was just second nature for the hunters. He even liked having Cas there beside him, sometimes he would pretend to be asleep and move closer to him just to feel his presence more. He really wanted to place his head on Cas’ chest and feel his heart beat but Sam was always there and he was never brave enough to do it in front of him.

Sam had caught the flu, but of course he was still working and he found a case, there were vamps terrorizing a small town. “Sammy! Cas and I, we got this! You’re sick and you need to rest.” He told his baby brother while taking his temperature.

“Well ok I guess I can always catch up on Netflix.” Sam gave in.

“You know what that means Cas?” He said asking but not expecting an answer. Cas shrugged, “We get to get a King size bed to stretch out on.”

Sam thought the comment was strange, why not just get two queens like normal and they both can have their own bed. He chose not to say anything.

Later that day, Dean knocked on Sam’s door. “Hey, how ya doing?” Dean inquired. He didn’t want to leave the bunker until Sam’s fever broke.

“Like death.” He coughed.

Dean sat on the bed and placed the back of his hand to his forehead. “Yeah, I can see that. I know we should have already left but still look awful man.” There was a silence in the air, Dean mumbled, “Umm… This seems like as good a time as any. Can I tell you something?” Dean asked.

Sam sat up a bit little more, anticipating what Dean was going to tell him. “Ok shoot.”

“This is kind of difficult to explain, but Cas and I have been friends for a long time and I, umm have,” he stopped to breathe and hesitated. “I have developed um, you know,” his confessed nervously, “I’ve, I’ve developed feelings for him,” he chuckled never really admitting it out loud. “Like the romantic kind.” Sam knew to be patient with Dean since he was never good at expressing himself. He purposely didn’t interrupt and didn’t make a lot of facial expressions to scare him. But he couldn’t help but flash Dean a huge dimple ridden grin when Dean told him. “Sammy, I want to be with him.”

Sam started to cough; he had forgotten he was sick for a moment, “Dean, that’s great news! Are planning on telling him while you guys are away?”

“Maybe, if I don’t chicken out. So you are ok with this?” Dean questioned.

“Yes, Dean.” Sam smiled and continued, “I have known for a long time that you two liked each other.”

“Have I been that obvious?”

“Ah yeah, you both have.” Sam’s chuckle turned into a large cough.

“Here, here.” Dean said handing Sam the glass of water of the table. Sam stopped coughing and sank back down in the bed. “Thanks Sam, I just wanted you to know in case things go well or bad.”

Dean got up off the bed and moved to the door. “Dean,” Sam called out making him turn around, “things will go well if you tell him what you just told me.”

Sam was relieved that Dean finally confirmed what he already knew for so long. He knew that when Cas was around, Dean was softer, kinder and Sam just wanted Dean to be happy for once.

Sam’s fever broke in the middle of the night, Cas and Dean left the bunker before dawn. They did their normal fed act with the locals and checked out a couple of places that vamps would want to make a nest. The day was a bust but they had some leads for the morning. Dean opted to get a room at a nicer hotel in the area in an attempt to make it feel a little more special. He felt a little uncomfortable asking the desk clerk for one room with a King size bed. She just glanced between the two men and made a ‘what a shame’ face. She was a pretty brunette late twenties, cute the type of girl Dean would have hit on and shown a good time but this was no time to hit on a one night stand, not when the love of his life was standing two feet away.

Dean opened the door the hotel, it was so much cleaner than what him and Sam had grown accustomed to. Cas pushed past him to bring their bags in. The curtains were a light cream color and the evening sunlight streaming through hitting Cas’ features making him shine like an angel on fire. God, he was beautiful. Dean became overwhelmed by the thought of his next move. Do I just kiss him or talk first? He didn’t know what to do. If Cas was a girl, he knew exactly what he would do. He liked men but had never been with one and never one that he thought might be ‘the one.’

Dean went to the bathroom and shot off a text message to Sam asking for help. He received an encouraging response that made him smile. When he walked out to the main room, Cas was already reclining on the bed. He was tired anyway and Cas looked comfortable. He didn’t have to make his move tonight, he thought.

Cas noticed that Dean was acting a little off. Maybe it was being away from Sam while he was sick, he didn’t know and he wasn’t the best at reading people, so he shrugged it off. Dean toed off his boots and joined Cas on top of the sheets turning on the TV. The king size bed was so big and it put Cas farther away than he had expected. Crap, how do I make it look like it just happened when there is so much space?

Cas was still concerned about Dean, he knew he shouldn’t but he read Dean’s mind. He was surprised that Dean was thinking about him in a romantic way. The way he normally thought about Dean. Could it be? Dean actually wants me for me. He felt his vessel‘s eyes start to water, he quickly whipped the tears of joy and asked, “are we staying in for the night?”

“Yeah, we’ll try again in the morning.” Dean replied. His head wasn’t in the hunt, all he could think was Castiel. He was trying to find the nerve to tell Cas something that was the hardest thing for him to say.

Cas moved from the bed and removed both his jackets, he grabbed two extra pillows from the hallway closet and positioned them on the bed. This time when he entered the bed, Castiel scooted closer to Dean. Their hands almost touching. “Is this ok? You felt too far away.” Cas informed him.

“Of course, Cas. This is fine.” Dean’s nervous energy went away in a second when he could finally feel Cas’ body heat next to his. His head was swimming, why was this so hard? Over the course of an hour, Dean glanced over at Cas more than a dozen times. The would lovingly look at his plump chapped lips, to his boney long fingers, to his crotch and start over again. He daydreamed about their first time, wondering if it would be gentle. Then a panic coursed through him. Who would be on top? Should he take control or let Cas lead? Fuck, he couldn’t even make the first move, let alone think about sex with Cas.

Cas could feel Dean’s apprehension and confidently reached for his hunter’s hand and intertwined their fingers locking them together. “Are you ok, Dean? Are you concerned about the hunt tomorrow?”

Dean turned his head on the pillow to look directly into Cas’ eyes, “I’m good now. It isn’t about the hunt that should be a cake walk.”

Cas lifted their joined hands just a few millimeters off the bed and asked, “Is this ok?”

Dean looked down at how perfectly their hands laced together and grinned, “Of course, Cas.” Dean and Cas laid on the bed in total silence for a while watching TV. They were getting used to the weight of each other’s hands. Dean finally placed his head on Cas’ shoulder and Cas sighed with relief. Dean was exhausted from the journey and from being so nervous about him and Cas all day. In under fifteen minutes, with the help of the comfortable Cas, Dean had closed his eyes and fell asleep. Maybe an hour past, Cas was content to have Dean sleep right there, he shifted slightly gently waking Dean. He was pleasantly surprised to find that they were still holding hands. “Cas, buddy, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I guess I should get ready for bed.” Cas nodded and Dean turned the TV off and went to the bathroom. He pulled out his phone, he just text Sam. He just had to tell someone.

Dean: We held hands

Sam: Great! How did you tell him?

Dean: I didn’t! It just happened naturally.

Sam: still really happy for you both

After sending the text messages, Dean felt like a twelve year old girl. His cheeks were hurting because he couldn’t stop smiling.

While Dean was away Cas took it upon himself to remove all of his clothes except for his blue boxers. He pulled back the covers and slid in the bed. This was a new feeling for his since he normally just lay on top of the bed covers next to Dean.

Dean brushed his teeth and removed his flannel shirt and jeans. He looked himself thinking he should take off his undershirt as well but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that tonight. Things were going well. A little slow, but slow can be good.

Dean was almost breathless when he saw that Cas was already in the bed with his bare chest exposed. He took in the sight of the beautiful man in front of him, his angel. Cas’ deep voice rang in the air, “Dean, I hope you don’t mind I lay with you under the covers tonight.”

Dean was blushing slightly and his boxer briefs were becoming a little tight, he had never been so turned on and nervous before in his whole life. “Of course, Cas, I don’t mind.” He felt like a broken record this evening but the words ‘of course’ just rolled off his lips so easily. He joined Cas in bed, for the most part it was pretty platonic and they hadn’t held each other’s hands again.

“Dean,” Cas said to get his attention. Dean hummed in response. “Sam isn’t here and I would like to hold you.”

Dean’s stomach flipped with excitement. “Of course you can hold me, Cas.” He wasn’t sure what happened but he liked the current outcome. Castiel curled his arm around Dean’s broad chest and the other under his neck for support. Dean’s head was finally calm and he had found his peace.

After a few minutes of just getting used to each other’s bodies being so close, “Dean, I have a confession.” Cas admitted.

“What’s that?”

“I read your thoughts today. I know I shouldn’t have but your were acting not like yourself.” Cas continued to explain.

“So is that why you have been so ‘friendly’? Do you want this, Cas? Or are you doing this because you think this is what I want?” Dean asked. He had almost turned all of the doubt off for the evening and now it rushed back like raging river.

“I want this, Dean.“ He loved the way Cas always used his name when he spoke. Feeling the vibration of Cas’ chest against his back made his name have special meaning. “I have wanted you for a long time now. I was afraid you didn’t want anything more than friendship.” Cas stated.

Dean took Cas’ hand and placed a gentle kiss to his thumb, “I had no idea, if I knew, Cas, this would have happened sooner.” Dean felt silly, Cas was pouring his heart out and he still couldn’t get the words out, those stupid three words.

“Turn to me Dean.” Cas ordered and Dean complied. Cas cupped Dean’s chin with his hand. Now he had the time to gaze upon Dean’s perfect pink lips that he wanted to kiss so badly. Dean follows suit and also lifted his hand to Cas’ face. Both mens’ eyes danced across each other’s features soaking up every inch of perfection that the other saw in the other.

Cas had been steering this ship all night, Dean felt it was a good time for him to take over. Dean pulled Cas to him, tilting his head he pressed a kind loving kiss on his slightly rough lips. Cas parted his lips allowing Dean easy access. Dean’s tongue darted into Cas’ mouth sweeping the inside wanting to be closer to him. Cas tasted sweet with a hint of coffee aftertaste. As they kissed passionately, Dean’s chest moved closer until they were pressed against each other. Cas was happy to let the more experienced Dean take control. His hands searched over Cas’ back, his skin was soft but not supple like a women’s, it was tight as he felt his muscles that formed ridges on his shoulder blades. The searing kisses that were being exchanged were satisfying the urges forming in his loins. He could feel Cas’ clothed hard length rub against his on own. He rolled Cas on his back, legs straddling around his trim waist. Continued to kiss him, laying his full body on top of Cas. Dean sat up pulling away from the kiss and took his shirt off tossing it on the floor. Cas traced his hands over Dean’s abdomen as Dean grinded softly against Cas’ cock.

“Castiel,” it was unusual for Dean to say Cas’ whole name but he wanted him to pay attention. “I need you to know that this isn’t some one night thing for me. Cas,” Dean leaned down to pressed a soft kiss on Cas’ lips. “Cas,” He repeated, “I-I” he stuttered.

Cas kissed him again stopping his confession, “Dean, I know.”

“Cas, buddy, I have to tell you and I need you to hear it.” Dean explained.

“Dean!” Cas said softly, informing Dean that he didn’t have to say anything that he ready to say.

“Castiel, I,” he breathed loudly, “I love you.” the weight vanished; Dean smiled so bright proud that the one he loves the most finally knew.

Cas reached up pulling Dean into him, their lips crashed over and over again. Between kisses, Cas breathlessly said, “I love you too, Dean.”

Underwear, finally, made its way into a ball at the foot of the bed under the sheets. The two mens’ naked bodies rutted for satisfaction. Both were shy to touch the others member, Cas was the first to reach down. His touch made Dean moan Cas’ name in his mouth. “Cas, oh, please!” Dean’s moans were soft and Cas loved the sound of his name on Dean’s lips. Cas continued to stoke Dean’s length harder and faster. “Castiel, I want you…” he groaned if Cas didn’t stop he would climax without him. “Cas” he kissed. “Make love to me?” he asked so needy.

Cas was a little surprised at Dean’s request, he had always imaged that the Great Dean Winchester would want to be in control of their first sexual experience. “Dean, I don’t really know what I am doing.”

“Me either. This is all new for me too. I want you to feel you inside of me.” Dean’s voice was raspy. “Have condoms and lube in my bag.”

Both men moved away from each other, Cas was fumbling to put the condom on, Dean helped him to open the wrapper and rolled it slowly down his shaft teasing him a little. They both gazed into each others eyes, Cas bend down to continue kissing Dean. Dean slid back on the bed and turn over on his stomach, he started to move to his knees taking a comfortable position. He was concerned that it would hurt but he had confidence that Cas would be gentle and take care of him. Cas’ rough five o’clock shadow grazed over Dean’s soft skin on his neck. Cas sprinkled kisses over his shoulders and nuzzled into his neck. “Dean, I enjoy this but this isn’t going to work. I want to look in your eyes.”

“Of course Cas.” Dean moaned.

Dean turned on his back and spread his legs around his angel. Cas fell onto Dean’s lips, his dick rubbing between Dean’s ass cheeks toying with Dean. Dean’s cock was trapped in the center of their stomachs, the friction was almost too much to handle. Pre-cum started to form at his head aiding in the grinding relieving some of the friction.

“Dean, I want you so bad. Are you ready?” Cas asked. Dean’s forest colored eyes shined with joy, he nodded, not trusting his voice. Cas lined up with Dean. He was slow, his blunt head gliding in Dean. Dean moaned from feeling the foreign sensation. Inch by inch, Cas was careful, checking on Dean constantly. Finally, his whole length was in. Cas started to thrust, both men closed their eyes and low groans escaped from their lips. Reaching around Dean’s head Cas pulled Dean’s chest up, his plump lips enclosed around Dean’s thoroughly kissing his quivering lips. Cas’ cock throbbed as he slid in and out of Dean. He reached for Dean’s hand interlacing their fingers, Cas raised their joined hands up above Dean’s head. Cas laid on top of him and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Dean. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” Cas’ words and all the sensitivity he was feeling made Dean tear with joy. Two single tears strolled down his face as Cas prolonged his rocking inside of Dean. Cas didn’t want to stop he wanted to stay inside Dean forever but his vessel had another idea. He started to feel his edge come on, “Dean, I’m so close…” Cas moaned.

“Me too.” Was all Dean could mutter as he finally let himself cum untouched. The warm juices squirted on their stomachs, making it easier for Cas to glide while pinning Dean to the bed.

“Mmmmm uhhh ohhhhhhh” rolled deep from inside of Cas as his seed was released. His cock pulsated inside of Dean for a few minutes as the two men enjoyed laying with one another completely quenching the others needs.

“Cas, Thank you. That was better than I ever imaged.” Dean gushed. The men cleaned up and slept next to each other. Cas had never dreamed before but tonight he only dreamed of a life next to Dean, with him forever.

The next morning the naked men awoke, and prepared for the hunt. Other than a few stolen kisses, everything was the same and that relived Dean.

Cas and Dean found the nest by mid-day and ten vamps lost their heads. Dean checked up on Sam, he was feeling a lot better. He informed Sam that they would be back by nightfall.

Back at the bunker, “Hey Sammy!” Dean barged into his brother’s bedroom.

“You’re chipper.” Sam snickered.

“Hell yeah! I’m chipper. I just had the best night of my life and got to kill some monsters.” Dean stated.

Sam smirked, “So things went even better after you held hands?”

“Yeah so much better. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”

“Oh no Dean! You can keep that to yourself. What you and Cas do is none of my business.” Sam notified Dean.

“Well anyway, I am glad you are doing better, Sammy.”

Dean walked down to Cas’ bed with a box in hand. “Dean, what are you doing?” Cas asked.

“Oh you’re moving.”

Cas was a little shocked, and wondered what he had done wrong, “Where am I moving to?”

“My room of course.” Dean chuckled.

“What about Sam?” Cas questioned.

“There is not enough room for all three of us in my room.” Dean joked.

“You know what I mean. I just thought you would want to keep this between us, a secret.” Cas confided.

Dean placed his hand on Cas’ face and looked down in his hooded eyes, “Castiel, I am not keeping you a secret from anyone. You are mine.”

A delicate kiss was shared as Cas helped Dean move his belongings down the hall.

@bandobsession98 @greenappleeyes @honeybeetrash @chaos-and-the-calm67 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @webcricket

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illumynare · 7 years

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Red vs Blue fic: Gift of the Magi (6/12)

Summary: Wash has already gone through too much, been broken too often. So when they get captured by Hargrove together, Tucker figures he has one job: until the cavalry shows up, keep Wash alive and (relatively) sane. No matter the cost.

Unfortunately, Wash is just as determined to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Rated M. Canon-typical language, aftermath of canonical character death, psychological torture, hallucinations, hallucinated child harm, mentions of torture and suicide, fake-out character death.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

Extra Content Warning: this is the chapter with the hallucinated child harm, so if you're really sensitive about that, you might want to skip it. You'll be able to tell what happened from the angsting in the next chapter. Also, warning for hallucinated suicide and some references to the non-con aspect of Tucker's pregnancy.

More and more, there's one thing that Tucker holds onto.

Junior.

Because Tucker, he's a fuck-up, he's a loser, and every one of the scenarios that machine puts him through seems perfectly plausible, perfectly real.

But he knows that he had Junior. Had him, and loved him. There's no way Tucker could ever forget the first time that Junior cuddled up against him. How it felt to run his fingers over Junior's leathery skin, the little bumps and wrinkles, and wonder at how goddamn tiny his kid was. The soft, whiffling little snores that Junior made when he fell asleep.

The moment when he and Junior first arrived on Sanghelios together, when he knew that his kid was part of the peace between their two species. The way that Junior's eyes had gleamed under the light of three suns when they said goodbye. The letters that Junior sent him afterward.

Tucker thinks about all those things, when they throw him back in his cell and he's trying to sort out what's real. Junior is the best thing that ever happened to him, and he can't let him be covered up by the fake memories of the simulations. So he remembers him, again and again, and thinks of how much he wants to survive to see Junior one more time.

There's one thing he doesn't like to remember, though. Tucker's never forgotten it. But he's so ashamed, he tries not to think about it.

Because once, he had just woken up from a coma. Once, he was meeting his kid for the first time.

Once, he looked at Junior, at yellow eyes and quadruple jaws lined with sharp teeth, and he thought, What the fuck is that thing?

He learned to love Junior after. He learned it so fast, some days he can hardly remember there was a time he thought his kid was disgusting. Tucker certainly doesn't want to remember, and he's proud that he's made sure Junior will never, ever know.

(Because he knows what it's like, okay, to know your dad regrets you, and as soon as he really understood what was happening, Tucker was determined that would never be his kid.)

But . . . it's still a thing that happened.

They drag him into the lab and strap him into the machine.

It's normal now. Tucker doesn't want it to be normal, but this is his life now. This is what he chose. It has to be his life, or it's Wash's, and that's—Tucker can't let that happen.

That's the one thing, in any simulation, he hasn't let happen.

They strap him in and the simulation starts and—

—and he's waking up in Blue Base and he's sore all over.

Tucker tries to sit up, and the room swims around him for a second. His stomach hurts, not in the awesome-party-last-night sort of way, but in that terrifying, I'm-really-fucked-up way that he remembers from when he got hit by that rocket.

Shit. What happened? There was that stupid quest, and then . . . and then . . .

He remembers, suddenly, waking up at night in the swamp with Crunchbite looming over him.

Tucker finally understood why people called them "dinos," because of those reptilian yellow eyes, and "squid-heads," because Sangheili armor didn't cover the mouth, and he could see all four jaws, flexing like tentacles as the thing breathed, all those fucking teeth—

"Ugh, you know, on Earth we have this thing called Listerine," he groaned. "Stop breathing in my face."

For a couple seconds, Crunchbite didn't respond. He just stared down at Tucker, jaws still flexing, and Tucker felt a sudden wave of dread as he remembered glassed planets and the fall of Reach, stories about Elites being strong enough to snap a man in two, and shit if this thing decides to hurt me—

Then Crunchbite let out a long, stinking, "Honk," and lumbered away to sit at the other side of the camp.

"Fucking finally," Tucker muttered to himself, and then lay awake for a long time, listening to his heartbeat, telling himself that he wasn't scared of one stupid, stinking alien.

Every night. Every fucking night the thing had watched him, and Tucker feels a wave of nauseous dread, because now he remembers being sick when they got back to base, and what if Crunchbite—

But you can't get flu from aliens.

That's impossible, he remembers Church screeching.

The next moment Tucker is clambering to his feet despite the pain, because he just. He has to get out of this room, he's going crazy alone in here, and if he can just find Church or Caboose or somebody, he's sure that he'll remember what happened and this weird dread will go away and it will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

He gets up on top of the base, and there's Church and Caboose and for one second all Tucker feels is relief, that they're here and they're normal and whatever's going on is just more of the usual bullshit.

"Oh, well, look who's awake," says Church.

"What the fuck happened?" says Tucker, but he's already feeling better, because Church sounds like an asshole and that's normal, it's all okay—

"Oh, well," says Caboose, "as you may remember, you were impregnated by an alien visitor—"

And he keeps rambling, but Tucker doesn't hear it because the inside of his head is buzzing, and he's remembering that horrifying sensation of something wriggling in his stomach.

"Can I get the short version of this?" Tucker interrupts, looking at Church, because what's he's thinking, what he's remembering doesn't make any sense. And Church has always been an asshole, but he also doesn't mess around with any bullshit.

"Yeah," says Church. "You got knocked up, you got knocked out."

And Tucker remembers

"Oh," he says numbly. "Right."

He remembers Doc saying, Congratulations Tucker, you're pregnant. And Church saying, Tucker, don't listen to him, he's a lunatic, but now Church is telling him he got knocked up like it's nothing, no biggie, and he can't think how it happened except he knows, somehow, it was that fucking alien lurking over him every night, and then his entire brain seizes up at that line of thought and goes NOPE.

"I need to start working out," he says. "Lose this baby weight."

There's more, him and Caboose snarking at Church, but Tucker hardly hears what he's saying. He's listening to his rapid, dizzy heartbeat, and he's feeling the still-healing ache in his gut.

If he can just keep talking, maybe he can stop remembering when the pain in his stomach became unbearable, and Doc gave him the shot, and Oops, that wasn't anaesthetic, that was a paralytic—I RELISH YOUR PAIN, MWAHAHAHAHAHA—well, let's just get the little guy out and I can sew you back up.

"You're positive that's a girl," says Church. "How can you be sure?"

Tucker blinks and looks over at the Reds again.

"Dude," he says. "Look who you're talking to."

But the words feel like ash inside his mouth. Because he tried so hard, so fucking hard to start over in Blood Gulch and be somebody cool, and here he is, knocked up like Trisha and Leslie and Carol and his own mom, okay, Tucker isn't dumb, he knows that his parents didn't have some flowery romance, that he was just one bout of hate-sex and a broken condom away from never existing—

"Hey," says Church. "I guess you want to see your kid?"

"Uhh," says Tucker, but he follows Church. Because he's gotta know.

Then he sees it.

And his first thought is, What the fuck is that thing?

It's tiny. It doesn't come up to his knee. But it's obviously Sangheili—it's got those four jaws, and as it stares up at him, he can see the jaws wiggling as it breathes, and Tucker thinks he might be about to vomit because he remembers Crunchbite standing over him, and he wonders—

"So this is it, Tucker," says Church. "This is your little monstrosity. Your little abomination of nature."

When Tucker was in Basic, everybody kept joking about how many goddamn dinos they'd get to shoot. Tucker joked about it too. And now he's given birth to one.

"Uh," he says, "what do I do?"

This is his kid but it's also an alien, and his head hurts, his stomach hurts, and he just wants Church to tell him what to do—

"Blargh?" says the creature inquisitively, looking up at him.

"It's easy," says Church. "All you gotta do is put your foot on its neck, and shoot it in the head."

Tucker looks down at the baby alien, at his baby—but he didn't ever ask for it, did he? It's just something Crunchbite did to him, okay, it's not a person it's a thing, and he doesn't want to imagine how it got started—

"C'mon, Tucker," says Church. "Don't tell me you're getting all sentimental and shit."

And that's right, isn't it? When Tucker came to Blood Gulch, when he got out of Basic, he made a decision. He was going to be cool. He wasn't going to be that kid anymore, who cried when he got messages from home.

His heart is pounding. His hands feel numb as he lifts up the gun, aims it at the little alien—this is why he joined the army, this is what he's supposed to do—

But something feels wrong, something's missing. It's not supposed to be like this.

The alien is so small, and for a second Tucker can imagine it snoring, curled up beside him, tiny chest rising and falling—

"Oh my God, just kill it already," says Church. "This is what happens when you fuck an alien, okay?"

Tucker hears the word fuck and there's a roaring in his ears and he pulls the trigger.

The next second he thinks, Wait—

But there's already purple blood spattered across the ground, and the little alien lets out this broken hurt cry, and the noise pierces straight into Tucker's brainstem, and it's like the wiring in his brain shifts, realigns, and suddenly he thinks, That's my kid, and, What the fuck did I do?

"Shit," says Tucker, breathless with panic as he drops to his knees. "Shit. Uh—hey, little guy. It's gonna be okay." He tries to press down on the wounds, to hold in the blood, but it's too late and there's too much and the little alien shudders against his hands and then it's still.

Dead.

He killed it.

Tucker had a kid and he killed it and it's—it's like the first time Tucker got full-on punched in the face, and it hurt too much for there to be any pain, just and endless, hollow ringing inside his head.

You killed it you killed it you killed it.

Him. You could have called him Junior and you killed him.

"Why did you make me do that?" asks Tucker.

He thinks, Why the fuck did I do that?

"I didn't make you do anything, Tucker," says Church. "I just asked you to clean up your own mess for a change. But I guess pregnancy hormones make you a whiny bitch. Hey, be sure to throw that thing in the trash when you're done being weird about it."

Tucker can't remember ever feeling this kind of rage before. He surges to his feet.

"Don't talk about my kid that way!"

Church laughs. "Your kid? Seriously? You just shot the thing."

Tucker's not even thinking now, he just snarls and fires his gun, and for one second he's satisfied when he sees Church stagger back and fall under the hail of bullets.

And then Church is standing back up again, transparent. "Duh, I'm a ghost. Wow, you're really not smart today, are you?"

He's not. It doesn't matter if Tucker can kill Church or not, because he already killed his kid, and he realizes that he's crying now, like a fucking baby, and he can't stop because he can't deal with this, he can't—

He turns the gun on himself and he feels like it's the only good choice he's made all day.

Tucker wakes up strapped into the machine.

He wakes up, and he's still crying. He can't stop. Because he can't stop remembering what Junior looked like, tiny and broken and oh fuck oh fuck I did that I killed him I—

Tucker? Shit, man, what happened? They had you locked down so tight, I couldn't get in.

How could he do that? How could he do that?

Okay, whatever happened, it wasn't real. We've done this before, remember?

Church is just a hallucination, but he's right. Tucker knows where he is now—see, there are the guards hauling him up, and the asshole lady scientist—he just has to think about the moment where everything changed. Where it stopped being memories and started being fake. He tries to get his breathing under control, to stop having hysterics, and as they drag him back through the hallways, Tucker forces himself to go through the memories of the simulation.

Except.

Except he can't find the point where it went wrong.

Because he knows he woke up feeling like shit. And he knows that when he first saw Junior, he thought what the fuck is that thing. That's a real memory, he knows that, as he stumbles in through the door of his cell he remembers sitting in this cell and thinking about that memory.

He knows Church wanted to kill Junior.

Tucker stumbles to the ground, numb with horror. He knows he didn't kill himself, okay, but what if that was the only part of the simulation that was fake? What if that's where the nightmare started, when Church taunted him and Tucker snapped?

How likely is it, really, that Lavernius Tucker was ever an ambassador to the Sangheili and stood with his child beneath three suns?

Isn't it more likely that he just imagined he was the chosen one, and a good dad?

Okay, seriously? Now you're just being dumb. You remember years of Junior, okay, I am made of motherfucking memories and I can tell you they don't come outta nowhere.

Tucker remembers a lot of things.

He remembers Caboose dying in the crash on Charon.

He remembers Felix torturing Tucker's whole team to death.

He remembers Wash killing them all on Sidewinder.

Too many memories. They're all too real.

And he knows what he thought the first time he saw his son. That's the one thing that he doesn't remember in multiple versions.

Shut up, Tucker. It wasn't real.

Tucker's head is pounding. All he can think is, he's doesn't care what's real anymore. Because if he killed Junior, then nothing matters. He's done.

He's done.

#red vs blue #lavernius tucker #rvb fic #rvb #my fic #fanfic #my fic: gift of the magi

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arabellaflynn · 7 years

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I remember predicting when we moved into this place that I'd spend my bad days sitting in bed, staring out the window at Dorchester Bay. Right now I'm staring at where the bay would be, were it not for the intervening fog, but otherwise my guess seems to have been rather accurate. My left hip hurts. I'm not sure if it's something in the joint or in my lower back that's objecting, but it's doing so vociferously. It has the same peculiar electric quality as the moment you bash your funny bone, or bite down on tinfoil with a metal filling. It's not the dull throbbing red ache or the sharp stab of having actually injured myself; it's the pointless pain of a nerve that is holding a grudge over something, possibly something imaginary, and doesn't want to let go. It started before Arisia, but I had a show to do, so I ignored it until I noticed it was starting to make my gait go funny on stairs. Funny thing about neuropathic pain; even if it didn't begin with you actually injuring something, your body responds as if you had, by knotting the muscles around the sore spot in order to protect it. I wanted to put my foot sideways and tip my knee in so I could pull myself up stairs with my thigh rather than push from behind, even though that did nothing to change the way anything felt. Survival instincts are odd sometimes. In any case, walking cockeyed like that will eventually do real, tangible bad things to your knee. So I made myself locomote normally until I got home from work on Friday. I made sure I had nothing to do over the weekend. I think I had a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. And then for the next two and a half days, my meals consisted of tea and painkillers, because fuck me. Certain kinds of movement help, but shockingly enough, there is a limit to how much hula hooping I can do in one go. I don't know what it is, because I make myself stop at the end of the movie, but I assume this limit exists, especially when I'm getting most of my calories from instant Thai tea mix with "cream" (read: dried milk solids and non-dairy coffee creamer powder) and sugar (amazingly, real sugar). I've spent most of the rest of the time trying to pull my left knee over my right shoulder. Me being me, I am having an unreasonable amount of success at this, but can't get anything new to pop, so as soon as I let go it goes right back to hurting. People ask me, "How much does it hurt?" I don't know. More than 'ouchie' and less than 'I can't stand up'. The standard pain scale that runs from "happy face" to "crying frowny face" isn't very useful for chronic things. It's more good for acute pain of recent onset, where you can compare how much something hurts now to how much it didn't hurt before. If you were fine 48 hours ago and now you're doubled over and begging for a morphine smoothie, that's important diagnostic information. If it's hurt the same for a week and a half... maybe that's normal? Who knows? This is more useful. It ranks pain by how much it affects your ability to function, rather than how it 'feels'. This is something I can note intellectually even when my internal monologue is mainly reminders to smile at others, interspersed with a lot of free-floating, family-unfriendly words. I have a rule that says I am allowed to think whatever I want, as long as I behave like a civilized human being. I routinely do not notice how much something hurts until I realize that, while I've been physically negotiating the T like a normal member of the herd, I have been fantasizing about kidney-punching every. single. person. in front of me until the fucking crowd fucking moves fucking faster go just go what is the fucking matter with all of you JUST GO. According to that chart, I have learned how to compensate for up to about a 6.5. I don't know how seamless it is; I can't tell from inside, because it is an altered state of mind, and it's distracting when every other thought you have is ow fuck i want to go home. Probably if you knew me well you'd notice I wasn't the zippiest I've ever been, but for people who aren't accustomed to me and my big mouth, it would be undetectable. I hit 5 regularly, usually with musculoskeletal stuff that makes moving uncomfortable. I kept putting off a trip to the supermarket, because while walking down to the T stop would be moving and therefore better, exiting both the house and the station at the other end would involve stairs, and being on the train would mean sitting or standing still for a while, both of which made things much worse. I can do certain things up to about a 7, especially if nobody bugs me to take my hat or sunglasses off. (Those are usually either from migraines or eventually bring one on, so light is my mortal enemy.) I have to be given time to make a plan, and then allowed follow through on it without any interruptions or alterations. I don't have enough capacity to recalculate if something changes, or make any new decisions, however small. If you try to force me to do either of those things, I deadlock and fall apart. Being sick will also grind me down that far. I remember a time, years ago, when I had the honest-to-God flu, and a roommate who was trying to be nice asked me if I wanted her to leave the windows open or closed when she left for work. I hauled the blankets over my head and wailed at her not to make me responsible for the state of the windows. Around 8 is when I start bowing out of plans on the grounds that I am 'sick'. At that point I am not physically capable of giving a shit about consequences anymore, so I just send out cancellation messages and go to bed. You could set the house on fire around me and I'd just curl up tighter in bed and think 'huh. fire now. okay i guess'. A guy on reddit recently illustrated how depressed he'd been in the past with the story of how a guy with a gun jumped out at him one night and demanded his wallet, and he just said, "No." The mugger was very confused and eventually went away, but the point wasn't that he was stalwart or brave or fierce; it was just that was in such a state of shutdown that he had no feelings left one way or the other about being shot, and lacked the energy to be robbed properly. [I don't recall ever hitting 10, but I may have hit a 9 when I was five and broke my forearm. The part I do remember is that they kept giving me IM Demerol, and I kept telling them it wasn't doing anything. They finally topped me out and had to set the bone no matter what. I don't recall that specific chunk of the night, which is probably a thing my brain has done on purpose. I'm told I went dead white and nearly passed out. I definitely hit a 9 the time I cracked a molar and exposed a root, which was infected by the time I could afford to go to the dentist. It is the only time I have ever seriously considered banging my head against the floor until I passed out, because the initial bottle of Vicodin and the later bottle of Percocet did not work. I coped by sleeping as much as I could, titrating myself full of NSAIDs, and knocking back DXM until I was no longer aware of having teeth.] People also ask me why I keep doing stuff, if things hurt 'that much'. Firstly, define 'that much'. Nobody ever tells you when that is, or gives you any good criteria for deciding for yourself. If you're sitting down, it doesn't hurt 'that much' and you're a lazybones who should be working like everyone else. If you're still doing things, then it's your fault for not taking care of yourself by sitting down when it hurts 'that much'. I do it for the same reason I walked home last night festooned with four bags of groceries and two hula hoops, in sleet and wind gusts of up to 40mph: There isn't another option. I was at the T stop. I needed to be at home. So I walked. It was unpleasant. Lots of things are unpleasant. You learn very quickly that your feelings do not matter. The universe is a cold sociopathic kidnapper holding a gun to your head and telling you that you will do the thing or you don't get to survive. So you do the thing, and shut the fuck up about it before worse happens. If you're incapable of doing the thing, you might get mercy the first couple of times, but it's at the whim of your captor. Someday they're going to run out of whims. You trudge home in the sleet anyway, in case that that day isn't today. I hope that didn't sound inspirational. It wasn't meant to be. I am incredibly cranky right now, and that was meant to be an illustration of my current mood, and why I have given up and decided to just spend the day in bed crying. I do not do things while I am in pain because I am strong or courageous or whatever. Don't kid yourself. I do things under duress. from Blogger http://ift.tt/2juazKg via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

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